"Asian Fucker"

I had the misfortune of staying at work till 20:43 today. As I left work and walked towards my downtown parking garage in the bone-chilling cold, I stopped by a grocery store along the way to warm up just a bit and pick up some bananas. Afterwards, it was just like any other commute home, sans traffic.

When I finally got to my corner, I turned and drove into the garage. Fortunately, there was another vehicle in front of me. I thought, she could roll down her window and swipe her access card to open the garage, while I keep my windows shut and stay warm and cozy. As the garage door opened, her car began inching forward, and I along did the same. But suddenly, she stopped her SUV with just a foot left to clear the door.

Bewildered, I waited patiently. I thought maybe she had dropped her access card in her car, and had to bend down to pick it up. I've done that myself several times. But then, a near minute had passed. Then I saw through her rear windshield that she was holding onto her cellular phone, all lit up like she was either texting or on a call. I thought, Great! Her car died in the driveway to the garage!!!

But then suddenly, she put her vehicle into drive, and moved forward an inch before stopping yet again. Hmm... That's odd. I got out of my SUV to check things out, thinking maybe she might need some kind of assistance.

When I walked up to her door, I noticed that her window was still down. But before I could say anything, I got barked at with, "I'm not letting you in! I don't know who you are!"

I was taken aback. So I kindly replied, "Uhm, miss, I live here." To that, she ordered, "I don't care, but you need to swipe your card! Or I'm going to call the cops!"

With that, I was even more shocked with such un-neighborly conduct. When most of the residents in my building recognize me, and when all of the staff and the association board members especially know who I am, I was a bit irritated by this yahoo I have never ever seen before in my four years of living in my building.

So I walked back to my car, grabbed my access card, and walked back up to her SUV. Her window was rolled up, so I tapped her window and did better than swiping my access card. I showed her my access card. You have to understand, our building uses the most non-standard and quite arguably the oldest access systems known to men, that any tenant in possession of the access card can recognize that it is the same.

Suddenly, she flung her door open! I jumped back just as the top corner of her door frame barely missed my face. Then a loud crash. Her door slammed into the garage door rail. I looked down to see if there was any damage, but before I could adjust my eyes, this woman jumped out of her car and got in my face.

Woman (screaming): Get away from my car!
John (calmly speaking): Well, here's my card. Can we go now? I am cold.
Woman (screaming): Step away from my car! Get out of my face!
John (calmly speaking): Uhm, I'm not in your face, and there's more than a foot between us.
Woman (screaming): I tell you! Swipe your card, or I will call the cops!
John (calmly speaking): Are you serious? [Chuckles and smiles at woman.] Seriously? I live here. For a long time. Just ask Omar. (I saw Omar, one of our building engineers, in the lobby when I drove into my driveway.)
Woman (screaming): I don't care who you know! I don't know who fucking Omar is!
John (a little bit irritated): You don't even know who works in this building?
Woman (screaming): I don't care! Get out of my fucking face! Or I call cops!
John (sarcastically laughing): Lady, I don't want to fuck your ugly face.
Woman (screaming): This is the policy. You must swipe your access card. Or I call the cops!
John (calmly speaking): You go right ahead. This is a private property, and there is nothing the cops can do when they get here. Don't you know that?
Woman (screaming and pointing her finger at John's face, damn near poking him in the eye): Oh yeah! I call cops now! [Dialing some numbers that did not match up to 9-1-1.]
John (laughing): Really? Seriously, just ask Omar who I am! I don't even know who you are!
Woman (screaming): I don't care, you Asian fucker!
John: ...
Woman (screaming): I call the...
John: Did you just play the race card, you racist?
Woman (screaming): Yeah, you fucking Asian fucker!
John: Oh my gosh! You're a racist!
Woman (screaming): You're going to jail! I call the cops!

By this point, I became quite angry with this woman. I was speechless. Truth be told, there was a split second when I felt the urge to take a step forward and slam my forehead into her filthy mouth. But then I realized that I gotta be smarter than that. So I just laughed at her and shook my head in disgust.

John: I can't believe you don't even know who Omar is!
Woman (screaming): I don't care who Omar is. I don't know who he fucking is!
John (walking to the window and motioning the woman towards him): That's Omar! And look, Ronnie (doorman) is here too!
Woman (refuses to walk over to John): I don't know who Ronnie is!
John: What? You don't even know our own doorman?!?

So I turned away, and waved at Ronnie. I asked Ronnie to come out and talk some sense into this woman. Just as Ronnie got up, his phone rang. As soon as he picked it up to answer, I heard the crazy woman screaming to somebody else. I took a step back, and realized that she just called the doorman instead of the cops.

When Ronnie finally hung up, this crazy woman had a smirk on her face. I just stood there, and watched her. Finally, Ronnie appeared, and I quickly said, "Hey, what's up Ronnie!" He asked what's going on. Before I could begin saying a word, this woman started screaming and began lying about the events that transpired.

I had enough of that crap, so I decided not to say anything and stepped back. With each lie that got spouted out of her filthy mouth, I was behind her gesturing at Ronnie with the she's crazy sign with my index finger circling around my ear, and gesturing the male masturbation hand signal. Ronnie finally interjected with, "Lady, you have a serious road rage issue. I know John. He is a good guy, and he lives here. Just park your car."

Oh boy oh boy oh boy! This woman became livid! She started screaming at Ronnie even more incoherently. I turned to get into my car, but just then, another resident pulled up into the driveway behind me. This guy looked confused. I turned towards the woman and yelled, "Hey lady! There's another car behind now. Do you want to ask him to swipe his access card? Or can we all just get in now?!?"

The woman turned and looked at the other car. Then she started screaming about how there is a policy and everybody needs to follow it, and that she will not let anybody through the garage door. Ronnie shot back with, "I know who they are. You cannot enforce security policies. If you have an issue, file a complaint with the board."

The woman finally realized that she was fighting an uphill battle. So she got in the car and peeled off into the garage. Finally! As I pulled forward, Ronnie leaned into my car and said, "Just ignore her. She's just being Queen Elizabeth." I was confused, but just laughed and drove on.

When I parked my vehicle, I noticed that this woman was only a few spots away from me, and that she was still in her SUV! I thought, Great! She's so going to key my car! But I didn't care. I proceeded to walk past her car and go about my way.

I went to pick up my mail, then walked to the lobby to chat with Ronnie. I asked why he referred that crazy woman as "Queen Elizabeth." It turned out that she is really into royalty, and acts like she is one. He said that I should ignore her, and that she was... Then he cut himself short before saying, "Never mind."

