Despite what you may see on television, in your magazines, and at your Asian club meetings, the idea of an Asian model minority is indeed a myth.
I am a Harvard Magnum Cum Laude graduate, and I’m telling you, don’t pay any mind to what’s portrayed in the media, or anything you see with your own two eyes. Not all Asians have assimilated into American culture, or attained levels of success to be envied by other minorities.
See all these diplomas behind me, hanging on this wall in my study? Did I tell you about the Pulitzer in my drawer, the Nobel Prize stuffed underneath the bed, or the Grammy for Best Audio Recording of 2008, sitting atop the marble mantle over my fireplace? No, they’re not all for show - I know what I’m talking about. And Asians and Asian Americans, they have a long way to go before they achieve any level of success in this country. They still struggle to survive on a everyday basis.
It’s sickening really. Even more sickening is how American media just writes us off as accountants, scientists, and sweater-vest wearing, Chardonnay sipping, hard-working minorities. It’s simply not true.
When I get on my yacht for a weekend of debauchery with the likes of Jerry Yang, Yao Ming, and Sanjay Gupta, who do you think we see doing all the dirty work that comes with owning and operating a yacht? The scrubbing of my pristine deck floors, the dumping of my sewage water, and deshelling the nets full of fresh shrimp for the hundreds of shrimp cocktails my guests and I we’ll admire but not eat? That’s right, those under-represented Vietnamese-, Laotian, and Burmese immigrants.
It’s a travesty. It’s happening right underneath our noses. And let me ask you this: would people who have “achieved the American Dream” smell like a shrimp and sewage potpourri? I think not.
I can’t even recount the number of evenings my constituents and I spent in the Plaza’s Oak Room, sipping brandy and smoking cigars while we discussed the plight that’s fallen on Asian Americans just like us who cannot afford life’s most modest accommodations. These men all agreed with me, that the relative success and assimilation of a few Asian Americans doesn’t mean prosperity for the group as a whole. We’re talking about educated people here, mind you: Dr. Chu, Dr. Lee, and Dr. Ishimoto. Dr. Kim, a well-respected graduate from Cambridge, offered the statistics to back up these claims; something about the number of South East Asians living below the poverty level, or skewed data regarding the median income for Asian families due to the fact three families are often squeezed into one household. I don’t remember exactly what he said; I was never really good with all that “numbers” stuff” - contrary to the model minority stereotype, by the way.
Which is why I leave it to my private accountant, Mr. Ngyuen.
A Fly Asian isn’t held in subservient awe by the accomplishments of his White Brethren. In a similar vein, he shouldn’t feel “honored” or “grateful” to be accepted by the white community, either. Needing validation from the white, latino, or black community is the ultimate sign of a not-very-Fly Asian. Moving beyond what’s conceived as “acceptable behavior” of one’s race is a natural progression, and shouldn’t be seen as reason for a spontaneous dance party.
The corollary to this is when people of other ethniticies take on roles stereotypically dubbed as “Asian,” we respect them for their dedication to break what were once perceived as racial boundaries:
1. MMA - Martial Arts used to be considered a mystic, Asian-thing. You know, something to do in-between time spent picking rice in our paddies, growing Bonzai trees, and being all meditative and shit. Not anymore:
Also, need to throw some love towards my favorite Mexican-American fighter, Miguel Angel Torres:
2. Speaking Chinese - I used to think I was special because I was more eloquenter and spoke gooder English than most people I encounter. Then I saw Mark Henry Rowswell, aka Dashan speak:
Dashan is regularly regarded as a better Chinese-speaker than most native Chinese.
Don’t feel so special anymore.
3. Picking Up Japanese Girls
What happens when you take a white, American pick-up artist who wants to date/bang/marry/whatever Japanese girls, stick him in Japan, and arm him with a blog so he can unapologetically write all about it?
In a similar vein to martial arts, this kind of aerobatical prowess was reserved for the light, compact bodies of men and women from the Orient, who had the assistance of Golden Dragon Flames shooting from their asses and, uhm… Claws of the Panda radiating from their… toes. But Mark, who’s based out of Britain, put together a serious collection of trickers from all over the world.
One of my favorites:
5. Shaolin Soccer
“Well, sure they, maybe non-Asian people can fight, and yeah, they can do crazy flips and shit. But you know what we’ll always have? Shaolin Soccer, baby!
