The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 80, No. 14, Ed. 1 Friday, December 4, 1992 Page: 11 of 20
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ARTS AND ENTERTAINMENT
THE RICE THRESHER FRIDAY, DECEMBER 4. 1992 11
Unleashed
All kinds of Clauses—Santa and Squeaky on the Klan and just the right toy
by Jeff Kuhr
Santa Gaus never came to my
house. See, I'm Jewish and if a large
man in a red suit with a white beard
came down my chimney on Christmas
Eve my dad would have probably
mistook him for a robber and Santa,
ho's and all, would have been shot.
Bang.
And although my mom never told
me stories about Jolly 01' St. Nick, my
friends always let me know what I
apparently was missing—things like
stocking stuffers and trimming the tree
and all those songs about joy and
mirth and peace and love and
livestock.
I had dreidel, dreidel, dreidel and
that festival of lights song. But that's
okay, I also had eight nights to be
festive and merry and wonder if my
mom was really joking about her mom
trimming the 01' Hanukkah bush.
So I was raised Jewish and proud,
not to hate anyone, and always curious
about the man with a beard who
played with elves. And I always told
myself that I would talk to Santa and
just ask him about life and happiness
and Mrs. Gaus if I ever got the
chance.
Well he was here in Houston on
Wednesday. At the Galleria. He's still
there. He's been there since Nov. 10.
Before Santa, I met Squeaky. He's
an elf.
"So Squeaky," I asked eying his
ears suspiciously. They were real.
"How long have you been, uh, an elf?"
"This is my second season," he
didn't squeak.
"Yeah, so you enjoy this?" I asked.
"Sure, it's kinda challenging trying
to get that smile on the kid's face.
Each one is different—you gotta be
Phoenix for two
I
"Everything Is good," Santa told Jeff Kuhr
able to read the kid's face," he told me
standing up straight and completely
serious. "That's where the challenge
comes in in being able to identify
which kids will respond. See, we got
different toys that we work with them
while I'm trying to bring them up. I
also make loud noises."
And then, the aisle way cleared and
I met Santa.
"So you're Santa?" I asked. He
nodded. "How long have you been
Santa?"
"All my life."
"You're the real one, huh?"
"Yes sir."
"Is it a little warm here in Houston
for you?"
"Oh yeah, a little warm," he said.
Santa sounded very nasal.
"You sick?" I
wanted to know,
backing up a little.
"Just a little cold,"
he inhaled loudly so I
could hear all the little
things that were
residing in his nose.
Good thing he
doesn't see like a
hundred kids a day.
Wouldn't want to get
them sick or anything.
"What's your
favorite thing in the
whole, wide world?" I
wanted to know.
"Mrs. Claus," he
told me winking that
wink. "You know,
though, there are also
other clauses like
prepositional clauses,
all kinds of clauses."
"Are they related
to you?"
"I'm sure they relate in some way.
Everything relates in some way, we're
all related in some way."
Deep Santa.
"So have you been a good Santa?"
I asked. He nodded that he had been
good. "So what exactly is bad?"
"I don't like to dwell on the bad,
you know, I'd rather dwell on the
good. What's good?"
I shook my head. I didn't know.
"Well, everything is good. There's
nothing bad. This is a good day. This
is a good place to sit The sun is out,"
he bobbed his body like he was some
kind of Weeble Wobble.
"What's the most beautiful thing
you've ever seen?"
"Mrs. Claus," he answered again.
"She's a little old now though."
Dim Sum custom: a Chinese version of brunch
by Jill Salomon
You may ask yourself: why review
an obscure Chinese restaurant with
dishes that are hardly recognizable,
much less pronounceable? After
sampling the ultimate salad bar and
gushing about greasy
Mexican food, it was
refreshing reviewing a
restaurant that cannot be
compared to Two Pesos
[though I'm glad you found
a way to mention it anyway,
—ed.].
Golden Palace in the
Chinatown district may be a
fine place for a Sunday night dinner.
However, the allure of the restaurant is
its fabulous dim sum.
For those of you who don't know,
dim sum is the Cantonese version of
brunch. It is only served in select
restaurants and is available only on
weekends, usually between 11 a.m.
and 1 p.m.
This is Chinese food for people
who are willing to experiment. In
other words, no lemon chicken here.
Waiters will bring you water or a very
exotic chrysanthemum tea (look inside
the pot for the flowers), but all the
food is wheeled around the dining
room on metal carts. When you see
something that looks appetizing, ask
for a dish of it The cart pusher will
mark off that dish on the little card at
your table.
Among the delicacies offered, we
tried phoenix claws, a rather mythical
name for good ole' fried chicken feeL
These buggers are rather difficult to
pick up with chop sticks and for me,
were extremely difficult to swallow.
One of my Chinese companions loves
this dish and promptly ate an entire
bowl. It's important to keep an open
mind; many Asians think the Western
custom of eating cheese is just as
disgusting.
After this initial shock, the food
started becoming more appealing. We
had pork dumplings, rice crepes filled
with shrimp or pork and spongy
pastries with a sweet pork filling.
Nothing was stir fried, nothing was
deep fried and nothing was vegetarian.
For dessert we tried a gelatinous
rice cake that was very white and very
sweet. We also ordered a firm pastry
filled with a sweet bean paste and
covered in sesame seeds. We tried a
similar pastry filled with almond paste.