So I jumped in and told him that I was calm for the most part, until I came this close to head butting her in the face just for calling me an "Asian fucker." Ronnie's eyes got really big, and I saw the most white out of him ever! (Ronnie's black.) He then proceeded to tell me that he wanted to warn me that he thinks she is a Nazi, but didn't want to start rumors. But since she had already called me what she spewed out, he felt more assured.

I prodded him with more questions as to why he thought that. He then told me that about three years ago, just about the time she was thinking about buying a condo unit in the building, she had asked him about how many blacks, Asians and Mexicans were living in the building. And that she has a huge reputation in the building. Not a good one, for sure.

My jaw dropped to the ground. I was in disbelief.

Then Omar came over and told me that when she moved in, she asked him the same question. Omar said that he scolded her by saying that his granddaughter is black and that color didn't matter. (Omar is white.)

Un-effing-believable!!!

Suddenly, I saw her appear on the security monitor at the front desk. She had finally gotten out of the garage, with luggage bags in tow. She waited by the freight elevator, while Ronnie explained to me that she works as a flight attendant for American Airlines. Interesting. Then I noticed on the security monitor that she looked towards the lobby, then ditched the freight elevator. At first I thought she wanted to have a second confrontation with me, but she simply went to pick up her mail.

Ronnie continued telling me the background of this woman, about how cheap she was. Like not wanting to pay the move-in fee when she first bought the condo, never mind the fact that the fee has been written into the by-laws forever and a day.

Finally, I noticed that she had propped half her luggage against the elevator door, and went back to get the rest from the mail room. I quickly bid adieu to Ronnie, and said, "If she's a racist, I'm going to make her ride the elevator up with an 'Asian fucker.'" So I ran to the elevator just as she got in and pressed the button.

The crazy woman looked up and saw who I was, and started screaming, "I am not fucking using this elevator with you. You can have it!" She began moving all her luggage out of the elevator car, and I just stared at her and said, "Wow, you truly are a racist, aren't you?"

"I don't want to share it with a fucking Asian fucker!"

Un-effing-believable... I was simply amazed as I rode the elevator up by myself sans crazy bitch. I cannot believe that I have a Nazi living amongst us, a building just as diverse as Chicago itself. Especially in 2008. More prodding later on revealed that this crazy woman came from Czechoslovakia, and owns unit 1504. That is exactly six floors beneath my very unit. And apparently, she parks in space number 42. I took a picture of her Ohio license plate, and am considering getting some background information on this racist bitch.

Maybe I'll do some secret gift giving and send her a copy of The Schindler's List Collector's Edition DVD or something like that. =) You know, cos I'm just a nice guy. Or one who only sleeps with Asians, so she thought.

If You Wear a Trench Coat...

Sometimes I wonder if certain people you know are racists or the kind to stereotype people in their ids. Do you ever have a friend who you know pretty well, and you know he/she in general does not have tendencies to stereotype, yet you sometimes catch him/her implicitly reveal the silent racist in him/her?

For example, what relevance is there for stressing that someone is black when telling the story of how you got cut off in a line for the restroom at a concert? Wouldn't the story still be the same if you leave out the "black" part? Why even mention the aggressor's race at all?

From my point of view, by even being that specific, the person telling the story just revealed that deep down, he/she has some racist tendencies. Or in general, tendencies to stereotype. I'm not saying that in every similar case, the person is a racist. Just a tendency. Being specific also defines a good story teller, and is in no way, shape or form to indicate one's prejudices. But you wonder sometimes...

Well, what prompted this analogy was MTV's reporting of a recent school shooting by a 14 year old boy in Cleveland today. As a reporter or journalist, Gil Kaufman has a duty to report facts objectively. Although the news was heartbreaking, she needs to remain objective and control how information is presented after gathering the necessary information from various interviews.

Specifically, was it necessary for Gil Kaufman to include this quote by a student?

"I knew that dude was crazy, man. He always wore a trench coat."

To me, that is absolutely unethical in terms of professionalism in journalism. Were it be reported in other sections of MTV.com, I would not have any problem, but to include that in the news section kind of reduce its legitimacy as a news outlet. That statement was made by a student who clearly was prejudicial. And it was only an opinion, not a fact.

News agencies and their agents have the fiduciary obligation to present facts, not opinions. This simply perpetuates fear mongering amongst the public to be wary of those who wear trench coats. Because, like MTV and the kid, anybody who wears trench coats are simply crazy people!

Be very careful of trench coats... Next thing you know, it may attack you from the rack when you go shopping for clothes at your neighborhood mall.

Americans and the Environment

This is by no means a reflection of all Americans, but a good majority of us.

Except for me. =)

Having grown up in a developing country before settling in the United States, I have witnessed what life is like for the majority of people, who are below middle class, yet not exactly poor. It is pretty good and content. For the majority of Americans, they fall into the middle class group.

This middle class group makes me sick for the most part. Along with the rich. I know categorically I belong in the middle class group, but I am simply different. And weird, to boot. American middle class is obsessed with money and bragging rights. They have a strong desire to make it up to the rich category. Little do they know, those in the upper class are simultaneously getting richer. For example, the top few richest people are no longer millionaires, but billionaires! That is a far cry from what the benchmark was a decade ago when I was in college.

Anyway, this writing is not an in-depth look at the American middle class, but just an aspect of it. This is about the environment and cars. Yes, cars. Leave it to yours truly to somehow tie all his conversations and writings to one of his passionate topics (politics, environment, cars, comedy, girls and sex).

You see, the majority of the middle class Americans love to have things to show off. In this day and age where being green is not only cool and hip but also a status symbol, these people have gone hybrid crazy. This is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, I commend them for making such efforts in buying vehicles equipped with hybrid engines. I think that is totally good; so good that I even chastise myself for driving a Land Rover. But I give myself a break in knowing the facts that a) it is the smallest compact SUV from Land Rover, b) I rarely drive it, and c) I rely on the Chicago Transit Authority's bus and subway trains a lot.

Herein lays the problem. When Honda and Toyota brought the Insight and Echo, respectively, to the United States eons ago, everybody wanted one. But they were small, and not exactly comfortable for the long-haul drives. For the next generation, the same two companies revamped their efforts in pushing hybrid technologies. Honda began adding hybrid trims into their existing line-ups, while Toyota initially went the opposite direction. Toyota instead created the next Echo, the Prius. It is distinct, and unique from the rest of the regular line-up. It wasn't much later till Toyota decided to add hybrid trims into their existing line-ups like Honda's approach.

Ever since this renewed push by these two companies, the Toyota Prius remains one of the most popular vehicles, outselling Honda's hybrid vehicles. The marketing and sales top brass at Honda were quite upset that Toyota was selling more hybrids than Honda, despite the fact that Honda was and still is the leading automobile company in the United States in terms of having the lowest emissions vehicles in their entire lineup!

