Custom Search

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Chopsticks to the Musca Domestica!

The year, 1984. The movie, Karate Kid.

 My older brother and I went to the theater excited about getting to see it on the day it came out. I can't remember who enjoyed it more, but we were both talking about nothing but the movie for hours after getting picked up and taken home.

 Mother was tired of hearing about all of the kicking and punching, and selected other tidbits of the movie we related to expound upon. One of these was the famous chopsticks scene. "What were the chopsticks used for?" She asked.

 "For eating mom, don't you know asian culture?", I heard my brother sass as I began a plan to explain the scene in the movie and hopefully recreate it.

 "The main character caught a fly with chopsticks, Mom. Can we call for some Chinese cuisine so we can try ourselves?" I asked because I knew she'd give in.

 "The latter seems possible, but the former seems perfectly like the fiction of movies", she always stated things in this way. I loved it.

 One hour and three dirty plates later my brother and I put down our silverware and took the paper off of our simple wooden chopsticks.

 Facing my brother as a competitor has always been bad for me before this point. I was very used to the designation of second place to his overachieving prowess in whatever he wished to compete with me in. I was of a mood to stop that trend that day.

 "On three." He said. I barely had a grip on my set before he quickly went from one to three in half a second. His tricks wouldn't psych me out this time. Time seemed to slow to a crawl by the time I assessed the situation.

 There were three flies flying circuits around the dinner table, eagerly awaiting the moment we cease paying attention to the food. Little did they know that they became more worthy of attention than those random clumps of rice and chicken on the edges of the plates.

 My brother had snapped five times with no result by the time I found my target. He was a fatter fly than the
other two. He seemed to be flying a bit slower than his sisters as well. I imagined that he had found slme broccoli beef that had found it's way to the floor somehow at the beginning of the meal and was now in his after-dinner flight of fancy.

 I lifted my arm as a conductor of a great symphony, but with just one note. The initial strike at the housefly had proved successfull. I snatched him by all six legs. While his wings were buzzing in complaint to my snare,  my eyes were transfixed beyond his multi-faceted eyes to my brother's priceless face. The face of a champion who gets his first loss by a newcomer.

 To emphasize my win, I moved the fly right up to my brother's line of sight. His brow furrowed and he seemed to grunt as he took his sticks in both hands and broke them before tossing them on the table and leaving in a huff.

 So, if anyone tells you that you cannot do something just because it's in a piece of fiction, don't just prove them wrong, beat the best and leave no room for speculation. Get that fly in the first try, then put it in their eye!