Yeah, Stephen Chow is the man! Only he’d be able to come up with handspring kicks and capoeira-like moves on the pitch…
What? My hair? You like it? It’s all the rage right now: in Beijing, Hong Kong, Flushing, Malaysia. All the stars are doing it. They call it “the bedhead” look.
Don’t think that I’m anything special because I can get away with wearing my hear this way. I’m just like you, you know. I put my sweatpants on, one leg at a time. Slip into my favorite Kero-Kero-Keropi t-shirt, brush my teeth with my Hello Kitty toothbrush. Eat a light breakfast of rice porridge and a steaming pork bun before I put on my dollar store sandals. Then I’m out the door.
Except for this sweet hair-do, I’m just a regular joe.
I am a fly Asian.
Some guys, they need a whole host of products to get their hair to look just right. Moouse, hair spray, gel - all for what? To get your hair parted the right way or the spikes to stand perfectly so - all inferior styles to this natural fro of tangly black wisps of feathers perched on my head. It’s not that I have anything against hair products - I just hate putting all that shit into my hair. I always have, ever since mother made me slick it all over before my piano recital, and the other boys told me I looked like a drowning rat. These days, it’s all about al natural, baby. What’s the expression? Keeping it real?
Yeah, that’s what I’m doing. Keeping it real.
Listen, I know pleny of guys who rock out the bedhead look. Not personally or anything, but I saw their pictures a couple times on the Internet. Like that John Mayer character. He rocks out with bedhead. Do you think he spends hours upon hours everyday, primping himself to make every follicle stand in a manner that says, “I don’t care how my hair looks.”
Hah, I doubt it!
Becuase that doesn’t make any sense.
You think I want to look slick, polished, or suave? Hell no. You know who wore his hair all slicked over and shit? Adolf Hitler, that’s who.
“Universal Truth is not measured by mass appeal.”
- Immortal Technique
I caught the tail-end of an interview with Will Smith during Entertainment Tonight. I can’t find his direct quote, but to paraphrase: “Studios are still reluctant to cast a black female lead next to a black male. If they do, the movie will be seen as a ‘black movie,’ which they believe will dissuade many moviegoers.”
And by moviegoers, Smith is referring to white Americans with money.
First, I went and threw-up (you know, in disgust for watching Entertainment Tonight.) Then I thought about what Smith said.
I like Smith. I believe he’s contributed positively to the development of Hollywood, and has (usually) avoided compromising himself to reach his level of success. I’d like to think he has enough star power to garner significant dollars for a studio, even in a “black movie” (a film portraying the life of a black family, or with a cast primarily of blacks.)
Look at Fresh Prince of Bel-Air; Not a direct correlation, but the show still has mass market appeal, 19 years after its premiere.
I also believe most consumers are socially conscious, intelligent people who can see through the race of a cast, and appreciate a film for its entertainment value and artistry.
Oh, wait - Obama already won the election… so we can cut the feel-good, sunshine and kittens rhetoric bullshit then, yes? Good.
If Will Smith is unsure when he’ll get the opportunity to co-star with a strong, black female lead and have mass market appeal, when will Asian Americans get the opportunity? Who’s the closest Asian American actor to Will Smith-status? John Cho’s the first name that comes to mind, but that’s not even contest.
This post is not about discouraging Asian and Asian American film makers and actors trying to succeed in Hollywood. Mass market appeal hardly defines the worthiness of a project or piece, and there are people working very hard to make financially successful American-films, regardless of the cast’s race.
A Fly Asian is in touch with his culture. Unfortunately, part of this culture involves piles of assorted crap gathering dust in your home.
“Why get rid of it?” your parents or grandparents scold you when you suggest donating to people in need - or better yet, burning it. “We might use it again someday.”
Yes, you’re right; we’re totally going to make use of the giant inflatable Budweiser bottle leftover from the closing of your cousin’s Chinese restaurant seven years ago. Classy.
