I saw this thing years ago, where somebody filled a gymnasium with ping-pong balls and mousetraps. And then somebody threw just one more ping-pong ball in there, and literally, in five seconds, the room was popping. And then it was dead. And that's how it was with 'Dallas.' Just... 'boom!'
'Freaky Friday' was really fun. They had a ping-pong table on set because Jamie Lee Curtis is really good at ping-pong. She's awesome at it. And they had a tournament, and we would play during filming. Whoever won the tournament would get to keep the table. I think it was Jamie who kept it.
I would not employ an author to referee a Ping-Pong match. By their very nature they are biased and bloody-minded. Better put a fox in a henhouse than to ask an author to judge his peers. (in a letter to the Governor General about the GA's Literary Awards & his issue-among others-with the judging system, 1981)
I remember as a kid seeing Pong in a pizza place where I grew up in Oxnard, California, and having my mind blown by it. I thought it was a TV. I thought it was just something playing on a television. But then to be able to manipulate the paddle, and the ball with the knob was, in those days, pretty huge to a little kid! It was a simpler time.
It is a fact of life that people give dinner parties, and when they invite you, you have to turn around and invite them back. Often they retaliate by inviting you again, and you must then extend another invitation. Back and forth you go, like Ping-Pong balls, and what you end up with is called social life.
We sailed to Italy on the Andrea Doria, a year before it sank, and Zoot (Sims) and I played a lot of ping-pong on deck during that trip. Zoot sparked that [Gerry Mulligan's] sextet in an extraordinary way, soloing with joyous abandon and infusing the ensemble parts with his special brand of swing.
The two sports are as different as Ping-Pong and rugby. In boxing, you don't know what's going to happen. In wrestling, it's already prearranged. But the thing I didn't know about wrestling is that you really get hurt. Because, you know, you're wrestling in front of a live audience, and you end up doing things like jumps or slams, and 40 percent of the time you don't land right.
I can't remember the moment I was labeled bitch for the first time, but it sure wasn't in the blogosphere of 2008. It was well before the blogosphere, let alone the World Wide Web, existed. The first time I was called a bitch, the home computer of choice was a Vic 20, capable of playing Pong and calculating to eight decimal points but not much else.
As sneakily addictive as a game of Pong (which was named, we're told, after the narrator's dad), this zany zip-line of a novel takes the piss out of the Asian-American 'good immigrant' story. Full of charming antiheroes making comically bad choices, the story dazzles us with its absurdity, which makes its eventual wisdom-about lineage, ethnicity, and the meaning of family-all the more wonderfully surprising.
Ping-pong was invented on the dining tables of England in the 19th century, and it was called Wiff-waff! And there, I think, you have the difference between us and the rest of the world. Other nations, the French, looked at a dining table and saw an opportunity to have dinner; we looked at it an saw an opportunity to play Wiff-waff.
What about my patterns of denial, you ask? Well, you will soon read that once I found myself in repose, in Bordirtoun, for an extended period, certain truths about my character began to assert themselves. Truths I had long ignored, and soon, I would find myself deeper, embedded. You will find that I am similarly skilled at this Pong-ian art of denial. After all, I was the one who came halfway around the world, assuming that my father was telling the truth, knowing full well that he was a world-class liar and cheat.
I was bored at college, so I put $10 in a jukebox in this place where people played ping-pong and pool. I put in $10 of 'Jingle Bell Rock,' and this was back in the '90s, so it played 'Jingle Bell Rock,' like, 40 times in a row. It was just really fun to watch because after the fourth time, people were just losing-their-minds angry.
Ano pong ibig sabihin nitong preventive detention? The meaning of preventive detention is Mr. Marcos thinks that next month, you will commit a crime, he can now order you arrested so you will not be able to commit your crime. Anong klaseng batas iyan? Iniisip mo pa lang eh nabilanggo ka na eh. Aba'y hayop kako itong batas na ito. Eh kung totoo ito, eh lahat ng lalaking diborsyado na nag-iisip pa lang magliligaw, patay na sa asawa.
