ZOT IN THE CITY: Every phone call puts a smile on my face, every weekend brings excitement to the end of a long work-week, every moment usually spent arguing is now spent laughing. No, this is not the honeymoon stage of a fleeting, fanciful relationship: this is loving long-distance.
One of my most vivid memories of my trip to Karachi, Pakistan last summer, my first visit in 14 years, was simply getting out of the airport. With a whoosh of the airport's sliding doors, my brother, grandmother and I were hit with a wave of hot, humid air, throngs of flies, cars constantly honking and a crowd of people that packed the whole entryway of the airport, talking and yelling.
Jet lag often gives me the opportunity to see Shanghai bright and early at 5:30 a.m. Urban living consists of scattered family members still dressed in cartoon animal pajamas sitting on small plastic chairs, slurping their breakfast noodles over worn wooden tables, as well as people emptying their chamber pots into public toilets.
Recently, I came across an interesting piece of graffiti artwork in a Langson Library bathroom. It read, "Honey, why are you writing on bathroom walls? I didn't pay $30,000 a year for this! Get back to work! Love, mom. P.S. Call me often. P.P.S. Clean up your room!"
Nobody likes a sore loser. And perhaps a sore winner is even worse. If a cocky victor or a whiny newbie pushes your buttons, then maybe you should consider the sport of chess boxing. It's intellectual, you get to beat the snot out of your opponent and take some bitter pleasure in it if he's a whiny loser. If you suck at chess, you can win by moving your fist to his kisser.
