Unbelievable

“Did you see the debate last night?  All that stuff he said? Rosie O’Donnell!”

This is hilarious. I can’t wait to see what else is coming.

“Did you see his “Low Energy” commercial on Twitter? So funny. I can’t wait for more debates.”

“He made fun of Rand Paul. He teased Carly Fiorina about her appearance. He just says and does whatever; guy does not give a fuck!”

I can’t believe he’s saying all this stuff on national television. 

“He said what about John McCain?”

Damn, this is probably where it ends. Same as Al Sharpton and Herman Cain. Thanks for playing. 

“Can you believe he’s still winning? I just wonder who it’ll actually be once this is all over.”

Hopefully Marco! Better than the rest! Not Christie, not Cruz, definitely not Kasich. 

“What if he actually won the primary? Imagine!”

Lol. 

“That’s it, he lost Iowa. Wow I’ve never seen him so conciliatory. Surprising.”

I’m low-key disappointed. I wanted this show to continue, it’s so funny to talk about at work every day. Well, it always had to end sometime. 

“He did what in New Hampshire?”

Good lord, Marco got 5th?

“I cannot believe he keeps winning state after state.”

If it’s not Marco, then it’s Ted. Those are the only realistic options. 

“This debate is pathetic. Imagine people in foreign countries watching this. It’s embarrassing.”

Marco and Ted keep splitting votes. But one of them has to win. Guess it’s gonna be Ted. Geezus. 

“Aunt Chris, you work for a Congressman, you always have the inside scoop. Who’s gonna be the nominee? Wait. What? Actually? Seriously? I still just can’t imagine it.”

Perspective shift. This is getting real. We are squandering such a great opportunity. She is so beatable and we’re going to roll over and die with the ex-Apprentice host?  She’ll win by 10 points. 

“Dude did you see? He won Wisconsin. Ted is about to announce he’s dropping.”

What?! This doesn’t feel real. This hasn’t sunk in. How??

“He’s revealing his nickname for her tomorrow.  Buckle up.”

He’s so blatant about making fun of people. A master manipulator. There’s no way this stuff actually works….right?

“He’s riding a post-convention poll boost.  Wait, he said what about the Khans? I know them! Their son was in UVA ROTC, they hosted us at their house every semester. Look, Mr. Khan is on CNN!”

This has been funny and all, but this makes me sick. He is spineless.

“Did you see the debate last night? He’s so full of shit, every answer is so superficial. Remember when he said ‘You’d be in jail’? Unbelievable, he just does not care. Hilarious.”

People must be seeing the contrast. It’s so entertaining but people have got to realize, I would imagine. 

“Did you hear what he said? An old tape, 2005. Oh my God. I mean, he’ll probably drop out. Pence? Cruz? Paul Ryan just condemned him.”

It’s over. That’s it. What an idiot. But I’m not even surprised.

“Nikita, why are you so stressed about tomorrow? You shouldn’t be. She is going to win. It’s that simple. She already won.”

FiveThirtyEight is back up to 75% for her, even though they dipped down to 68 last week. Whatever, there’s no way.

“4:45pm PT? I gotta go quickly. By the time I get home and everyone comes over, Florida will probably be called and that’ll be it.”

I hope they don’t call it too soon. Let us enjoy the night first.

“Florida still hasn’t been called. Wait, turn it up, Wolfe has an update. What? Florida, North Carolina, Ohio, Virginia?  Wisconsin, New Hampshire, and Michigan?! What??!!”

For the first time in 18 months, I actually believe, deep down, the unthinkably impossible might occur. 

“NYT has him up to 54%! Wait, now it’s 77%.  91%?!”

What?! How, what, no, there’s no way this is real life, what?!

“They’re waiting on Philly, but she’d still have to come back in Wisco and Michigan.”

“She called him to concede!?! Check CNN. He’s about to speak. This is un-believable.”

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever did I think this was possible. We would joke about it and laugh about shit he said but I am stunned. Floored. This is the most shocking event to occur in my lifetime. This doesn’t even feel real. It’s like we’re in the wrong parallel universe. This one hilarious, offensive, unserious, unintelligent, bombastic blowhard singlehandedly altered the course of the universe with some Tweets. 

“Siri, search Google for books on Determinism.”

So Unfair

Jason didn’t care. So some guy took some dirt and mushed it around and set it on fire a few thousand years ago and now he was supposed to do what? Look at it? And then what? 

There would be no Frisbee this afternoon, no inside jokes, no searing hot sand on the bottom of your feet that burns real bad before you get used to it.  No icy rebirth via wave, no tunes on the beach as the sun dipped low, no chatting up the Long Beach Poly girls, maybe get a number.  The joys of a summer Saturday afternoon had been traded for this white-walled prison.

“Watch out Jason!” Dad’s yank of his arm helped him barely dodge a saree-clad woman in a wheelchair. 

“If you’d get off that thing and look up you won’t run people over.” Jason’s eyes reflexively rolled.  

