whaddaday!

(Caption: Not too far from metaphors- Thailand zoo)

Dominic and I went to the Home Delivery exhibition at the MoMa, and I came across this old cover of Science Monthly on display. It said something like "You won't believe it's pre-fabs!" and my first thought was "Pre-fabs? Pre-fabulous? Dominic, what comes before fabulous?" I am dumb.

Anyway, large structures are intimidating. And so was the meal I wolfed down in Pop Diner. I was on "last meal" mentality (seeing as how I am boycotting Flik this year, I know it would be a very long time before I had a "good" meal), and ended up with a tummy ache. Somehow, this led to a discussion about starfish (they have two stomachs, and one everts itself into food stuff to digest it), and an unsuccessful attempt to find a decent video on it on youtube. I can't help but imagine my stomach squeezing out of my bellybutton and amoeba-ing its way around a mollusk, and engulfing it through sucking its juices past the porous surface. Assuming human stomachs have pores the size of colander holes. That's a new word I learned today: "colander". I've learned many kitchen terms this summer, seeing as how I am actually cooking nowadays.

My mother called me into her room, angrily flailing her Sing Tao Daily today. Turns out Thailand's witnessed some recent "troubles" with protestors (probably from People's Alliance for Democracy) who're responsible for shutting down about three main airports (if you're curious, I believe the issue is that the protestors believe the current prime minister is working as a puppet official of a former prime minister that was heavily disliked for committing some heinous corruption). I believe it's my mother's way of telling me, "You see! Going abroad to Thailand means you getting caught in some political upheaval" (though admittedly, I am counting on it). This is so silly because my mother planned our trip to China just as tensions between Tibet and Chinese government rose due to threats of Olympic boycotts. I guess for her, China really can't do no wrong, and if you're Hong Kong, you might as well be Shirley Temple because those dimples can get you out of any trouble. Yikes. Well, it looks like this will go as usual: I'll do things without her knowing. She finds out. Yells. A lot. And some more. I set the phone aside as she's ranting and use the restroom. She's still talking. Finally, she relents with a grunt.

Also! My brother ran away again. I found him in Barnes & Nobles with his spiral notebook. I smacked his head, and yelled "What do you think you're doing?! Huh?!" And he replied, with a look that suggested it was totally obvious, "Walking!" I twisted his ear all the way to the car. "You like walking huh?! Huh?! I'll walk your ass all the way to the moon!" Later, my mother blamed me of course for not watching him carefully. Next time he walks into a pit of fire, I'll just tell her he's in his room. I had to remind her to scold him (how is it that she never forgets to lecture me on the same subject 12 different times, and yet his departure omits a beating?) Also, I am very certain after today that I am still nine years old as far as maturity goes (as far as noting my mother's play on favorites and suspicion of "only son" mentality), but I am a disgruntled Chinese American daughter in a household straddling two often times opposing cultures that uphold the patriarchy. Oh man, I'm so full of shit. Hahaha!