A study revealed that the majority of hybrid buyers want to stand out and show off their pride in being green. Owning a car like the Honda Accord or Civic, or a Toyota Camry with the hybrid engines wasn't cool enough. It didn't scream, "Look at me, I'm eco-friendly!" Of course, only detail-oriented car buffs like me can tell you right away in a glance if that Honda Accord is a hybrid or a regular V6 engine. Because of that, Honda decided to revamp their approach in marketing their future hybrid vehicles, like making bigger badges indicating a model's hybrid engine under the hood as well as having slightly different styling cues to differentiate itself from the regular engine version of the same model. Likewise, Toyota is planning to capitalize the Prius name by turning its Prius model into a Prius line of vehicles with different models.

Again, this is all good. I can not care less* about how these automobile companies strategize to sell more vehicles. What really bothers me is why do automobile manufacturers have to change their strategies to match the decision making process of the majority of middle class buyers, the biggest demographic population in purchasing hybrid cars? The answer is simple: they want something to show it off! They want it for the bragging rights! Yet they're not asking their legislators to vote in favor of rejoining the Kyoto Treaty, or demanding laws be enacted to lower the average miles per gallon standards from manufacturers.

I look at the European Union, and think Wow, they are so much advanced and smarter than we are! Not only do they consider the miles per gallon (or really kilometers per litre), but they also look at another factor which is more important which many Americans don't even consider (save for the automobile executives worried about their bottom lines): the amount of carbon dioxide produced per distance driven. It's like people wanting a car with a biggest tank, but neglecting to think about the efficiency side of the equation. (For example, larger tanks do you no good if your engine guzzles gas at a faster rate.)

The European Union is so far advanced in law making that they have set a target limit of 130 grams per kilometer by 2012 for vehicles. Some countries even have frameworks in which to push demand for cleaner cars. For example, the United Kingdom currently will not levy any tax on owners of vehicles that produce less than 100 grams of carbon dioxide per kilometer, and any car emitting more than 225 grams per kilometer will be levied about $420 a year in emission tax.

So what does this all mean? For your reference, a Jaguar X-Type 2.0 produces considerably more than 225 grams of carbon dioxide per kilometer. It has a fairly common engine with similar specifications as the average car (American trucks and SUVs excluded) driven in the United States.

So what other vehicles currently out in the market produce less than 100 grams per kilometer? Well, the Honda Insight and a few other diesel powered Smart cars!

Now, I'm not saying that the majority of middle class Americans are stupid or ignorant. I truly believe that this is a reflection of poor public education, as well as a lethargic government that we have had for decades. While the European Union nations have long had clean diesel powered vehicles which Americans seem to hate, they are also drawing up laws on how to incentize (yes, I just created that word) buyers and nudge auto manufacturers into producing cars that not only have higher mileage efficiency, but consider the more important factor of the amount of greenhouse gas emitted per distance driven. Meanwhile, our own government is doing little to even put a dent on curbing our greenhouse gas pollution. We're not part of the Kyoto Treaty; we have a law demanding automobile vehicles to have a a minimum average miles per gallon level that is not only a joke, but full of loopholes that it cannot even hold water; and a tiny incentive in tax credit if you buy a designated hybrid vehicle.

Sigh. This all simply just makes me sick. And we leave it to foreign companies like Honda and Toyota to blaze the trail in bringing hybrid cars to the United States. How long did it take Ford to take that strategy? Only after more than a half decade later! And not only that, but people in general need to start thinking for themselves, get smarter, and nudge their legislators into enacting tougher laws.

It is no wonder the Big Three are not really all that powerful and profitable anymore. Moreover, the new Big Three is no longer an all American club after Toyota surpassed the former number three's market share.

* Here's a pet peeve of mine. I get slightly irritated when people say "I can care less" when they want to stress how much they don't care about something. Really, the expression is "I cannot care less." Think about it. Just like how people always say, "Nobody isn't here." Grr...

Resisting Temptation

On January 9, I wrote about getting the Apple iPhone right after Steve Jobs announced the product hours beforehand. Of course, I didn't stupidly proclaim that I will get the iPhone no matter what. I set some minimum standards, and waited patiently.

Then on June 29, I visited the Apple store in Chicago and played with the iPhone. At $599 for the 8 GB version, along with many shortcomings that simply pissed me off, I decided not spend any money on it for what I would be getting.

Basically, it boiled down to the mere fact that although the iPhone has a coveted usability feature that is leaps and bounds beyond the competition, its features are weak at best. To me, it's like buying a $30,000 car that has heated seats made from premium grade Italian leather, nice Momo steering wheels, huge sunroof, and a craptastic puny engine that is easily outperformed by a rusty Honda Civic from the late 80's. Oh, and it doesn't even have independent double wishbone suspensions!

Would you want to buy such a car? Sure, it certainly has some nice things, but overall, for what it is, I wouldn't even touch it. But what if the price of such a car suddenly drops to $20,000, a 33% price drop?

That is exactly what happened to the iPhone 19 days ago, on September 5. Steve Jobs made an unprecedented announcement that the price of the iPhone will be dropped 33%. My Apple fanatic friend, who initially said he wouldn't buy the iPhone, bought the iPhone on the day of its launch, quickly followed by a prompt return. His reason wasn't because of the product itself, but rather the level of service AT&T provided him. Then he bought the iPhone again, after two major factors: 1) the aforementioned price drop, and 2) the recent successful hack that unlocked the iPhone.

Ever since September 5, especially with the announcement of the unlocking hack immediately following, I've been contemplating whether or not I should just join in on the popularity bandwagon in owning an iPhone. Sure, the glorious 3.5 inch screen coupled with a sensational touch human interface is aimed to please the crowd. Hell, it can even serve as an icebreaker when I sit next to a hot chick on the plane while on a business trip!

Temptations, temptations, temptations. I for one have never been the show-off kind of a guy. But gee whiz louise! I don't know how much longer I can resist the dark force of such a temptation...

Certified Ass Hole

I have no idea how many weddings I have been invited to, but I'm pretty damn sure that I have gone to a lot of them. As usual, whenever I get the invitation, I automatically check yes for "will attend," and mark two for "number of guests" in the Répondez, s’il vous plait card. Maybe it is out of habit, but whether or not I'm dating anyone, I will always bring a companion. And I have done this for every single wedding I have ever been invited to in my life.

Until now.