A list, then, of the random shit accumulating dust in your home:
1. Glass Statues of Random Asian Dudes
Chinese Wise Men
These men, Sau, Fuk, and Luk, are the Three Chinese Wise Men. I don’t know their roles in Chinese history, but it’s important not to get them confused with the Three Wisemen who arrived in Bethlehem after the birth of J.C. (Balthazar, Gaspar, and Melchior.) If Sau, Fuk, and Luk showed up at that party, I’m pretty sure, baby Jesus or no baby Jesus, they would have lynched them Chinamen.
Then, there’s this guy:
Fat, Happy Buddha
Who looks extremely happy with the number of young children crawling all over his fleshy rolls. The one hanging out of his belly button and the other palming his nipple seem to be inducing more pleasure than deemed appropriate for most PG-13 movies.
2. Mountain of Shoes
Your foyer during a small get-together at the house.
More shoes than you could shake at a Nike sweatshop baby. Piled high and mighty, right in front of the door, so walking into your house carries the extra excitement of possibly breaking your ankles, with each and every step! And before you start getting all Carrie Bradshaw (”Oh my god, shoes?! I love shoes!”) remember we’re not talking about Manolo’s or Michael Kohrs. I’m talking about Keds and Payless here.
3. Containers
Possibly the most versatile tool at an Asian man's disposal - and lactose free!
If you can put some shit into it, then we saved it. Normal people stop at liquid-pint and-quart containers. Asian people make sure they get their money’s worth of the take-out boxes, empty milk cartons, shoeboxes, Welch’s jam jars, random cardboard boxes, and empty 18-liter soy sauce containers.
Why buy trendy Pottery Barn jars when you get containers to hold your loose change, tea bags, uncooked pasta, water, chicken bones, puzzle pieces, dried out pens, old toothbrushes, notepads, knick knacks, rubber bands, paper clips, Crayola markers, and X-Men cards for free? One man’s junk is… well, it’s all still junk.
4. Plastic Bags
You can't tell from this angle, but there are actually another five bags inside each of those bags.
Plastic bags could be categorized under “containers,” but really, they deserve their own special recognition. That’s the least we could do for these free plastic bags we get from our local grocery store. After all, they line our garbage cans, hold our library books, protect our feet from getting wet when we play in the snow, line the inside of our book bags when it rains. We bring out lunch to school or work in them when we don’t want to spring the $5 for a lunch box, and our clothes to the gym when we can’t find our gym bag.
If you don’t see the collection of plastic bags when you walk into an Asian household, they’re either:
The exception to the rule.
Hoarding them beneath the sink. Probably inside a shoe box, next to the stash of empty milk cartons.
5. Toilet Paper
The only stable investment in times of economic uncertainty.
A normal person’s idea of a good investment: Apple stock at $10 a share, real estate, Beanie Babies in the 90’s. An Asian person’s idea of a good investment: 100 rolls of 1-ply toilet paper on double-coupon days at your local wholesale store.
Fads just don’t last. “Trendie today, trashie tomorrow,” that’s what my mother always said, and gee-willikers, was she right. Sad as it is, not every fad will have the sustainability of something like Digimon, or UFO pants. But one fad I can’t wait to see go? Boxers and boxer-briefs.
I say, the sooner everyone goes back to wearing regular, old-fashion, American-constructed underwear, the better. I say, that day can’t get here soon enough.
You know why they call them “tighty-whities?” Because they’re “tight.” And if you’re not hip to the lingo like I am - “tight” is synonomous to “awesome.” Not like discovering-how-to-Wave-Dash-in-Melee-awesome, either, but a 127-combo-with-Ryu-in-MVC2-awesome.
You don’t think I know its goofy to be the only guy walking around the locker room wearing my baby-bottom-soft, broken-in Fruit of the Loom cotton riding up my crack? You think I don’t see how gray my underwear looks, or how big the whole on my left ass cheek is? You think I like it when Pat Carrigan sneers at me and tells me I’m a “homo ricer?” Because I don’t - but the sacrifice is worth it. There’s truly nothing like the familiar snap of elastic against my bony hips, the sheer-fabric pulled tightly against my flat, unshapened ass. The way my underwear holds my balls in place while I’m scoring triple-A’s on the DDR machine.
So you might feel cool now in your boxers, with your easy strides across the locker room as the gentle breeze snuggles up against your balls. Or you probably think women are always going to be attracted to the way your sinewy quadriceps peek out just below fabric as your rippling abs bulge precariously over the top of the shorts like small, hand-carved bricks. But it won’t last.
