This time of the year again makes me homesick for my little pad near Chinatown in Seattle. I'd wake up to the sound of firecrackers and walk down the hill, smelling gunpowder in the air. Eventually the clanging would catch my ears and I'd find the lion dancers going in and out of the shops, playing with each other and catching cabbages in their mouths. I'd stand watching them stand on each other's shoulders and just generally have a good time and then usually grab a bowl of congee once I'd gotten cold (and deaf) enough to need a break. Ah. Thems was the days.
I, however, am at work, and while I could leave whenever I want, my slow accelleration makes me loathe to split and look like I've been unproductive. So, giving up on going, I can say that I personally will be celebrating the year of the rat tonight with Chita Rivera, who isn't Chinese but is a legend, though not of the white fox variety.