You see, this past weekend, I got a little bit of a shocker while I was chatting and catching up on things with a dear friend of mine, whose wedding is coming up soon. I haven't really opened the invite yet, as it is stuck somewhere in between stacks of bills and junk mail I have neglected to attend to for weeks. It's not that I wasn't excited to receive a suspicious-looking, odd-sized, girl-colored, love-stamped letter in the mail. Simply put, I got it just as I was returning home to pick up my luggage and run out the door for the airport some time ago.

Anyway, while chatting with her, I asked who were invited to the wedding, because I was going to bring a mutual friend who I'm sure would liven up the reception. [Or I hope.] And in an instant, I was quickly snapped, "You can't bring anyone!" At first, I was taken aback, before feeling a little bit insulted.

A quick look-through of some psycho books that target brides-to-be in such a huge profit-making industry, there are so many rules, manners and etiquettes surrounding the simple act of getting married. My favorite? Chapters based on the number of months till the wedding. [Read Emily Post.] But most of these books spent quite a lot of words and chapters geared towards the marrying couples. There isn't any chapter, much less an appendix, for wedding guests-to-be to read.

This invariably forced me to extend my research to the world of the interweb. And of course, the search was far and wide, as everything again was geared towards the marrying couples. After nearly half an hour, I finally discovered a few targeted hit results. Turns out, and all you boys out there better pay attention here, that there is an unwritten rule out there in the world of etiquette that dictates how you can respond to wedding invitations.

If the wedding invitation is addressed to you alone, then that means you are only allowed to arrive unaccompanied!

Yeah, Holy Shit! was what I said too!

If this hidden rule is supposed to be widely known, then why don't I know about this? Of course, I polled a lot of my friends about this, and no surprise here, but most guys save for one didn't know about this. They all have made the same mistake that I have done over and over. As for the girls out there, half of them knew about this unwritten rule. I even went so far as to ask my client employees!

I think that in this day and age, especially in America where it has been touted repeatedly as a country of melting pot [or at least layered oils of different viscosity], are all Americans supposed to automatically know this rule? Obviously the marrying couples will know them after reading so many different wedding books, but I doubt the general populace will know this.

And it was especially misleading when the typical RSVP card will have these three lines:
M______________________
Will __________ attend
_____ Number attending

For the most part, most guys will automatically write down just their name, and two for the number of guests. They all assumed that they could bring a date or companion. Apparently, that is a social faux pas in the world of American aristocracy dictated by the obsessive compulsive, linear folks like Martha Stewart and Emily Post. I mean, Emily Post's Etiquette isn't exactly a book I recall having to read in any of the mandatory literatures in secondary school years (i.e. high school for you Americans). Likewise, I wasn't required to attend any kind of charm schools while growing up. So how am I supposed to know this sensitive manner? If the guest list must be limited, then help me out by writing "one" for me in the blank next to the "Number attending" field.

More importantly, people with different cultures may have different expectations. As a friend of mine pointed out, my default response to a wedding invitation will gladly be accepted by a Chinese American couple, because it simply means that they will get more gifts. Of course, in contemporary American culture, shaped by the likes of Post or Stewart and actively practiced by the snooty 10% of our society who are wealthy and have the power to influence, this isn't the case!

Oops!

Apparently, I have been a certified ass hole so many times in the past, save for one wedding which I recall having such wedding invitation addressed to "John and Guest."

Here's my real beef. If what I had done was such a faux pas, then why didn't any of my previous friends warn me about it? After all, most of my friends who got married were women! They could have taught me an invaluable lesson and save me from the embarrassment of being labeled The Guy Who Sucks Your Wedding Funds Away. I can only imagine one married friend telling another female friend of mine who is about to tie the knot: "Watch out for John. Not only does he eat a lot, flirt with your mom, be the crowd clown, but he brings dates just to drain your money away!"

Instead of the confusing RSVP cards with the standard fill-in-the-blanks, why not make it more straight-forward. If the size of the guest list is tight, spell it out. If standard RSVP cards must be used in a limited wedding reception, I for one will volunteer to send out the invitations, while manually writing the number of guests for that targeted invitee. That way, the point is made across loud and clear. And I blame anal-retentive folks like Post and Stewart for creating this mess, because they want your invitation to come across as tactful, so they leave out important things which may in fact be useful.

I guess in a way, I'm glad for the hotly-debated conversation I had with my friend this past weekend, because it is better to be late in knowing this than never at all. And if, God willing, I'm blessed with the opportunity to find the right girl and if, God willing, marriage is in the cards, my wedding invitations will be done entirely over the Internet! Screw Peggy Post and Martha Stewart. No more confusing RSVP cards with underlines here and there. And when invitees get to my website to respond, there will be a grayed out field labeled "Number of Guests," and it will indicate a solid number pre-determined. If I want Emily Stewart to come unaccompanied because I hate her boyfriend, then it will just read a big ol' UNO in that field. And if I want a married couple with kids to come sans noise-makers, then that field will read a big ol' DOS.

That's just me. =)

Sucks to be an Asian

I'm an Asian American, and proud to be one. But there is something that bothers me once in a while for being an Asian. You see, one of my sister's former boyfriends is a semi-psychotic typical Midwestern white boy who has this fetish for Asians. He would dress like Asians as often as he can, carry an accent like Asian Americans, never mind the fact that he sounds perfectly fine with his Midwestern English, and collect anything Asian related. It is one thing to appreciate a different culture, and totally another thing when emulating it.

Or take for example one of my former R.A.s (college dormitory resident assistant) at Southwest Missouri State University. He is this short, white guy with receding hairline, from the heart of the Ozarks. Yet, he talks like an African American, acts like one, and raps on the side. Normally, this isn't all that strange or uncommon, except for the fact that he was proud to have been on the Jerry Springer show titled Blacks Trapped in a White Body. Yeah, extreme, huh?

In any case, people who have an Asian fetish kind of freaks me out. But for the most part, they don't bother me a whole lot, because it is always the white guys who are totally nuts about Asian girls. It is hardly ever white girls totally crushing on Asian guys. But living here in a city as diverse as Chicago, there is a certain twist that just bothers me a little.

I have nothing against gays, and even have gay friends. What I take issue with are guys who have an Asian fetish who happen to be gay. And typically gay guys are quite flamboyant and bold, and as such, I often get whistled at or checked out while walking to my friend Maria or Matt's place in Boystown. I definitely don't feel comfortable, and I wonder how my girl friends handle being whistled at.

I mean, should I feel proud and walk with a sway whenever a gay guy with a ripped bod check me out with a wink? After all, they typically sport the kind of body that I very much envy, yet I sport this sweet little tiny spare tire and the beginnings of boobage like a 12-year old girl starting puberty. Or should I secretly enjoy it, but keep cool? And what is it about Asian guys that attract gay guys? Is it a fetish, or simply the fact that they like tiny little, uh, cavities?