How does it get any better than a pair of Hanes Classics? I really want to know. Jeez, they’re endorsed by Michael Jordan, quite possibly the greatest basketball player ever (after Yao Ming, of course.) Kevin Bacon also loves himself some Hanes. They got a new celebrity-sponsor, too: Charlie Sheen. Who’s famous, of course, for being the son of Martin Sheen.
A medicore actor who's achievements include: 1. Sponsoring Hanes, and 2. Springing from the loins of an amazing actor.
That’s right, Hanes Classics, baby. Mother says classics never go out of style, and boy, do I concur!
But hey, what do I know, right? I only scored a 2360 on the SAT’s. Maybe I’m wrong, and Hanes only included the word “classic” as a branding tool to create a sense of nostaligia in its customers.
But if proudly showing off my package in my tighty-whities is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.
Even in high school, he was The Guy with the Asian fetish.
“People would come up to me, people I’ve never seen before in my life. I’d introduce myself, and they’d say, ‘Oh, yeah, I know who you are. You’re the guy who likes Asian girls.’”
Things didn’t change for this tall, slightly goofy white male when he entered university. In fact, because his university had a booming Asian American population, it intensified his attraction to Asian American women. Did he try to fight these strange feelings, rocking his loins in a sea of turmoil? Did he battle his attraction for short women with beautiful skin whose heritage hailed from halfway across the world?
Goofy White Guy
Hell no. He took Chinese classes to meet more of them. He went to Asian functions. The last I heard, upon graduating, he’s headed to China for a year of teaching English before embarking on his career path.
Under normal circumstances, a story like this would make my blood boil. Thinking about guys who scam exclusively on Asian girls makes me want to impose bodily harm on them in ways few things do. Call it what you want: a fetish, the projection of a subservient culture and China Doll/Geisha Girl-like women, a society constructed around a white patriarchal hierarchy, etc. I want to Tony Jaa these guys, right in their faces.
Except, well, I know the guy in the above example. Yes, he’s tall, white, and goofy. And yes, he has this odd Asian fetish. But he’s also a sincere, kind, and humble person. At the end of the day, I can’t help but root for him. At university, I found myself going out of my way to introduce him to cool Asian chicks.
That’s right. I wanted to see him get laid by hot Asian women.
(Not actually see it happen, mind you. That’s just a figure of speech. I meant I wanted to watch… you know what? Screw you, you know what I mean.)
My desire for his success led to an epiphany: it isn’t necessarily white guys going after Asian women that bothers me. To be specific, it’s the assholes and douchebags I hate - who come in all sizes and shapes. They’re not limited to white, brown, black, yellow, or red people. There’s actually a rainbow of douchebaggery, in both attire/accessories and race.
Rainbow of Douchebaggery
This was my moment of Zen - but it wasn’t over. There was the other side of the equation to consider: “Well, do I really care if they’re going after Asian women?”
The truth was - not really. It mostly pissed me off to see them going after attractive Asian women.
Mugdha Godse
In fact, it’s seeing douchebags with an attractive woman (of any race) that makes me truly appreciate the irony of the world.
Gentlemen, I’ve solved the puzzle, officially closing the cultural gap featured in dozens of conversations, like here, here and here.
Asian guys don’t give a shit about Asian girl, White Guy couples.
Thanks to watchdog sites like this one and this one, as well as an audience that has finally taken notice, there’s more exposure to those acts of racism that make a colonoscopy feel like a butt massage from Heidi Klum.
But as much of an uproar as we make, do we always give a shit? Turns out, no - and here’s why:
1.
Teri Hatcher, in Desperate Housewives
What did she do? Hatcher’s character made an insensitive comment about the validity of medical degrees from the Philippines, despite fact the Philippines major export to the United States is nurses.
Why we don’t give a shit: Teri Hatcher used to be America’s sweetheart, when she played Lois in Lois and Clark: The Adventures of Superman, and was in those Radio Shack commercials. Now, she’s too old and too skinny, so let’s feed her hamburger and help her put some meat on those bones, know what I’m saying? Besides, it’s not like she wrote those lines - gee willikers!
The truth is, there is one reason and one reason only why anyone watches Desperate Housewives, anyways.
