In a lot of ways, New England is home to me. I love the saltbox houses and the town greens, and absence has made the heart grow fonder of ubiquitous Red Sox caps. I even like riding the T.  (If you’ve just tuned into Simpson’s Paradox, I feel about driving the way most people feel about visiting the dentist. Oh, not the dread and anxiety part, I just mean that driving is better than all my teeth falling out.)

As Eric said: Welcome back to the homeworld.

[PS I reread several years of Pie2K comics to find this one to go with the title.]

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More Than A Feeling

When I was visiting my sister Bethie, her friend Sanchaita invited us to dinner. She cooked the most amazing chickpea curry — as part of a feast of other amazing dishes, I should add — and when I asked what kind of magic and rainbows went into it, she said it was just chana masala, with a shrug like that was nothing special.

Well, I started with a packet of chana masala from Patel Brothers on Maynard Street, and it really does include all the sunshine and rainbows and Indian restaurant flavors! My previous chickpea curries tasted a lot like chickpeas that had been boiled with some curry powder. (Shut up. It was much better than my artichokes or that time I tried to boil water.)

Once I was in the store, though I realized that I could buy paneer, and packets of pakora mix or dosai mix, and all kinds of other instant exotic tastes. Then I got adventurous and tried new recipes, and I’m pretty impressed with my not-from-a-packet dal.  I even added some new spices to our herb garden.

It was only when we were outside feeding stale naan to the turtles that I realized I just might have an Indian food problem.

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Chana Masala

Quindlen’s speech at Wesleyan was a call to action, it was what every new graduate should hear. It was a reminder that finishing college is more than a piece of paper and a pile of student debts. It was great to be around New England liberals again. People who think global warming is real, our natural resources are finite, and it would be great if all Americans had healthcare.

One of the hardest things about being in North Carolina is the chitchat minefield. I often hear that global warming is a natural phenomenon, nothing to do with us, or that last year was so unseasonably cold that climate change can’t possibly exist. It felt really nice to be surrounded by educated and liberal young people, especially as they were being called upon to go forth and save the world!

Quindlen also praised this generation for changing attitudes towards gender and racial relations,  and wow, Quindlen is a great public speaker. But my idol suddenly had feet of clay when Quindlen threw in the obligatory Simpsons reference, that hallmark of a professor trying to show they’re young and hip. Don’t show me you’re hip, professors, show me you’ve read more books than I’ve heard of.

In the midst of calling on the new graduates to solve illiteracy problems, build a lifestyle not based on debt, and stop climate change, she exhorted them to make movies that weren’t comic book spin-offs. I believe this was meant as a reference to Wesleyan’s film school, but it sounded as through trashy movies are on a par with the destruction of the environment. So Wolverine and Watchmen aren’t great art (not like The Simpsons) but I don’t know if a predictable plot is on quite the same level as finite resources.

There was another odd moment, when in the midst of praising social change and technical progress, Quindlen stopped to question whether Twitter would be “dopey haiku for the mini-mind”. I’m so pleased that Twitter is on the scene now, taking the pressure off blogs. All the complaints once thrown around about blogs are now directed towards Twitter, as if the desire to connect with others and to share experiences is something frivolous and new.

You write about your daily life and your thoughts on the internet? How narcissistic! No one cares what you think! Why would anyone read that! And what about internet privacy? Anyone could come by and read it! I can’t believe you’d waste time writing and sharing your thoughts!

I’m going to be happy when Flutter comes out and Twitter gets a rest.

The speech really captured how I see Wesleyan. Liberal, world-changing, brilliant, moving, with just a tiny little reminder that Wes is better than plebs with stupid hobbies.

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Wesleyan Commencement Speech

We walked past Watchung Deli as we waited for a table. When I talked about my love for Hunan House, my high school friend Roy, who now lives in Japan, mentioned missing Watchung Deli when he’s living abroad.  (Roy’s been in Japan for several years now, with occasional visits home,  and if you’re keeping score, our friends Garan’s moved to Korea. I asked Scep to move to Indonesia to round out the gang of our friends now in Asia, but he said no.) Oddly, the Watchung Deli is now next to a sushi joint, a salon offering Japanese hair straightening*, and a corner shop full of anime fashions, brightly colored mini-sushi erasers and more novelty Asian imports. Watchung is ready for your return, Roy.

Since it was a holiday, there were plenty of other late-morning brunchers at Bluestone Coffee. Menus were coffee-stained unlaminated paper, listing two flavors of chai, coffees, teas, and a variety of yummy entrees, featuring ingredients that could not be altered or substituted. But the food was good, and the company was even better! I missed those two!

Our waitress made sure we didn’t linger, though, she literally took my plate away as soon as I lifted the last bite towards my mouth. By this time, it wasn’t crowded anymore, but it was uncomfortable lingering where the staff clearly didn’t want us to be, so we went back to my parents’ house.

It was great to catch up with Scep and Katie. We talked about the time my granny grilled Katie to see if she was worthy to be dating her now-husband Scep, and about Katie’s possible new job in the fall, and summer plans, and general catch up. Also, Scep and Katie pretended not to notice my ridiculous hairline sunburn. Although I diligently sunscreened myself with SPF 6.2^8 at Bethie’s graduation, I guess I didn’t get quite up to my hair and I have now a half centimeter of crispy red around my face.

Maybe Bluestone has a No Weird Faces policy, and that’s why we got the bum’s rush.

