There's a nice pitter-patter of rain outside and a radiator under my bed, but I can't sleep despite it. (I know there are those of you who think I get up this early normally, but that was only for a 2-week stint during second year when I was experimenting with 'alternative' study tactics brought on by too-much-math stress.) Who knew -- not only does alcohol make me sleepy, but that rum and Pepsi (inferior to the rum and Coke, of course) I had seems to also keep me awake at ungodly hours. For this, I blame Dan for not drinking more hot toddies and leaving an almost-full flask of rum on his kitchen table. But who needs sleep? I figured I'd do the trendy 2003 web thing and blog instead.
As a complete surprise to me, my shoes have secret superpowers previously unbeknownst to me. I already knew they were great at bleeding red leather dye over my white socks during a downpour, but it also turns out that they have tab-attracting properties -- tab-waitress-attracting properties, to be precise. Normally I'd be flattered, but having a Mandarin-speaking waitress accost you while your mouth's stuffed with yam tempura sushi rolls -- a mark of E Bei's latent genius, and second only to their gomaae rolls -- kind of highlights my lack of social graces and fluency in Mandarin. (My mother translating kind of puts a dent in the ego too, though having her talk about how great my shoes are is an unusual and pleasant experience no matter the circumstances.) We seemed to hit a snag at the part where I tried to explain that Winner's isn't a specialty shoe store ("more like the Bay...do you know about the Bay? The Bbbaaaayyy!") and eventually sent her away with the half-baked notion that I got it from some shoestore-like place at Robson and Granville.
And I didn't even get my futomaki, after all that.
As a complete surprise to me, my shoes have secret superpowers previously unbeknownst to me. I already knew they were great at bleeding red leather dye over my white socks during a downpour, but it also turns out that they have tab-attracting properties -- tab-waitress-attracting properties, to be precise. Normally I'd be flattered, but having a Mandarin-speaking waitress accost you while your mouth's stuffed with yam tempura sushi rolls -- a mark of E Bei's latent genius, and second only to their gomaae rolls -- kind of highlights my lack of social graces and fluency in Mandarin. (My mother translating kind of puts a dent in the ego too, though having her talk about how great my shoes are is an unusual and pleasant experience no matter the circumstances.) We seemed to hit a snag at the part where I tried to explain that Winner's isn't a specialty shoe store ("more like the Bay...do you know about the Bay? The Bbbaaaayyy!") and eventually sent her away with the half-baked notion that I got it from some shoestore-like place at Robson and Granville.
And I didn't even get my futomaki, after all that.