The only reason to watch "Desperate Housewives"
2.
Anyone else overcome with desire to punch the wine-holding douchebag square in his (probably) glass jaw?
What did she do? Made herself a nice chinky-faced cocktail, then issued a half-assed apology about being sorry if she “offended people.”
Why we don’t give a shit: Miley Cyrus is the Disney pop-star millions of children around the world pray to, before their parents tuck them into bed and curse God for issuing them such stupid offspring.
Cyrus rose to stardom by playing an ordinary girl on a television series who’s secretly a pop-star, which she leveraged to actually become a pop-star, which she further leveraged to make a movie about the same girl’s rise to stardom with said secret life as a pop-star.
Thousands of braincells were harmed in the writing of that explanation.
Oh, and some Asian woman from SoCal tried suing Cyrus for the ridiculous sum of $4 billion over the above photo. The dumb-fuck joke of a civil-action suit took the steam of indignation right out of our balloons, as Asian Americans around the country put down their signs, tucked their tails between their legs, and went home.
Thanks, bitch.
3.
What the heck is a "Jonas Brothers?"
What did he do? Another chink face! Holy shit! I’m gonna beat the shit out of that racist pig! Let me at ‘em, let me at ‘em…
Why we don’t give a shit: Wait, what the hell is a “Jonas Brother” and where does it/they/she live?
4.
Rosie O’Donnel
What did she do? You know, just a little, ching-chang-chong action during her short (very short) time on The View.
Why we don’t give a shit: Beau Sia posted this insightful video as a response. Rather than screw up his message, just watch it.
Beau Sia is an eloquent sonuvabitch. I am not. Thus, why I don’t give a shit:
What did he do? Made a commercial questioning the patriotism of United States citizens who had the audacity to spend their hard-earned American dollars on Japanese cars. Which, in case you didn’t know, aren’t even “road ready.” They’re actually “rice ready.” We’d be offended if this made any sense, but, uhm, nope, still don’t give a shit.
Why we (still) don’t give a shit: There are a bunch of reasons why Welsh’s ad doesn’t add up. Like the fact Toyota in the United States is based in Kentucky, employs 36,600 U.S. citizens, and invested $17 billion in their U.S. infrastructure. Or the fact that Welsh is merely employing the nut-numbingly played-out tactic of declaring something he doesn’t like as “unpatriotic.”
Mostly, though, it’s because O.C. Welsh is an idiot.
If DDR was a religion, I'd be the motherf*cking messiah.
I get bumped out of the line at the cafeteria. I’m the last pick/first out at dodgeball. But goddamnit, I own that motherf*cking DDR machine sitting in front of the movie theater! Do you see that? Do you see those pulsating lights, those metallic dance pads with directional arrows? Good god, directional arrows haven’t given me wood this good since I first learned the Konami Code.
KONAMI CODE! Oh my... I think I just came a little...
That 6.5 ft X 8 ft. area is my house, bitch. I own it. No one cuts me on the DDR machine - I know the exact location of the coin holding my spot in line, thank you very much. You see, it’s that one right there, with my avatar initials, DDK on it, (Dance Dance King. So if you didn’t know, now you know.)
So what if I left to go kick the crap out of O’Malley on the Marvel vs. Capcom 2 machine, and I missed my turn? Is it my fault I’m the golden God of this arcade? The DDK coin is still resting on the machine, isn’t it? That means its time for Dance Dance King to show you chumps how to really break it down.
The DDR Competition where I dressed up as a 6 foot white dude wearing garbage bags. Why? Because I am a DDR God.
I am the whole DDR package. Can’t you see that? Triple A, Max 300 Challenge, motherf*cker! How you like me now? How you like me now?!? Then I’ll take it to the old school, Dynamite Rave double-pad freestyle, baby, with a Matrix Walk and a Bar Hop. They say white kids mastered tech, and Asians rock at freestyle, but I swing both ways, baby!
Did I mention I am the whole DDR package?
Did you hear that? Did you hear what those people said, as they passed while I was absolutely killing Paranoia Survivor Max? “Ew, there’s that sweaty Asian kid playing that stupid game again.” That’s right, punk ass, they recognized the Dance Dance King. When was the last time anyone recognized you for anything, bitch?
