Thursday, April 7, 2016

What do you mean have they run out of provinces yet?

Grace told me to read this poem that people are pissed about in the New Yorker. I glanced through it.. yeah he's trying to be cute and yeah it's racist.. so what? What do you expect? In fact I much rather prefer some of the racist poems written about Chinese people from the Gold Rush era. I remember reading one about Sing that "moves in ways that are dark" it's about the author getting tricked at cards. I know a bunch of Chinese people like that. Now it's racist to say they are all like that. But if you asked modern Jook Sings (people born here) about that poem they would say... that  is part of Chinese culture.

So at first.. about this poem.. I didn't give a shit mainly because I was dismissive of it.

"They're all like that." You know that type. And that statement is racist too. But so fucking what.

But then I thought, "Dude this is the New Yorker." not some prep school "Circle Voice" or some shit.

(Oh did you just figure out where I got my cynicism from?)

I mean the guy who wrote it shouldn't have to apologize. I know the type of racism.. he doesn't mean it. He probably thought he was opening a door to Chinese cuisine or something Forget about him.

But how the fuck did this get printed in the New Yorker? I mean it wasn't that good yeah?

And so my delayed angry rant, which Grace pointed out I was having around the house in under wear and flip flops after I cut my nails... my delayed anger was like..

There are 50 fucking states and your going to say that you've seen too many Provinces? I had to Google it but there are 34 provinces in China, and Provinces are pretty freaking huge, not like Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I mean the reasoned non rant response would be to explain that okay, the Railroad Chinese, all those guys came from Taishan, which is called a region, but really it;s not. It has a capitol, Tai Cheng, which is under the Jursidiction of Jiangmen (like Gong men city from Kung Fu Panda) Basically, it's like if all the people came from Cambridge. It's a small area. It's not even a Province. This small little area is inside Canton, now called Guangdong.

Then during the cold war everyone came through Hong Kong. There were no direct from China immigrants except for some students or whatever, special cases, and then people from Taiwan. But the people opening up the restaurants, their all form like ONE TINY area. Hence the "traditional" take out you are used to, the stuff you order for New Year's the stuff Michael Corleone orders to eat before killing someone. Okay.

But now people come to the States from all over China, hence the new types of foods. Granted a Szechuan place can be owned by someone Cantonese...just like a Sushi place can be owned by someone Cantonese... or the other way around too. Pat Morita's family owned a Chinese restaurant I think. That's why he could do a Chinese accent in Happy Days.

So I mean there is something funny to say. Maybe something to write a poem about. Did Chris Tirllium write a cute little poem (albeit racist) yeah. It's good for like you little suare to tell to friend over cheese and crackers. I mean if you recited that to me I would have laughed WITH you and they said.

Yeah but there's 50 fuckin states dude. Maine Lobster, New England Clam Chowder, New Jersey whatever the fuck. and your New York ZA..Lousiana style Cajun cuisine..  yeah China is big so there is a lot of different types of food. Plus the cultures have been there for a long time. I mean the whole mass destruction of native tribes happened like 2,000 years ago so imagine if the states still had all teh Cherokee Massachett Wampanoag food in restaurants for mass consumption.

And that's how Chinese food is. And people aren't necessarily open minded about trying other Provinces foods. I tell my Si Hing about a great Xian place or Szechuan place and he's like, "Oh yeah there good... to bad mm ngam ngau dei Guangdong yan sic." Like too bad I can't eat it because I cannot adjust to that style of food.

I'm not mad at this author. I'm just saying how did it get in the New Yorker? Because of the rhyme scheme? I guess nobody ever wrote a poem with all these provinces name in them before.

Now I won't protest this because the answer is again, "Dude there's 50 fucking states and you're gonna complain about like 7 Provinces or something that you mentioned?"

And his response should be, "Touche my dear fellow by my book of poems now I'll write another poem as a response to this one and that will also be published. I shit money. Beat that! hahahaha."

But I support the people who will cry out and protest just like they do about Jimmy Kimmel or any slight against Chinese whatsoever. Not because they are right. But because that show of immediate "Fuck NO-ness" (I suspect it is even sponsored by Mainland China) shows force and organization for any slight movement over or even slightly towards that racist line. And basically what that says is "You ain't ever going to be shooting or segregating us motherfucker."

The organized protest, immediate protest, shows, oh shit you cant fuck with this group. So now you can't mess with Chinese and you can't mess with Jews basically.

That's not completely true but that's why even if I'm not offended by this type of thing, I support the mass outcry. Or I think it's good practice for if something more serious actually does happen anyway.

I don't know I wasn't mad after reading it but then 10 minutes later I was ranting. So maybe tomorrow I'll be pissed. But in the end, if I wrote a racist poem and it ended up in the New Yorker, I guess I'd frame it and stick it on the fridge, outcries and all, so maybe I'm just jealous of the guy.

But now we haven't run out of Fucking provinces, in fact we could totally do cuisine by city. How many Cities do you think there are in China? And then you gotta think about all the fusion stuff, the old school fusion of Hong Kong Macao.. and that's another thing that pissed me off, he listed Shanghai as a fucking province. What the fuck? whatever I don't care.

Let me and this guy go out to eat somewhere in Boston's Chinatown. I'm not mad. Not really. It's just I'm having high school flashbacks is all.

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