“Now come on, this is the exhibit I wanted you to see.”

Jason made it fewer than ten steps before sliding his hand into his pocket, greeted by the calming feel of glass and metal. A quick glance and series of thumb depression brought the familiar rush of soothing chemicals coursing through brain. A scroll of Instagram posts. Seen them. What about Stories?  A few flicks through Jack’s story confirmed the youthful joys his Dad had robbed from him: beach volleyball, tropical house beats, a dilly-dilly toast. And the Poly girls had shown up! Megan, Carly, a cute brunette he didn’t know but very much would like to. Relief gone, replaced by self-sorry pangs of regret.

 The unfairness of it all! Jason stewed in the injustice of his situation. Why am I here, why aren’t I there?

“Dad! Why did you drag me here! All the guys are hanging out at Ocean Park today except for me.” 

“Relax Jason, there will be other afternoons. Check out these old coins.”

“No one else’s parents take them to look at art on a Saturday! My life is so unfair.”

Dad whirled around and sized up his son. “Jason – go take a lap around this floor and actually look at the artwork instead of that five inch piece of glass. Think about who created this and why. I want to broaden your perspective. You need it.”

“Whatever.” Jason stomped off. As Dad browsed, Jason took an escalator down, crossed the street, and found a Mediterranean place with the Dodgers game on in Spanish. He half watched Kershaw deal heat as he simmered in self-pity. 

Dad kept browsing. From the Teotihuacan sun pyramid display, across the hall to a smaller exhibit on carvings from Panama. A colorful oblong mask was displayed next to several stone figurines wearing rudimentary yet profound expressions, their secret knowledge frozen in time. They were accompanied by a placard: Panamanian society in 1100 BC was rigid, decided at birth. The social hierarchy included noblemen, merchants, peasants, and slaves…

Jason sent his shawarma back after one bite. The tzatziki sauce tasted like shit. 

Paper Key

Blegh! Smell and taste collide in disgust as my spoon hand jerks to a stop. I pull back and inspect the stained rice my teachers ordered for me. A sniff confirms my suspicion. Zenme shuo…vinegar?” Two bottles of dark liquid rest on the table. I bet it all on soy sauce and came up empty. “I’ll be back,” I mutter as I rise from a tiny orange stool they would welcome in Lilliput. 

Up to the counter. The cashier’s eyes stare blankly up at me, widening slightly at my appearance and height. Deep breath. Ok, here we go.  “Uh, wo…[quiero…? No!] Wo de shenme..…zenme shuo…..” Blank. The girl shyly smiles, then laughs. I’m jetlagged and hungry with a long day ahead. I would very, very much like a fresh bowl of rice that won’t explode if mixed with baking soda. And I absolutely, definitively cannot convey this request. Another glance at the line. My foreigner novelty clock has expired. I depart in defeat. A few sour spoonfuls and a hungry afternoon will have to do. 

Chinese class is beyond challenging. Four hours of whirlwind instruction in the morning, four hours of homework in the evening, and a whole hour of on-on-one conversation with my teacher after lunch, in a language I don’t speak. I draw lots of picture. 

Our first Friday we visit a high school. Hundreds of parents are crowded outside, waiting to meet their only children after class releases. Our cultural mission: talk with them. We all know we’re not ready, but after some awkward staring, I timidly engage. Their responses could break the sound barrier: “We………….daughter.............thank you……… student……...I……..” I’m furiously listening and wholly unsuccessful. I just can’t understand.  

Two weeks in we take our first trip. A noisy bus ride to Hangzhou, population Belgium. Halfway there we stop at a roadside park to stretch. In one store a paper fan catches my eye. I grab it and approach the shop owner, a plump lady with six teeth and a dazzling smile. Hello, comes my Chinese. She responds. I want to buy fan. How much? She replies. 10 kuai. Two spare coins, transaction completed. Thank you. But hang on one second. Where are you from ma’am? Shanghai, she answers. She returns the question, and magically, what’s she’s asking is clear. I come from Washington, DC. She knows it! We continue. I learn she has a child who is 27 years old. She learns I have two siblings, a Mom, and a Dad. She likes living near Hangzhou; I like visiting China. Meaning communicated. Connection made. In Chinese!

I leave the shop beaming with the distinct joy of utilized language. My walk turns into a sprint for the bus, impossible excitement bursting from inside as I realize what has happened.

“I just spoke Chinese!” Nice. “No you don’t get it. She understood me. And I understood her! Her daughter is 27 years old!” My excitable nature unleashed, I gush to any classmate who will listen. 

As the bus bounces along the highway, I replay and savor my humble conversation. My linguistic impasse has melted. Hearts has been broken. This simple item has shepherded me across an invisible threshold into a new world of possibility. All the future encounters with locals – late night rants with blue-collar cabbies, an hour conversation with the finance girl, language partners, return trips, Skype tutors, YouTube videos….all that will come, later, by way of this moment. For now, I’ve conversed in Chinese.