I am officially over my cold. I haven't needed a kleenex all day, so I'm declaring myself well. Just in time, too, as I had a very important date this evening with Sei Shonagon (listed in People as one of the top celebrities of 999! Leif Ericsson was probably jealous!) and Michael Rawdon (not named after anybody famous!) to view the Mutts exhibit at the Cartoon Art Museum in downtown San Francisco. It was a small exhibit, but it came with its very own dog. Ruby was a representative of the SPCA, I believe. She shamelessly mugged for attention and got tons of petting from everyone standing in the slow moving autograph line. I regretted not bringing one of my Mutts books to be autographed when I saw Patrick McDonnell was drawing little Earl and Mooch faces along with his signature. But I'm shy of asking for such things, I don't really know why. Probably a touch of hero worship.
And the Chou En-lai backlash continues! I've been teased mercilessly about my chiding those unfortunate enough to admit they didn't know who he was, but that's what I expect from any entry that ends with such a pompous comment. I really was astonished, though, at how obscure Chou En-lai is. Either I had an exceptionally well-rounded college education, or else I paid more attention to Asian and American history than most of the survey takers. I never expected people to treat the opening up of the PRC to western contact after decades of communist isolation as ancient or irrelevant history. The delicate process is still going on even now, as many of last month's protesters at the World Trade Organization meeting in Seattle could attest. It's living history.
So that's you lot sorted. But here, you want a chance to get back at me? Take Molly Zero's poll on basic Canadian political history. To my shame, I could only manage five of the answers. The rest elicited sheer guesswork or a big ol' blank stare. I'll be the first to admit I operate on a Need-To-Know basis of fact memorization. I needed to know who Chou En-lai was to pass my Western Civ. class; I've never needed to know who the first Prime Minister of Canada was.
I didn't ask if Michael or Sei knew, so they may yet show me up. The evening ended too soon, but we had a dog to be walked and Sei had shopping to do, so I bid her a reluctant farewell with a fervent promise to come over and eat fried shrimp from her new deep fat fryer very soon. On the ride home we forced the affable Michael to listen to the broadcast of the Stanford-Penn State NCAA womens volleyball final. Alas, Penn State was unstoppable, and our gals never came close to winning a game. Back home, we looked online in vain for a listing of streets with really amazing Christmas decorations. Our desire to drive down Christmas Tree Lane was thwarted, so Michael went home and I promptly lost myself in a Sister Frevisse mystery from which I did not emerge until 2am to find the house cold and dark, and John long since in bed.
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