Girls with their legs crossed, girls with their legs not crossed, girls with terrific legs, girls with lousy legs, girls that looked like swell girls, girls that looked like they'd be bitches if you knew them... You figured most of them would probably marry dopey guys. Guys that always talk about how many miles they get to a gallon in their goddam cars. Guys that get sore and childish as hell if you beat them at golf, or even just some stupid game like ping-pong. Guys that are very mean. Guys that never read books. Guys that are very boring.
After all, we were young. We were fourteen and fifteen, scornful of childhood, remote from the world of stern and ludicrous adults. We were bored, we were restless, we longed to be seized by any whim or passion and follow it to the farthest reaches of our natures. We wanted to live - to die - to burst into flame - to be transformed into angels or explosions. Only the mundane offended us, as if we secretly feared it was our destiny. By late afternoon our muscles ached, our eyelids grew heavy with obscure desires. And so we dreamed and did nothing, for what was there to do, played ping-pong and went to the beach, loafed in backyards, slept late into the morning - and always we craved adventures so extreme we could never imagine them. In the long dusks of summer we walked the suburban streets through scents of maple and cut grass, waiting for something to happen.
NIGGA I'M SHARPER THAN THE TEETH ON JAWS ON THE 16 BARS, I'M HARDER THAN CARDINAL JONES SMASH REBEL ON THE TRACK LIKE PING PONG BALLS THROUGH COUPE WITH YO BOOT DOING LOOPS IN THE COUP WITH NO ROOF YOU SAID I GOT BRAIN FROM YOUR DAME IN THE RANGE IN THE PASSING LANE BUT YOU REALLY AIN'T GOT NO PROOF GET THE FUCK FROM THE FRONT OF MY JAG DON'T LET A NIGGA HANDLE ME BAD TAKE ME AWAY FROM MY PLAQUES, STOP ME FROM GETTING MY CASH BROKE BITCHES AIN'T GON LAST THESE GETTING MONEY NIGGAS GON WIN YOU MUST BE PAKING ON UP IF THE FUCK YOU AIN'T DIGGING ON ANY WHAT THE FUCK? YOU AIN'T DRINKIN NO GIN? SHIT YOU AIN'T SPECCING NO SKINS WHEN YOU HIT THE BITCH I'M ALWAYS GON GRIN NO WONDER HE'S ALL MAD DEAD BRAGGING LIKE THAT YOU WRONG YEAH MOTHERFUCKER WE ON BITCH I CAN GET HER TO PLAY MY SONG AND WATCH HER POP IT LIKE THAT IN THE THONG WHEN I'M REPPING I BE CLACKING THAT CHROME LIKE 16 SHOTS TO THE DON MY NIGGA MY BABY GOT DAYCARE YEA NIGGA THAT MEAN MY MONEY GROWN BITCH YOU WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE, NIGGAS WON'T CATCH ME AT HOME TIME TO GO RING THE ALARM I'M AHEAD OF MY BIZNESS I'M GONE.
IT GO WEED, COKE, DRANK, MOLLY LONNIE HAD SHOTS BEING TAKEN OFF HER BODY DJ ROCK AND EVERYBODY SING ALONG BRO DUDES IN THE YARD GOIN' HARD ON BEER PONG SHE A THONG SHOWIN' BIG BLUNT SMOKIN' BILLY FEEL SICK SITTIN' BY THE WINDOW OPEN NOW CHUNKS BLOWIN', HAD TOO MUCH JAEGER HIPSTERS ACTIN' COOL LIKE THE POSIN' FOR THE FADER IN THE KITCHEN LISTEN' TO A COUPLE NOT JELLIN' HIS GIRL GOT JEALOUS NOW THEY BOTH MAD YELLIN' SHE STARTS CRYIN' WANTIN' TO KNOW WHERE THE STAIRS AT HER SISTER'S IN THE BATHROOM GETTIN' FUCKED BAREBACK TOMMY LOOKIN' AT HER LIKE, "I'M BANGIN' A WHORE" A LINE STARTS TO FORM, THEY BANGIN' AT THE DOOR THE NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR DARE SLEEP NOW HE IS PISSED HANGIN' OUT THE WINDOW, SHAKIN' HIS FIST GIRLS ALL DANCIN' SHAKIN' THEIR HIPS A FIGHT BROKE OUT, SOME GUY'S BREAKIN' HIS FIST 40 BOTTLES CRUSHED AND THROWN OFF THE ROOF SHOTS IN THE LIVING ROOM WE ALL SAY "SALUTE" THE GROUND COVERED WITH BLUNT GUTS, BEER AND PUKE COPS PULLED UP SO WE HAD TO FLEW THE COUP THIS IS HOUSE PARTY SHIT, THIS IS THE LIFE WAKE UP NEXT MORNING, LIKE WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?
