A little while ago at work, as an “ice-breaking exercise”, I was asked to pick any three people from history who I would invite to a party.

Seems innocuous enough right?  Ok, now here’s another piece of information: I’m Chinese Canadian.

Why does that change anything, you ask.  Think about it: who in history is going to swing forward in time, take one look at me, and not immediately hate me?  My best-case scenario involves my invitee sending me to work on a railroad!   The worst case is outright slavery (ok granted the railroad wasn’t much better than slavery, but you see my point).

Let’s see, Queen Victoria was a popular pick.  Hmmm….I hardly think the most colonizing monarch in British history is going to help me here.  Ok, Shakespeare is another big winner in this game.  Most likely I’d end up in a Caliban-like play, or on display as a bear-baiter (shudder).  How about someone nicer?  Let’s try Jane Austen?  Oscar Wilde?  Or someone more modern?  Churchill, perhaps.  Ok Austen would probably ignore me – admittedly the best response so far – Wilde would try to get me to smuggle fetishized “exotic” items from the so-called Orient, and Churchill would probably mistake me for Japanese.

Even if I try to invite someone from my own heritage, I’m screwed.   I’m Canadian, educated, in an office job.  So Mao-Tse Tung wouldn’t be my biggest fan.   Ok, so let’s try Ancient China.  One problem there:  I don’t speak any Chinese!!!   I’m fourth-generation Canadian.  I speak English and French goddammit!

Off with his head!

Oh, and I come from farmer stock.  Because you know, life for the ancient Chinese farmer (hell, the current Chinese farmer!) is so hunky dory.

In the end, I picked Salvadore Dali.  I figure this: either he turns out to be racist, and he’s Dali.  Or he’s surprisingly enlightened about matters of race, because he’s Dali.  Either way, he’s fucking Dali.