Emperor Ricardo
I went to China a little while ago; first to Shanghai and then to Beijing. I was in town only a little over a week when they asked me to be Emperor. Sounded like a pretty good job, with a great benefits package. Lots of money, really fancy clothes, all the tea I could drink. Oh yeah: they said I could have many eunuchs and concubines to cater to my every whim. (I may have glossed over the concubines part when I told my wife Bevy about the job offer. )
Feeling flattered, I gave me being emperor some thought. Even tried out a few titles that my minions could call out as they bowed in awe before me (“Ricardo the First?” “Ricardo the Great?” “Ricardo the Wise?”) but none of them seemed to really fit.
Also, I don’t know much about concubines. From what I hear, a concubine is kind of like a girlfriend who does everything a wife does, except talk back. I'm pretty sure that Bevy wouldn’t go for me having even just one of those. I don’t think she’d mind the eunuchs though.
In the end I had to turn down the job. Politely, of course. They did hide their disappointment quite well, I must say. And so I did a little sightseeing instead.
I found that there's nothing subtle about Shanghai. It's a city of incredible contrasts: the most elegant beauty and grace, as well as buildings and streets once beautiful and one graceful, but no longer. People who are either incredibly friendly and welcoming, curious about where you come from...and old folks dressed in Mao jackets, frowning as they walked past apparently uninvited, unwanted visitors.
Within five minutes I saw two doting parents strolling hand-in-hand with their three year old between them, gaily chattering; and nearby a hard-eyed lady of the night, her hair dyed an improbable reddish brown and teased into a mane surrounding her globose face, looking over her shoulder with teeth exposed behind half snarling, half smiling lips.
Beijing, on the other hand, is more laid back; less in-your-face. The people there know it’s a capitol city of worldwide influence. And they have a reverence for the history embodied in its one- and two-thousand year old buildings. Not to mention a wall that is long enough to see from space. Even the traffic is less jumbled.
Walking along after work there one day, I saw two little old people, white haired, wizened skin, walking hand in hand and smiling at each other. She was no more than a bit over four feet; he was only slightly taller. They were dressed warmly against the cold. He had a little perch in his hand. On that perch, was a parakeet flitting back and forth, chirping little chirps. And that, for some reason, said “China” to me more than anything else I saw there.
I went to China a little while ago; first to Shanghai and then to Beijing. I was in town only a little over a week when they asked me to be Emperor. Sounded like a pretty good job, with a great benefits package. Lots of money, really fancy clothes, all the tea I could drink. Oh yeah: they said I could have many eunuchs and concubines to cater to my every whim. (I may have glossed over the concubines part when I told my wife Bevy about the job offer. )
Feeling flattered, I gave me being emperor some thought. Even tried out a few titles that my minions could call out as they bowed in awe before me (“Ricardo the First?” “Ricardo the Great?” “Ricardo the Wise?”) but none of them seemed to really fit.
Also, I don’t know much about concubines. From what I hear, a concubine is kind of like a girlfriend who does everything a wife does, except talk back. I'm pretty sure that Bevy wouldn’t go for me having even just one of those. I don’t think she’d mind the eunuchs though.
In the end I had to turn down the job. Politely, of course. They did hide their disappointment quite well, I must say. And so I did a little sightseeing instead.
I found that there's nothing subtle about Shanghai. It's a city of incredible contrasts: the most elegant beauty and grace, as well as buildings and streets once beautiful and one graceful, but no longer. People who are either incredibly friendly and welcoming, curious about where you come from...and old folks dressed in Mao jackets, frowning as they walked past apparently uninvited, unwanted visitors.
Within five minutes I saw two doting parents strolling hand-in-hand with their three year old between them, gaily chattering; and nearby a hard-eyed lady of the night, her hair dyed an improbable reddish brown and teased into a mane surrounding her globose face, looking over her shoulder with teeth exposed behind half snarling, half smiling lips.
Beijing, on the other hand, is more laid back; less in-your-face. The people there know it’s a capitol city of worldwide influence. And they have a reverence for the history embodied in its one- and two-thousand year old buildings. Not to mention a wall that is long enough to see from space. Even the traffic is less jumbled.
Walking along after work there one day, I saw two little old people, white haired, wizened skin, walking hand in hand and smiling at each other. She was no more than a bit over four feet; he was only slightly taller. They were dressed warmly against the cold. He had a little perch in his hand. On that perch, was a parakeet flitting back and forth, chirping little chirps. And that, for some reason, said “China” to me more than anything else I saw there.
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