Friday, January 13, 2006


I need to know Chinese. Haven't decided on whether to learn Mandarin, Gan, Huainan, Jin, Kejia, Min, Pinghua, Wu, Xiang or Cantonese in particular. What do they speak downtown? Where do the majority of New York Chinese come from? What about Flushing? Anyway, print publishing sucks, and the New York Times will never let me anywhere near the building in my present shape of career dishevelment. I figure that fluency in Chinese will make me an asset to any workplace looking to compete on a global marketplace, and other "Apprentice"-type meaningless aphorisms.

More the the point, it will make me more likeable as a person, in social situations. Break it down:

Person A: "Hello, party-goer."

Me: "Greetings, fellow mirth-enjoyer."

Person A: "I couldn't help but notice how much your stand apart from the rest of the revelers at this function."

Me: "Why is that?"

Person A: "Your burnished personal charm, owing to being fluent in a so-called 'exotic' Sinitic dialect."

Me: "Thank you."

Person A: "You're welcome."

My horizons will now be enormous, along with the potential for total, spiritual consciousness. Gunga galunga... gunga, gunga-galunga.