Posted from: Beijing
“So then you just pull this card, which allows you to draw your dual-lands back from the graveyard, one-two-three, and BLAM, you tap all your creatures and swing for…”
Russel’s explanation of his new Magic: The Gathering strategy is drowned out by a series of explosions outside. He talks through them, and I miss the part about the Five-Mana-for-a-5/5-creature.
Sounds like rapid firing, landmines, shrapnel. White flashes, like combustible welding, strobe light across the window.
It’s Chinese New Year.
I lunge for a sudden itch on my shoulder blade. “I’m getting some coffee,” I say. “Wanna come?”
“Why not? Won’t sleep for the next week, anyway.”
Some kid shoots a roman candle through the burglar bars.
After Christmas, I find myself just about done with festivals and revelry. Not so for Beijingers, who have been gabbling at a higher WPM than normal for the last month about the government’s decision to lift the ban on firecrackers within the city limit this New Year.
When I was about 10, I decided I need to make a break from parentally-inflicted whole-wheat sandwiches and organic apple juice with the pulp still in it, and I learned to quote some brilliant quip from my health and fitness textbook. “Sugar is to your body like grains of sand are to a bicycle chain,” I told my mom, lobbying to earn the right to plan my own meals. There was a squabble, but in the end I got my way.
I lost my way again approximately one week, 10 pounds, and 7 lunches of fruit roll-ups and candy corn later. I was back on a nutritionally balanced diet, choking down five servings of fresh fruits and vegetables a day before you could say Eating Disorder. Moral of the story: abuse your privileges, my mom will whip your ass back on the road to righteousness, smiling scarily.
Russel and I would take care of that ourselves, but we’re either drinking coffee or writing about the last time we were drinking coffee. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.
So yeah, coffee. Russel and I crouch on the either side of the front door waiting for a lull in the violence. I count silently, holding up fingers, and scream back over my shoulder for Russel to cover me.
Later, I complete my action-movie repertoire by urgently indicating “We’ve got company”, and then resignedly muttering, “I’m too old for this shit.”
Kendra and Russel: Destination, unknown. Status: Critical. Mission: Happy Lunar New Year, everyone.