Whatever the case may be, this is the only kind of situation where I always feel a little bit uncomfortable being Asian. You would think that someone as confident and extroverted like me would still feel manly and secure about his heritage in situations like this, but I always feel a little dirty and violated whenever I get whistled at by a gay guy. And of course with the whole thing with Senator Craig, I have mysteriously developed a new fear of going into public restrooms. Thanks to him, now I have the frame of mind to freak out when the guy sitting next to me tries to cruise with me while on the crapper, or when some dude follows me into a restroom and tries to look into my stall through the crack between the partitions.

Shivers!

Ploper Engrish from SFBs

We're all immigrants, be it Americans who have lived here for a few generations, or like me, first generation American. But there is a dividing line, which its distinction is kind of hard to tell. You'll never see a stronger shade of gray in this regard.

If you recall from one of my previous writings, there is this term called FOB, which stands for Fresh Off the Boat. For starters, you can say anybody who just immigrated to this country within six months qualify as being fresh off the boat. But then, the term is typically equally applied to anyone who have been an immigrant to America for years yet somehow managed to still have no command of the English language, much less any kind of a grasp on the American culture. So yeah, simply using the number of years one have been an immigrant is not exactly a clear, definitive distinction between one who is fresh off the boat and one who has been an SFB.

The whole point of this writing is not to rant about FOBs, much less delve much into those who fall into the FOB category. I want to pay attention to those who belong to the SFB camp. What is SFB, you ask? Well, it is definitely not a term you'd find on Urban Dictionary, as it is something I just made up impromptu on this long flight to Seattle. It simply is an acronym standing for Stale Former Boaters. =)

You see, although people like some of my friends and me have been Americans for quite some time, we do at one point or another hit the roadblock while commanding the English language. Cases in point...

While having a happy hour after work earlier in the summer, a few friends of mine and I were all catching up on each others' lives. Cesar (American Mexican) was teasing his wife Sabine (French American) relentlessly, which caused her to cry out, "Take a pill chill!" Needless to say, she opened the gates allowing us to forever tease her with that saying whenever the occasion arises.

And then my other friend Erin (Japanese American) would at times accidentally say "cheap steak" instead of "cheap skate." Although it wasn't her mistake to begin with, she caught the bug when her friend from back home would always misuse that phrase.

Finally, we have Rosa (Salvadorian American, as best as I could tell, because for all we know, she could be an entirely new breed). Whenever she gets excited, her English will decline exponentially, especially when she starts talking real fast. And the best part of it all? I can totally wind her up easily, as she has so many buttons at my disposal to push on. Just last night, when we were talking about her nasty, stinkin' foot injury, she theorized about how "hair dog" got into the crack of her heel. And best of all, she said that twice!

At first glance, any stranger who overhears us will recognize instantly (at least I hope) that we have a pretty strong command of the English language. But hang out with us Stale Former Boaters long enough and you will slowly catch us saying silly things here and there.

Since I ratted out a little bit on my friends, I suppose it is only fair that I reveal at least a common slip up I frequently say. I tend to mix up the word "sheet" and "shit" frequently when conversing verbally. And you can thank my upbringing for that, as I learned "shit" from friends way before someone taught me what a "sheet" is. And it has stuck ever since. Of course, this is not counting the frequent "yet" incident I often have with my good friend Shannon. =)

Alarming Japanese Birth Rate Decline Discovered!

What's a Box?

BL: MA

READER DISCRETION ADVISED

This blog has been rated MA for mature audience.


Okay... So I admit to reading at least once a week a blog written by a cool, independent woman, for women. She calls herself This Fish, in which she refers to Irina Dunn's famous quote, an analogy of how a woman needs a man: like a fish needs a bicycle.

Anyway, This Fish recently wrote an entry titled Box. Please excuse moi, as I'm simply an ignorant foreigner. [Let's see how many years after becoming a United States citizen I can still play the foreigner card.] I didn't know what a box was, but judging by the context of her blog, I quickly figured it out. But wanting to be 100% certain, I consulted my trusty Urban Dictionary.

Yup! Now I know exactly what a box is. But what really bothered me was the realization that I knew only a fraction of the popular synonyms of box. I knew of the vertical smile from watching Knocked Up, but not as comprehensive as other references as indicated in the Urban Dictionary:

alcove, bat cave, bear trap, bearded clam, bearded taco, beaver, bermuda triangle, bucket seat, cake, chuff box, cockpit, cooch, coochie, coochie-pop, coose, cooter, cooze, crack, crawl space, cum depository, cum dumpster, cuntcake, cunt, cunny, donut, dripping delta, felted mound, fillet-o-fish, finger hut, fish, fish taco, front bum, fly catcher, fuckhole, garage, gash, gates of Heaven, golden doorway, Grand Canyon, growler, hatchet wound, heaven's door, hole, honey cave, honey pot, hot box, jaws of Hell, lobster pot, loins, loose meat sandwich, lotus, love box, love canal, lower lips, meat wallet, muff, nooch, nook, nookie, peach, pearly panty gates, pocket, poon, poontang, purse, pussy, quiff, quim, rat trap, scratch, sheath, slash, slit, snapper, snatch, space, split, stench trench, tampon socket, temple, thingy, tool shed, tuna, tunnel, twat, undercut, vagina, vertical smile, wishing well, whisker box, womb, x, yoni

Backstreet Boy No More!

What else would you do when you’re stuck at work on a Tuesday night at 22:06, courtesy of the EPM’s parting gift to me before he was “let go?” Why, you ask your compadre to take a picture of you with your worn shirt all wrinkled, your eyes all puffy, and a face with a forced smile like kidnapped victims sport when asked to show when shooting an evidence-that-you-are-alive picture to send to your loved one!

This story started almost nine months ago, when my favorite (and Erin’s, and Christine’s) hairstylist had the luck of the draw getting pregnant while bumping the uglies with her husband. That led to May 5th as her last day at Mario Tricoci before taking a maternity leave for twelve weeks. Twelve weeks!!! That is like a whole three months! And of course it totally sucks, because May 5th did not coincide with my haircut schedule, which has always been every three months in the year (December, March, June, and September). But seeing that I did not want to look like a scrub for almost five whole months while wearing a mop on my head with dying highlights, I decided to go in for a cut out of my regularly scheduled three month interval. After all, the last cut was performed barely two months ago!

Seeing as well that it was time for me to get a whole new color, as I typically would color my hair every other visit (six months), I decided not to get any highlights this time! Besides the fact that it was getting kind of expensive highlighting my hair twice a year, it also seemed like the Pantene® Color Stay shampoo and conditioner did nothing to prevent the beautiful brown and light blonde colors stay that way. My top mop had turned into this washed out copper top and shiny bronze colors, typically found in colored hairs of sketchy older ladies you would see screwing around the beach begging for money or free beer.

