Last night I watched a commercial on Gawker. There was no mystery to it. I knew exactly what’s going to happen. And still, by the end of it, trying not to cry, all I wanted to do was call my mommy. Which is what I did, and it took her about 3 seconds to kill the sappy clenching in my heart. Oh good. Just in time for Thanksgiving. It’s Mid-Autumn Festival tomorrow.
Have you ever tried a moon cake? Moon cake is not my favourite Chinese pastry. But when we were kids, they used to tell us that secret messages were hidden in moon cakes – little notes that could change the world, inspire revolutions. A moon cake letter is not like what you find in a fortune cookie. Fortune cookies predict the future. Moon cakes give it to you right now. Like, Little Joe down the street has a crush on you, go talk to him. Or Little Gee upstairs stole all the flowers, go get them back and slap her in the ass. The army is assembling in the field. Pick up your weapon and join the fight.
I still can’t resist breaking open a moon cake and looking for instruction, even though it’s happened to me only once and that time the message sucked. It was 1980. I was 7 years old. The paper was yellow, folded in a square, and there were 3 characters written in Chinese. I can’t read much Chinese. So I took it to ma for a translation:
Do your homework.
I’m about to turn 40. It’s Mid-Autumn Festival again, and the Squawking Chicken is still telling me to do my homework. When I rang her last night after the commercial, she asked me why I was watching commercials when I have a deadline to meet and since we’re having family dinner on Thursday night to celebrate the holiday, if I have to cut out early because I haven’t finished yet, I’ll spoil it for everyone.
Happy Mid-Autumn Festival! Oh and by the way, Mid-Autumn Festival – with the full, pregnant moon – is a great time to hook up. Go with your fertility.
Yours in gossip,