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Given my strong aversion to puzzles and even stronger aversion to squares {shudder}, it is no small testament to the patience of my friend Darbie that I could be taught to solve a puzzle made entirely of squares. Thanks to her good-humored training, I can do it in about three—four minutes, and it’s a nerd skill I will cherish forever. Or at least until I forget the mind-boggling sequence of semi-random-square-manipulating-mayhem it entails.
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Wow. Can you believe it’s been a year that we’ve been doing this? I can’t. I especially can’t believe I’ve thought of a new idea nearly every week. That’s some dedication I didn’t know I had.
It’s been a fun year, but I’m here to give all my readers some sad news: I’m taking a small sabbatical from writing for the The Wheelhouse Review. I know! Tears and riots! But before you grab your pitchfork and head towards the street and demand that Congress declare this a day of mourning and have the president issue an executive order for my immediate return, know the reasons I’m doing this. 1) I’m swamped with work, life, and everything in between from now until the end of my sabbatical, which will be sometime in July, and 2) I’m doing this so I can return refreshed. reenergized, and blow your minds with awesome new material about books, the Simpsons, and very little else.
Think of it this way: remember in school we had summer break, a chance to take some time off, grab a job and a summer romance, bask in the sun and shirk responsibility for a couple of months? Well, this is my summer break. And to commemorate my year at the Wheelhouse and say hello to the summer, I present you… Sarah’s Yearbook.
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If there’s one question people are always asking me, it’s “Hey you! What are you doing in those bushes?!” But if there’s a second question people are always asking me, it’s “Hey Ryan! What are the secrets to your obscenely high level of effectiveness?” I answer both questions the same way. By screaming loudly at my questioner and then escaping into the darkness of the night. But after being hounded by both questions, and in particular, that of the secrets to my ruthlessly capability, I have decided to share with the world the seven habits of a highly effective Ryan. Note that these are in no way affiliated or even inspired by the best-selling book, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. I’ve never had the time or inclination to read said book. Plus there’s very little reading light when hiding amongst shrubbery.
1. Set targets, not goals. It’s all well and good to do “goal setting” and map out a five-year plan to accomplish your goals. But if you ask me goals are a hindrance to effectiveness. Think about it. Goals are guarded by goalies. Goalies who wear stuff like knee pads, shoulder pads, and helmets. Basically modern-day armor. Know who else wears armor? Knights. Knights are the epitome of ineffectiveness. They need squires or trampolines or whatever to help them get on their precious horses. And then they have to rely on gravity to help them get down. Co-dependence and effectiveness don’t mix. And don’t even get me started on how ineffective the word “knight” itself is. Too many silent letters.
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Choosing our favorite posts from this past year has turned into a Herculean task, since every article, essay, short story, poem, poster, illustration, and photo are like precious snowflakes, unique and special in their own ways. But like snowflakes, some land in your hand and melt and others, eventually become part of the snowangel that is The Wheelhouse Review (only to eventually turn yellow or slushy grey).
Over this year, we’ve learned an important lesson: to stop checking Google Analytics. Some of our best posts have gotten the pageviews and attention they’ve deserved; others–still brilliant–have languished, unread and left to be appreciated by future audiences. Even still, there have been so many contributions this year that make us proud to have hosted them on our site.
We have asked our contributors to list out their favorite posts and why. So we present, with much pride and joy, the best of The Wheelhouse Review, year one.
Thanks for reading,
The Editors Continue reading
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The second thing I ever learned to cook as a 9-year-old – eggs and tomatoes – was the only Chinese dish ever cooked in our home, and only ever cooked by me. Chinese food preparation can be labor intensive, but I believe the real reason was a fear of the smoke from the hot oily wok destroying the paint job in our kitchen. We didn’t even own a rice cooker: it was quicker and more painless to run downstairs to a local restaurant and buy a kilo of cooked rice for a dime. If my mom didn’t feel like cooking, our family of four could stay at that restaurant and eat delicious, veggie-intensive spicy Kunming food for a total of $5.
Restaurants were a special treat for us in 1990s China. The real bargain was getting takeout from our local university cafeteria. For the first few years we were in China, foreigners were legally required to live on a university campus. For me, this meant two things: my sister and I had full run of the campus, and one of my errands was the dreaded cafeteria run at lunchtime Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. On the plus side, I was in full control of menu selection. On the minus side, it was an annoying walk down 5 flights of stairs, across the campus, fight through the lunch rush and trek back with a heavy lunch tiffin.
Do not picture your college campus dining hall. The cafeteria was a large, tiled room with high ceilings and long counters on three sides of the room. On the counters were large metal bowls full of food with workers standing behind each bowl to serve. There was a ticket booth where you exchanged cash for cafeteria vouchers, a rice stand and a steamed bread stand. There weren’t seats or tables; most students showed up with a metal bowl and took food back to their dorms or squatted outdoors. The food bowls were not labeled, and the surly cafeteria workers were too busy/grouchy to give a detailed explanation of the ingredients, so the selection involved a great deal of guesswork. Early on, we discovered one of the delicious options was chicken intestines – slightly disorienting, but hey: if it tastes good, eat it!
Now these officials know how to party!
