Dinner with the Dalai Lama
kicks ten kinds of ass in twenty different languages
In retrospect, perhaps Jade Dragon wasn't a good choice for dinner with the Dalai Lama. Mia culpa. He seemed to be a good sport about it anyway. Infinite patience, that guy. Honestly, I just wasn't thinking. I've been super busy lately and the interns have been bringing me every single meal. Translation: Sandwiches every damn day. Well, I developed a powerful hunger for some kung pao, maybe some potstickers and some mu shu chicken. I was like a freaking laser beam when I got into the car. Come hell, high water or, as it turns out, a George Bush level cultural faux pas, I was gonna get my Chinese food.
When we got to the restaurant, Tenzin (he lets me call him by his first name 'cuz we're bros like that) got a funny look on his face and said something to his bodyguard. Note to self: Learn Tibetan at some point. I was crazy hungry but he told me we should hang in the car for a second. Because I'm all gracious and whatever I stayed put, but I wasn't happy about it. The bodyguard got out of the car and went into Jade Dragon, I guess to get us a table. About five minutes later he came back out and told us it was cool to go inside. I think he spilled some cranberry juice on his shirt at the bar. I don't know what else that stain could have been. The clumsy drunk also broke his sunglasses. Really, Tenzin ought to screen his boys more often. I mean, I'm pretty sure that getting sloshed on the job is a no-no in Buddhism.
When we sat down at our table I started blowing up. Another stupid text message from the Chinese consulate. Those guys seriously don't know how to text properly. "We urge you to reconsider your actions concerning the understanding between Washington and Beijing on the topic of separatists" is way too long for a decent message. I get about two lines in before my eyes start rolling and I just click 7 to delete.
Tenzin and I had a pretty good conversation about the Olympics and international unity and stuff over a round of plum wine. That stuff runs right through me, though, so I had to excuse myself for a trip to the little president's room. One of my favorite perks about being top dog is that the Secret Service clears out every bathroom I ever go into. Privacy every single time. It was a good thing, too, because Tim and Freddy had to drag a few sloppy drunks out of the stalls. I think they had been stumbling around because they had a bunch of bruises. Really, in a family establishment like Jade Dragon that sort of thing shouldn't even happen.
The meal we had was pretty good. I mean, I've never had a bad plate at Jade Dragon, but this one was something special. Tenzin was really generous. He let the bodyguard taste everything first. A real man of the people. I should really try to follow his example. Ha, look at me, saying I ought to be like the Dalai Lama. Who hasn't said that at some point? Heck, the meal was so good that I didn't even care about all the extra texts from the consulate. "Refrain from promoting subversion" this and "Be careful of our mutual ties on the world stage" that. Those Beijing guys are so damn lippy.
After we polished off an entire order of coconut ice cream (and Jade Dragon is liberal with that stuff) we made our way back out to the car. Tenzin may be getting on in years but he's still surprisingly spry. A bunch of muggers came at us with these long, curvy knives and Tenzin pulled out some of those awesome kung fu moves on them. His bodyguard got clipped and he had to go to the hospital, but I'm sure he's okay. After the fight was over, Tenzin leaned down and whispered something into one of the muggers' ears. It was in Chinese so I had a hard time understanding it, but it was something about fists and fragile vases. Anyway, it was the coolest thing I've seen in forever. The consulate keeps texting me, so I think I'll have to get a new phone. I don't have time for their chatty business.
