I ate crocodile claw for dinner. Now I feel like a sinner. For all I know, I'd willingly hand myself over to PETA and be burned at the stake. If you've read this blog for quite some time, you'd know crocodiles are one of my most favorite animals in the world (along with rhinos and hippos and snakes and the capybara and the octopus). Shit, all this talk is making me feel sick. Maybe it's the crocodile, or whatever's left of the claw, talking.
But what the hell. It was my aunt's birthday dinner. You can't exactly blame her: She's not so young anymore (Patti LuPone's only a couple of years older than her), and she's as Chinese as Chinese can be. Yes, that includes siding with the motherland when it comes to Scarborough and Panatag debates, and rooting for the Chinese Olympians to conquer London by the end of the month. So crocodile claw is probably no more than just exotic fare for her, one that should be had during monumental celebrations. I'm not the least bit surprised. Last year, we had ostrich. And the year before, turtle soup, complete with carapace.
I wonder if next year, we can have some leopard stew or roasted leg of gnu.
We only have a week left for the cardiology module. The ginormous 200-item exam's next Friday. At this morning's preceptorials at the PGH Pediatrics ER, I saw my first TOF baby. The weather has been wild the past week. Based on satellite images, next week should bring an even wilder storm. Memries/ Like the corners of my mind/ Misty water-colored memries...
Since we are being oh-so-Chinese, look what I found in the suki DVD store last June.