*I’m not entirely sure what that is. Do you know?

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Bluestone, Red Face

At Wesleyan, visiting my sister’s lab.

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Visiting Bethie

When Allison had her wedding, all the bridesmaids wore full garb, so I have a complete outfit, but it’s packed away since I didn’t anticipate needing a corset and full skirt in Beijing. I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to wear it again, how often do you get a second wear out of a bridesmaid dress?

Germaine’s friend, like a true geek, uses his iPhone to get directions.

After a great deal of ribbing and careful ID scrutiny, we got beers and went to watch the joust. The joust announcer said how worried everyone had been about the local pollution, but it turns out we’ve got a good clear day, so none of the horses have to wear breathing masks.

Then we went to the knife and star throwing games. This picture shows that it is far more dangerous to be right next to what I’m trying to hit.

Here’s one from the target’s perspective!

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NY Renn Faire

On another unrelated note, whenever we had all hand get togethers where we were toasting anything, we would toast, then pour one glass over the side for Neptune, then we’d all drink from our own glasses.

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My Sister The Pirate (Again)

“Did you call your friends, ‘me hearties’? Do you call other people ‘landlubber’?” I asked, “Did you at least get to say ‘Aye, aye, Captain’ when you got orders?”

“Actually,” she said, “you’re supposed to repeat the instructions back, and then say aye, so they know you heard and understood the order. You can’t just say yes.”

“Kind of like teaching English.”

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My Sister The Pirate

I love getting home on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Last year was the first time my college-freshman little sister had to come home, too. My mom always tells me how behind we are on the Thanksgiving prep, as if there was one perfect year when we had everything cleaned and baked and decorated and cooked sometime in mid-October.

My mom has a Thanksgiving List and some of the chores already have my name on them. Actually, some of the sub-lists have my name on them. I think my Montclair coming-of-age ceremony involved the promotion from vacuuming to actual food preparation. My mom asks my dad for his opinion and he pretends like he can tell she’s moved all the wine glasses clockwise six degrees around the water glasses.

Wednesday night I go see Scep and now Katie, too. We used to hide out from last-minute chores, watch videos in his attic and talk about college. Now we hide out from last-minute chores and have margaritas with Stick and Katie. Last year, Scep and Katie told me they have real jobs, and they’re paying and that’s that.

No one really watches the parade but what’s Thanksgiving without inflatable Barney in the background? The arrival of Stick added watching football to the Stivison Thanksgiving, which makes up for the end of the traditional holiday pastime of Critique Meg’s Boyfriend.

I can’t actually talk about the food because if I think about it too much, I’ll be on a plane home.

After dinner, the extended Stivison family has dessert and wine. My cousins and I used to play Monopoly but then we started playing other games (like Illuminati) as we got older. We have enough pie that the arrival of half a dozen hungry teenage boys isn’t a problem. That’s not hyperbole, actually, we’ve tried a few times when I was in college, and then Bethie brought all the international students from Wesleyan home last year. Last Thanksgiving was my first experience with ESL pictionary, now a staple of my classroom.

I’m so sad that I won’t be home this year. But if my family can have latkes for Christmas, then I can have Beijing duck for Thanksgiving.

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Without Thanksgiving

Our adventure was somewhere between my daydream and Zorro’s warnings. Our first flight was about 2 1/2 hours late. Apparently the American Embassy in Beijing closes from 12 to 2, and as we watched the clock get closer to noon and our taxi’s meter increase, it was getting more and more like a mad dash to the embassy, like in a movie.

The taxi driver dropped us off at the beginning of a maze of embassies, and we had to show our passports to several guards to get into the complex. If I actually was running to the embassy for santuary, I’d be a citizen of Finland now. By following the guard’s directions, Zorro and I found ourselves standing outside the wrong embassy. There was a big shiny gate, actually they polish that gate every day to protect the Finnish. (Bethie, I wish you were here!)

When we found our way through a maze of broad, tree-lined avenues, all alike, Zorro’s paperwork was quick and painless. We were out of American Citizen Services in under an hour and it was time to get on with my real business in Beijing.

Can I just mention how much I love traveling with Zorro? First of all, his Chinese is way better than mine. Second, waitresses, flight attendants, security guards, taxi drivers don’t know what to make of a Chinese American. No one knows whether to address him in Chinese or English. Except for service people ignoring me to speak to him, it’s great.

The real purpose of the trip, for me at least, was to eat decent food. I remember once trying to talk Stick and some of the Griffon Games boys out of eating at Subway, but in Beijing? I was so excited to see an (almost) English menu and real bread and boneless chicken and cheese! We also went to a TCBY and a Pizza Hut.

And we went to the grocery section of the Friendship Store. This is a mythical place, previously known like Atlantis or Shangri-la, in persistant but unproven rumors.

There was bread. Cereal. Cheese. Not the Kraft singles that you can get at the Jiajiayue, either. Cheddar, edam, brie, gouda. It was amazing. I asked Zorro not to stand near me when I checked out, but he did and he’s still laughing about how much I spent. Only the embarrassment of being broke at my parents’ arrival next week stopped me from buying more.

In the airport, going home, security had never seen or heard of Nutella, and Zorro and my combined Chinese vocab was useless here. I really should learn to say “delicious spreadable chocolate hazelnut food”. Finally, they determined it wasn’t explosive or inflammable, and we were allowed to board our flight home.

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Cheddar, edam, brie, gouda