My hair wasn’t exactly long enough, as the last haircut was only back in March, but my hairstylist didn’t want me leaving the salon like a spotted cheetah. So she cut my hair short. Waaay short! So short that my hair stood up, and not even my trusty hair clay could do to keep them down and styled. But that was the least of my worries, though. Because now, I’m sporting a whole lot of jet-black hair!

Like a normal Asian.

I no longer look like a Backstreet Boy!

Are You White?

Sunday morning, March 25th. The forecast called for rain, but it turned out to be a beautiful and sunny day. Temperatures on marquee signs at different banks read somewhere between 75 and 80 degrees. Given the inaccuracies of bank temperatures, it was a good day nonetheless. At least a good day for the Shamrock Shuffle 8K race.

This year's Shuffle was a little bit more organized as far as human traffic goes. As a result of this advanced, brilliant organization, the lot of us got stuck quite far back in the crowd amongst the open division. We were staged in the area with the 12 minute mile pacers! Ugh.

As a result, it took about 12 minutes for us to cross the starting line. GPS unit ready on my wrist, we started running. My bad. We started jogging slower than we can walk. But it was fun nonetheless. The company of friends, and the energy of the crowd. It all made for a pleasant run. Running a slower pace was a combination of my recent weight gain, the lack of sleep the night prior, and the result of a friend's evil plan to get me drunk late into the night at some restaurant that just so happened to be reviewed on the show Check Please! that very evening!

I can't really hold her at fault entirely, because what's that saying? That's right, I remember now. You can't rape the willing. But that's beside the point.

After about half of mile into running the Shuffle, our little group broke up into two. A slow group, and an even slower one. I fell into the former. And for the first time ever, I ran a steady pace without any effort, and I chatted almost the entire four plus miles! What a great way to catch up with a friend on each others' otherwise uninteresting lives. And best of all, my sides didn't hurt, as they usually do when I talk and run at the same time, a result of unsynchronized breathing methodology.

After the brisk five mile run, I was not the least bit tired, and was ready to run another lap around the exact same course. But of course hunger would take precedence. Instead of waiting in long lines lasting almost an hour to get our petty free beer, a few of us opted to go to Duffy's on Diversey for an all-you-can-eat brunch, with unlimited mimosas inclusive. All for just $15.95. What's not to love, besides the half hour we had to wait, which wasn't so bad as we were not unaccompanied with our favorite breakfast alcoholic drink. Mine was a Bloody Mary.

Two additional servings past the point when I said I was full, a song broke out in this rather loud bar that caters to pathetic fraternity boys and sorority girls. Undoubtedly it was one of my favorite songs, if not the best: O.A.R.'s Crazy Game of Poker. By this point in time, I may have had four or eight mimosas, but hey! Who's counting anyway? So I sang along at the top of my lungs in an attempt to drown out the song blasting over the speakers, but I must also add that I failed miserably.

My companion had never heard of this song, to which I reacted in shock. How can she not know the greatest song ever?!? A quick glance around the bar told her what she needed to know. All these pretty frat boys and ridiculously annoying sorority girls know the song, as they too were singing along to it. A smile came upon a face before looking at me with all seriousness: "Are you white?"

Fast forward to tonight. Time had passed, and I had a few moments to think about this. Briefly, of course, as I interrupted myself with a undeserved giant chocolate shake from Häagen-Dazs. Incidentally, the shake itself, as mightily tasty as it was, was definitely unworthy of the six dollars they commanded. Unless they believed wholeheartedly that they should find it ethical to charge a dollar for each hundred calories they produced.

Anyway, so I thought about the question that was imposed upon me. I don't listen to gangster rap. I may not listen to most of the top 40 pop music that are constantly shoved down our ear canals, but I surely do enjoy the popular alternative rock music. It may be considered well known and internationally recognized if you judge music by its quick recognition throughout the world. Tool? Yes. Nine Inch Nails? Yes. The Killers? Yes. Muse? Yes.

But there was a point in time when the world didn't know who the Dave Matthews Band was. Yes, I love them for a long time, since before they made it big on the world scene of music before Everyday. Statistically speaking, the majority of DMB fans are mostly white kids who mostly happen to enjoy some doobie doby doo on the side. You might refer to it as Mary Jane. But so what? Phish? Yes.

But what about Guster? Or O.A.R.? Damn! She totally got me! I realized that such music typically catered to fans that are statistically not me. Or the black guy next door. Or my Hispanic buddies. Or my French, or German, or Italian, or Japanese, or Filipino friends. Damn! O.A.R.? Totally white hippie crowd's kind of music, despite the fact that one of the O.A.R. band members is Asian.

Now I'm left with bewilderment as to how I have become this person that I am today. Of all the worldly influences while growing up, I now claim most music best enjoyed with alcohol, happy-go-lucky girls, and Mary Jane as my kind of music! Sigh... I can only imagine the disappointment in my parents' eyes. But you know what? I may not be a whitey, but I sure as hell love O.A.R.!

From this day forth, let it be known that I am in love with strange tunes that are typically loved by the hippie college frat boys and sorority girls! Ain't no shame in that! =)

Damn the 'Cock Network

Network executives are growing more and more impatient with the passing times. No longer are nurturing in and investing something big a concern for future success. Now, success is strongly dictated by the biased and inaccurate Nielson ratings (whose practice have for years discounted the tally of black and minority households) and the instant buck from television advertising and unscrupulous product placement.

There is a very good chance that I can predict that you liked Seinfeld, the show that has contributed just as many, if not more, catchphrases into the popular culture lexicon as Friends did. You may even agree to the fact that Seinfeld was one of the most successful series on television, albeit its lackluster final farewell episode. But in today's world of making the quick buck, Seinfeld would never have lasted past its first season!

What the hell has gotten John's undie tied up in a wad now?!?

The last three weeks has been extremely horrible at work. I'm surprised that it has not driven me to binge drinking, but stressful nonetheless. So naturally, I didn't need any extra grievances, you know? But nosireebob! It was simply not in the cards. I returned home on Monday almost at 21:00, tired and wretched. I prepared dinner, and turned on my digital video recorder. The perfect unwinding experience would be mine the instance I start watching Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.

A quick, then more thorough, flip through of the list of shows recorded, Studio 60 was indeed missing. I first suspected a malfunction in my new HD DVR. So I looked at my backup, a home-built computer DVR that records standard broadcast definition shows which I've had for years. Nope, no luck there either. So definitely it has nothing to do with the piece of crap Motorola produced. After all, my creation is perfect. Ha ha.

