ah chinatown. where there will always be a happy chef beaming as he pushes a bowl of noodles and wontons towards you. where you will be elbowed by chinese grannies down in the markets, but it will all be made better with a $1.20 bagful of deep red tomatoes and a $1.50 fourpack of corn. and just for today, a pride of gold and silver lions roaming the streets, pulling lettuces off shop awnings, tossing their large felty-tinsely heads at passers-by.

in recent years, this question has surfaced each time chinese new year rolls around: why, amongst the piano lessons and maths tuition classes, did my mother not insist i also attend lion dance practice? now, standing on street corners in the presence of these magical beasts in their kung fu shoes, surrounded by the support team of drummers, cymbalists, pole bearers and other big sweaty dudes, i feel a sense of exhiliration, and yearning.

i too could run free like these lions, no?

running away and joining a lion dance troupe is my new second tier new year’s resolution. ahead in the list:
– draw
– draw comics
– read books
– watch less crap tv
– get back to yoga
– see friends
– be nicer
– cook meat