Really? Dragons? On the cover?
Chopstick lettering? More dragons?
Seriously, what's with all the dragons? And what about the scene where Mr. Yunioshi jumps out of the steam closet and does ninja voodoo on the invisible spirits?
That wasn't in it? Well, what about when Mr. Moto gave us the thumbs up? 
No? What about when Charlie Chan took his bird to the opera? 
Jesus, what movie did I watch?
Anyway, not bad--haven't read the book, don't plan to--but more than intergenerational wisdom and mother-daughter bonds that survive the sorrows of lost swans, what I will remember about it is this: praise God my parents are love-you-if-you're-gay, what's-a-piano, cards-are-better-than-dominoes, go-drink-your-juicebox space cadet ex-hippies. I don't think I would have survived a family that wanted the best for me. Clearly. I am the product of equal parts aristocratic irreverence and plebeian apathy (thank you, squandered inheritance and final months of nineteen seventy-nine). Still beats overbearing but well-meaning guardians from the age of ancestors and piety. Woof!
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