My Japanese mom, Miss Sue, called last night to mother me. She immediately wanted to know how much I spent on my BCS ticket. When I declined to tell—what am I, stupid?—she berated me anyway for spending too much. I wouldn't have thought a non-relative capable of that.
Talk turned to the weather, and she complained that near her house, the city had plowed a steep hill, leaving an exposed sheet of ice with which she could not deal.
"My god," I said. "The carnage! Don't they realize how many Asian drivers there are in that neighborhood?"
"Old Asian drivers," Sue corrected.
While I'm doing my part for race relations...you ever wonder how Asian restaurants get away with hiring only Asians? These are the things I think about when a Chinese chick in a geisha robe brings me my bento box.