As my Chinese companion ordered
everything for our otherwise inexperi-
enced table, she prudently skipped
over the tripe and anything else that
she couldn't think of the English name
for.
At this restaurant, having a Chinese
companion is not essential as we
noticed most of the staff spoke
English However, having a person hip
to the customs of dim sum with you
makes the whole experience more
enjoyable.
We learned a lot about the
ceremonies that accompany the meal,
most of which make it easier to chew
your food and communicate with those
around you at the same time. For
example, where you need more tea,
place the pot with the lid open at the
edge of your table.
When someone is pouring tea for
you (one person usually docs this for
the whole table) just tap your fingers
next to your cup instead of opening
your mouth to say thank you. Finally,
never rest your chopsticks half on your
plate and half on your table. Place
them entirely on your plate otherwise
you will invoke some kind of horrible
bad luck.
The four of us ate an enormous
amount of food and consumed gallons
of tea for just over $20 altogether. This
restaurant even has a big disco ball
hanging from the ceiling. Most
everyone there was Chinese but one or
two tables had non-Asian diners.
Don't be afraid to venture out to dim
sum just because you can't order in
Chinese; just come early to avoid the
lines.
Golden Palace Restaurant
8520 Bellaire, 776-8808
Dim sum served daily. 10 a.m.-3 p.m.
y- Yes! i
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"So this is a real beard and if I pull
on it it would hurt you, right?" I said
pulling on it. He winced. "Sorry."
"I see you got a little beard there,"
he observed.
"Yeah, I had one before," I told
him.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"It was okay. What does facial hair
do for you? I mean, have you ever
gone without the beard?"
He laughed that laugh. "Oh no. See
it creates this image," he shared.
"Does Mrs. Claus like it?"
"Oh yes, she's ticklish so it tickles
her you know in certain places," he
told me fingering his beard. "Are you
ticklish?"
"Yeah, a little—probably not in the
same places Mrs. Claus is," I said.
"No, you don't have the same
equipment"
Niceness.
Then a small child came running
up and gave Santa a big hug and then
sat on his lap. She looked so happy.
One of those kids whose eyes get so
big they look like they are going to
explode with happiness and one of
those smiles, one of those innocent
smiles. I watched Santa breathe on her.
"That has got to be a great feeling
that you get when you make these kids
smile like that," I said to Santa after
the child bounced away.
"So can parents be a problem?" I
asked him.
"Well they just don't know and
you can't tell them because they only
got one shot so they come up here and
throw their kid in my face and then the
kid cries," he told me, his gloved hand
clenched tightly together.
"Have you ever smacked a child?"
"No, no. I'm very nice. And the
public is always right—kids or adulLs.
You just gotta keep smiling, yes, yes.
And the old man who came down here
smoking cigars every day. Just keep
smiling, yes, yes. Because you gotta
be jovial and the public is always
right. But you get all kinds of kids.
The nice ones that come running up
and then the ones who stand in the
back and scream and holler."
"You ever been bitten?"
"Oh, no." Ho ho ho.
"Now what's up with this ho ho
ho? What is that?"
"Ho ho ho? Well that's a stereo-
type. Are you familiar with stereo-
types? That's what it is. Stereotypes
come from parents, from television.
Santa is supposed to ho ho ho, so I ho
ho ho." And he ho ho hoed.
And then with the Christmas
music, stale and familiar, still playing
and the elves still looking elfish, two
teenagers came up to visit Santa. This
was no Dylan and Brenda. No, one,
the boy, wore a Primus t-shirt with
YOU SUCK screaming off the back
and the other, the girl, had her ear
pierced eight times plus a nose ring.
She also wore a jean jacket, faded with
age, that had some kind of flag on the
back and a swastika right there in the
middle, starring at me.
Season's greetings.
"So you like coming to visit
Santa?" I asked her.
"Yeah, he's cool."
"You believe in Santa then?" I
wanted to know.
"No," she said. Santa started to cry
"I like talking to him," she told me.
"So what's the back of your jacket
mean?"
"C.H.S.? Confederate Hammer
Skins," she said dryly. "It's a group,
an organization. I have a card" she
explained pulling out her wallet that
was chained to her pocket She started
rifling through her small stack of
business cards, "This is the Klan, this
is the National Aryan Confederate
Soldiers, and this is Knights of the
White Robe," she told me proudly as if
they were baby pictures.
"What does that mean, Knights of
the White Robe?" I asked honestly.
"It's a branch of the Klan," she told
me.
"So what you, uh, support them?"
"Yeah, I support them," she looked
me in the eye.
"Kids used to be so nice, so
innocenL Now they support the Klan,
burn crosses," muttered Santa to an
imaginary elf.
"How did you get involved this?" I
asked her.
"It started with her rejecting
Santa," said Santa. He sounded hurt.
The girl laughed. She had pure,
green eyes and long, straight brown
hair. She was wearing maroon Doc
Martin boots.
"The way things are turned me into
what I am now—the schools I went to,
you know," she explained. "I believe
in separation. I don't believe we
should, like, kill everyone, but I
believe in racial separation. I mean
everyone is like talking about how
everyone is going to come together,
but that ain't gonna happen."
"So you're against blacks9"
She nodded.
"And that swastika?"
"See I'm not a Nazi because I don't
see Santa, pace 12
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Kim, Leezie & Carson, Chad. The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 80, No. 14, Ed. 1 Friday, December 4, 1992, newspaper, December 4, 1992; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth245827/m1/11/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Rice University Woodson Research Center.