This is how I come to find a topic to write about. I look at the things I've been doing with my life; should I talk about Netflix, Starfox, Tank You Very Much? Nope. Then I look to the news for some inspiration; The Croc Hunter died today which I'm really sad about. Not something I can really blog about. Then, once in a while, Father Routes will come to me and force me into something that is easily bloggable. This, my friends, is one of those times.
The day started out with a rude wake up call at 9 o'clock in the morn. Father Routes had heard about a Chinese Culture Festival in Arcadia on his grating Chinese radio station. For some reason, he was very compelled to go and also to drag his family along for the fun.
And so we went at 10 o'clock in the morn to a park in Arcadia. Nearly 100° F out and not three steps into the park, I start to see pit stains. Four more steps and the stains run down my back. You've never seen so many Chinese people, unless you've been to China. You should have seen the line of us walking from the parking lot to the park. It reminded me of a zomba line (conga line consisting of zombies); a legion of the undead with big visors covering their rotting faces marching single file across a busy street and into the festival.
Well, that's what it looked like at least. If the people attending weren't undead, the festival sure smelled like it was. I can't remember the last time I complained about the tofu people we lived next to. A refresher: our neighbors own a tofu shop behind our house and make that nasty stanky schtuff everyday and smell up the street. Anyway, that's what it smelled like at many of the booths. I can't believe they allow stuff like that to exist in the world.
So after walking around a while, I got hungry. For a Chinese festival, there sure wasn't any good food to eat. So we walked to a big Denny's shaped like a windmill. I had the great Grand Slam Deluxe. They were out of bacon, so I had 6 freakin' sausages!!!
After a long time, we walked back to the park and met up with Father Routes. Then I sat my ass down in the shade and played Nintendo DS till everyone was just about sick and tired of the non-events and we left.
It was the first time in years that I've put on sunblock. I just hate the stuff, you know? It's greasy and smelly and lotiony. I hate lotions. But I'm glad I put it on because I would have been burnt to a crisp had I not.
After we got home, I told Father Routes that I hope he had the time of a lifetime because this was the only time in his life he'd ever go to one of these (at least with the family). We all hated it. I really hope he enjoyed what he saw though. I'm sure he had a better vision in his mind about the event; like us mingling with the families, enjoying the dancing and demonstrations, appreciating the music. I honestly feel bad that all we did was bitch about the thing. I'll make it up to him one day, but I will never ever go to another culture crapfest again.
Oh, and if you were curious as to what the hell I was referring to when I said "Tank You Very Much"...
Tanking of cooler days,