I was so upset that I decided to research into this right away and let my dinner get cold on the table, despite the fact that I was hungry like a mofo. It turned out that the General Electric Peacock network, known to all as NBC, has done it again!

Back in May of 2006, with the ratings slipping on ER, the executives and decision makers at NBC decided to launch a new show The Black Donnellys in the same timeslot as ER on Thursdays during the Fall season. The two shows will timeshare and alternate each week, and depending on which show getting the higher rating, the loser will get the boot. That was understandable, as ER is now mostly a deadbeat show that has worn itself out. Even the diehard fans are losing interest. It is just a stagnant show, limping along on Thursday nights losing battle to shows on other networks.

Then a change occurred. The Black Donnellys's debut was postponed to March 5 (a Monday), and given four weeks to test out its weight after NBC decided to keep ER, a stagnant grandmother of a show, rolling. The Black Donnellys' timeslot would be right after the highly acclaimed Heroes, a move to keep huge audiences on NBC instead of flocking over to CBS's CSI: Miami, thereby temporarily putting Studio 60 on hold. It worked out great, as rumors have it that production of the $2 million an episode show was running behind schedule anyway.

On February 19, Studio 60 had a poor show of ratings, which caused the executives to make a rash decision to bump the date up a week for The Black Donnellys debut, knocking off into oblivion an already produced episode of Studio 60 ready for airing the Monday of February 26. The reason? NBC needed something to compete against CBS's untouchable CSI: Miami, and its patience with garnering and nurturing an audience for Studio 60 was running short, never mind the fact that it has a cult following that did not translate into astronomical Nielson rating.

My point? The Seinfeld Chronicles. Never heard of it? Well, that was the original title of the Seinfeld show when it first aired on NBC. It was funny and good, but the first season was considered a lackluster in terms of ratings; so much so that NBC tried to pawn it off to Fox, who subsequently declined. So NBC stuck it out, and looked what happened to Seinfeld. It went on to become one of the best and highest rated television shows!

Lesson here? The executives at NBC should learn a lesson or two on patience. I was pissed off last year when they dropped Conviction, a really good show that suffered poor ratings on Fridays. They never gave it a chance. And now, with just a cult following (myself included), Studio 60 looks like another smart and quality show that may get the axe. But it doesn't have to suffer such fate. If only the executives at the peacock network will exercise patience, and possibly move it to another timeslot in the week, there is a very good chance that Studio 60 may become a cash cow later on.

For now, I guess we'll have to settle for yet another violent television series that carries a light plot and is so generic in form that will really inspire our youth around the nation. Yeah, boys and girls, if you have an awesome opportunity to go to art school, just give that up and return to the mob life. That's what I call high hopes for America's youth.

An Anatomy of Grey's Anatomy

An Anatomy of Grey's Anatomy

One Sunday evening years ago, I was flipping through the channels in search of the brand new series House. For some reason I thought it was showing at 21:00 on Sunday, even though I very well knew that Fox Broadcasting broadcasts its nightly news at that hour in central time zone. Nonetheless, I thought I found the right channel, because there was this show with a bunch of people in medical coats. That must be it, the oft-talked show that has been generating buzz all week long.

An hour later, I was puzzled as all heck. Where was the bearded, gimpy doctor that all the critiques raved about? It turned out that I had just watched the pilot episode of Grey's Anatomy. Stranger yet, I actually liked this new show. Ever since that day, I have been watching Grey's Anatomy religiously. It is funny and catchy. I liked how Meredith Grey narrates throughout the show explaining the little meanings of life as she saw it through the experiences of her life and her friends', hence the title.

Although Grey's Anatomy was never my absolute number one favorite show, it was high up there on my list along with 24 and CSI. Of course now I don't watch CSI anymore due to last year's Thursday primetime shakeup.

Fast forward a couple years from 2005, a smooth 51 episodes later. I still like the show. Sure, it no longer has the same cachet as it carried in the first season. It still is funny at times, but it seems like they have shaken up the staff writers. Either that, or it could be possible that ABC guided the show's existing staff writers in a new direction after finding out that their audience comprised a significantly more proportion of young women than previously projected in target audience research. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that in the advent of character development and its intricate relationships, the show has evolved slightly into a medical drama version of Desperate Housewives. It is now an extremely girly show!

Of course, that didn't bother me a whole lot. At least not enough for me to completely dump the show. I just wonder now what will the staff writers do once all the characters have slept with each and every other characters. Will the producers bring more hot guest stars like they did with Chris O'Donnel last season?

In any case, let's get back to the point. Another reason why I liked this show outside of its artistic values is because it had very minimal product placement. Compare it to Seinfeld or Friends, Grey's Anatomy is the untainted virgin free of corporate product placement. Of course I don't consider medical equipment really a product placement when the premise of the show is set in a hospital setting. And GE has been good with not slapping their oversized brand icon on every medical equipment prop. In fact, I hardly ever see its brand at all, except during the closing credits.

Well, this virgin is no more. You, like I and many other fellow human beings, have gone to hospitals, clinics and doctors' offices countless of times. So why don't you think back of hospital and clinic surroundings as a reference? What do you remember most about the decors on such walls? For me, it has mostly been informational diagrams of certain anatomic parts, like the reproductive systems, lungs, etc. Sure, these posters were provided by the pharmaceutical companies. For example, there might be a huge poster showing the anatomies of both a healthy sinus and one that has severe allergies, with a small line at the very bottom indicating lightly that the poster was provided by Nasonex. In other words, minimal advertising in the hospitals due to doctors' code of ethics.

Where am I going with this? When I was catching up with Grey's Anatomy recently when I finally watched the "Wishin' and Hopin'" episode, something caught my eye that really disturbed me. I stopped the frame and looked hard. I dug deep into the recesses of my subconscious mind so that I may put a finger on it. Here is the frame I am talking about:

Notice anything strange? No? Look over Meredith's shoulder on her left (our right). Yeah, over there, the big blue sign. That extremely oversized image. I mean, look at it! It is just as big as that janitor's cart? Do you recognize the sign? I didn't initially. But it took me a long time to figure out. Since I'm not a woman, I know little about birth control. I mean, I know the medical concepts surrounding it and how they function in a woman's body depending on the general types. But I surely didn't know the popular brands out there. After much research, I finally found it!


Ring a bell? That thing on the show is a striking resemblance to a logo of a birth control device magnified hundredfold! Watch the regular advertisement on the air here.

Ugh!!! Grey's Anatomy has finally snuck in a huge product placement! The show is no longer pure, and it is a little bit upsetting. Now I just hope that the show is not going down a slippery hill and maintain its good qualities.