Reef The Lost Cauze
As I became older, I was given many masks to wear. I could be a laborer laying railroad tracks across the continent, with long hair in a queue to be pulled by pranksters; a gardener trimming the shrubs while secretly planting a bomb; a saboteur before the day of infamy at Pearl Harbor, signaling the Imperial Fleet; a kamikaze pilot donning his headband somberly, screaming 'Banzai' on my way to my death; a peasant with a broad-brimmed straw hat in a rice paddy on the other side of the world, stooped over to toil in the water; an obedient servant in the parlor, a houseboy too dignified for my own good; a washerman in the basement laundry, removing stains using an ancient secret; a tyrant intent on imposing my despotism on the democratic world, opposed by the free and the brave; a party cadre alongside many others, all of us clad in coordinated Mao jackets; a sniper camouflaged in the trees of the jungle, training my gunsights on G.I. Joe; a child running with a body burning from napalm, captured in an unforgettable photo; an enemy shot in the head or slaughtered by the villageful; one of the grooms in a mass wedding of couples, having met my mate the day before through our cult leader; an orphan in the last airlift out of a collapsed capital, ready to be adopted into the good life; a black belt martial artist breaking cinderblocks with his head, in an advertisement for Ginsu brand knives with the slogan 'but wait-there's more' as the commercial segued to show another free gift; a chef serving up dog stew, a trick on the unsuspecting diner; a bad driver swerving into the next lane, exactly as could be expected; a horny exchange student here for a year, eager to date the blonde cheerleader; a tourist visiting, clicking away with his camera, posing my family in front of the monuments and statues; a ping pong champion, wearing white tube socks pulled up too high and batting the ball with a wicked spin; a violin prodigy impressing the audience at Carnegie Hall, before taking a polite bow; a teen computer scientist, ready to make millions on an initial public offering before the company stock crashes; a gangster in sunglasses and a tight suit, embroiled in a turf war with the Sicilian mob; an urban greengrocer selling lunch by the pound, rudely returning change over the counter to the black patrons; a businessman with a briefcase of cash bribing a congressman, a corrupting influence on the electoral process; a salaryman on my way to work, crammed into the commuter train and loyal to the company; a shady doctor, trained in a foreign tradition with anatomical diagrams of the human body mapping the flow of life energy through a multitude of colored points; a calculus graduate student with thick glasses and a bad haircut, serving as a teaching assistant with an incomprehensible accent, scribbling on the chalkboard; an automobile enthusiast who customizes an imported car with a supercharged engine and Japanese decals in the rear window, cruising the boulevard looking for a drag race; a illegal alien crowded into the cargo hold of a smuggler's ship, defying death only to crowd into a New York City tenement and work as a slave in a sweatshop. My mother and my girl cousins were Madame Butterfly from the mail order bride catalog, dying in their service to the masculinity of the West, and the dragon lady in a kimono, taking vengeance for her sisters. They became the television newscaster, look-alikes with their flawlessly permed hair. Through these indelible images, I grew up. But when I looked in the mirror, I could not believe my own reflection because it was not like what I saw around me. Over the years, the world opened up. It has become a dizzying kaleidoscope of cultural fragments, arranged and rearranged without plan or order.
Frank H. Wu