step into the time machine and check out what the Unreliable Narrator is doing 10 years from now.
U Can’t Touch This.
now, maybe this speaks more to my generation than the Unreliable Narrator’s. because i feel dancerboy, ya know? there he is, tootsie rolling and moonwalking like his life depends on it, practicing for the “So You Think You Can Dance? Hunan Edition,” and moms in the background is knitting. i mean, she is giving him NO LOVE whatsoever.
and homie’s busting all the moves he’s got–fogging up his glasses, for pete’s sake! and there is just no love from the peanut gallery.
there, in a nutshell, is the eternal heartbreak of the artist yearning to break free from his mundane chinese existence.
so when he sweeps “SYTYCD?: Hunan Edition,” who’ll be claiming she taught him everything he knows? crocheted a thousand and one reggae beanies sold from tables set up on the sidewalks of flushing to fund his dream? forced him to practice every day and post his workouts to youtube for global critique? sewed him umpteen million hareem pants in different patterns and colors? moms, that’s who.
note to self: when the Unreliable Narrator wants to bust some moves for me, PUT MY KNITTING DOWN, at least.