Cultural Learnings of Asian Americans for Make Benefit Normal People

Asians can be extremely segregative. They are not vocal about it, and can be very tongue in cheek-ish about their attitude. They have a label for Asians like me: Banana or Twinkie. Take your pick.

For the sake of curiosity’s sake, I looked up Urban Dictionary for some entries related to the Asian American culture. After much research and according to the most popular definition in the entry, I am the following: a twinkie or a banana, Asian-American, and half fobulous. I am not: Yap, Fob, super Fob, Fobabee, Gangsta Fob, Tab, Hoochie Tab, Rice-Boy, or Pob.

Not sure what each means? Let me copy and paste Rebecca’s submitted entry to the legendary Urban Dictionary for you. This is quite funny; Asians compartmentalized and categorized.


Twinkie
- Besides your nationality, there is little to distinguish you from white people
- Your significant other is not Asian and never has been
- You have few Asian friends, if any
- You are embarrassed at family events because you cannot speak your language and everyone has to switch to English to communicate with you
- You have no idea that the other types of Asians on this list even exist
- You think Hello Kitty is dumb and do not know what Sanrio is
- You are the only Asian on this list that does not know what Bubble Tea is
- You drive a Ford or some other domestic car and if you drive a Honda, it is stock

Asian-American
- You claim yourself as Asian, but real Asians think you're whitewashed and non-Asians see you as a foreigner. You fit in nowhere
- You have heard of Bubble Tea but have never actually had any
- You are confused about your cultural identity and express this frustration through spoken word performances at your college
- You read A. magazine and think it's great
- You do not know who Leon, Aaron, Sammi, Hikki, or Kangta are
- You are only vaguely aware of the other Asians below

Yap (Young Asian Professional)
- You are in one of these professions:
a) Medicine / Pharmaceutical
b) Engineering
c) Finance
d) Investment Banking
e) Accounting
- Most of your wardrobe was purchased at Banana Republic
- You go to "mixers" on Thursday nights to meet other Yaps and talk about the Dow Jones.
- You did exactly what your parents wanted you to do and as a result, your life is hella boring
- Your apartment/home is decorated almost exclusively with stuff from Pier 1
- Your parents always talk to their friends about how much money you make. If they don't, then you're a dissapointment

Fob (Fresh Off tha Boat)
- You were not born in America
- You know who Leon, Aaron, Sammi, Hikki, and Kangta are. In fact, you have seen them at Atlantic City or Las Vegas recently
- You speak your native language fluently and so do all your friends
- You do not have any non-Asian friends
- Your parents do not speak any English
- When you speak English, you like to make everything plural
- You get extremely good grades in school
- You cannot dance
- Your fashion sense comes from whatever country you're from and you incorporate nothing from American fashion into your wardrobe

SuperFob
- Your command of the English language is minimal and you don't care
- You like dim sum chicken feet
- You do not own a single CD, VCD, Video game, or DVD that isn't bootlegged
- Your only hangout is Chinatown
- All the lights in your house are fluorescent
- You dry your cloths outside your window
- You need a haircut
- You either smell like cigarettes or food

Fobabee
- You are an Asian-American or Twinkie who has recently "awoken"
- You have a newly found fetish of Asian girls/boys
- You have taken the Asian Studies course at college
- You are trying to learn as much as possible about your culture to make up for your lifetime of trying to be white (Twinkie ; Banana) or Black (Chigger ; Tea egg)
- If you are lucky, you will grow to become Fobulous

Gangsta Fob (Fobsta)
- You have shot another Asian
- Your favorite hangout is a pool hall
- When you talk, you sound like a cross between a Fob and an urban black kid
- Your hair looks silly, but no one will tell you because you'll shoot them
- You have a serious gambling problem
- You are a Rice-boy, but your mods are cheap and are never painted to match the rest of your car
- No one tells you your rice ride looks cheap because you'll shoot them
- You want to have a Tab girlfriend, but can only get Hoochie Tabs

Tab (Trendy Asian B*tch)
- You shop at A/X, Bebe and Club Monaco
- You only wear black and will occasionally wear white to "mix it up"
- You do not weigh more than 105 lbs
- You have never paid for dinner at a restaurant in your life
- Platform heels are your favorite
- You are a makeup expert, in fact, you appear completely flawless
- You do not smile in public
- You are the object of desire of all Asian men and you know it
- You smoke
- Your cell phone is completely customized
- On the inside flip of your cell phone is a sticker pic of you and your man
- Somewhere in your purse is a Sanrio item
- You only date Asian and will only date a boy with a nice car
- You are often seen with Rice-boys
- You never travel alone. You are either in the company of other Tabs or your Rice-boy boyfriend

Hoochie Tab
- You are an import car model
- Your boobs are not real
- There are naked pictures of you floating around on the internet somewhere
- Stiletto heels are your favorite
- Your role models are Francine Dee and Kaila Yu
- Your boyfriend is a Gangsta Fob
- You cheat on your boyfriend
- Unlike most Asians, you do not do well in school

Rice-Boy
- You drive an Asian import. Usually a Honda or Acura
- Your souped up car (known as a Rice-ride or Rice-rocket) is unrecognizable from it's original stock form
- Your exhaust pipe is big enough for your head to fit in
- The spoiler on your car looks like it was made by Boeing
- The interior of your car also looks like it was designed by Boeing
- You always drive like you are racing someone
- You are not afraid of dying in a crash, but you are afraid of speed bumps and parking lot on-ramps
- The only other person besides yourself who can sit in your car is your 105 lbs Tab girlfriend. If anyone else sits in your car, the entire bottom of it will be touching the ground
- Even though your car is a Honda, it goes faster and is worth more than a Lotus Esprit
- If you drive a Civic, your dream car is a Supra. If you drive a Supra, your dream car is a Skyline (which you can never have). Poor Rice-boy.

Fobulous
- You speak perfect English and you are fluent in your native language
- You have Asian friends as well as non-Asian friends
- You listen to Asian pop as well as American music
- You are equally aware of both popular American culture and Asian pop culture
- You are a good dancer
- You date Asian by choice even though you could rock the opposite sex of any other race
- You are a good designer and have superior Html skills
- You have an Apt107 page AND an AA page and the guest books in both are packed
- For you, FOB stands for Fabulous Oriental Being
- You have lots of Asian pride

Pob
- A Filipino fob.
- Words that start with F tend to be pronounced with a P. (Fuck you..Pobarized version: PUCK you)
- FUll accent
"Lets go take some sticker pickiez la! xD Kekezzz"
"Puck you mother pucker!"