Leapdragon 2016 - Aron Hsiao Was Here

Duracell x4  §

Heh… some of these entries are rotting and need to be thrown out. The last one begins to ripen already.

From time to time I am startled to look at someone I know very well, to measure their mannerisms and find with a kind of shock that they are really very… American, for lack of a better word. No intended disparagment here, just a nagging sense that I am not. I suppose it’s the multicultural family thing. My father is definitely not a hot-dog-and-bleachers man, and my mother is, though she’d protest the accusation, really more a European than an American in most deep ways.

Really, I don’t get these Americans. More specifically, I have a lot of trouble partying with them. When I decide to party, it generally means I’d like to relax, enjoy some nice, challenging conversation, maybe a drink and a nice view, and at some point laugh along with everyone else in the room at something or other. When Americans decide to party, it invariably seems that something — either the food they ate for dinner, the clothes they put on just before they went out, or an arsenal of medium-range weapons — must go flying everywhere. This is the American idea of fun, and without it they seem unable to feel themselves to be adequately social beings.

I think it’s just beyond the radio range of my enculturation to suss this out. I think UK’ers party in much the same way, only my impression is that they’re less big on the bombs when it comes time to tie one on. I suppose this makes me like them better, but only a little. The French, on the other hand, are too sensual, the Germans a bit too heavy on the clothes-chucking as well. Who do I identify with, party-wise?

Strange as it feels to say it (though I don’t know why it should be), I think I party like a Chinese. Dear god, there’s a thought. “Party like a Chinese?!”

What the hell can that even mean? It makes my head swim.