Halfway through our drive to Koreatown, which is just west of downtown LA, Emilie and I talked about everything: family, friends, college, even the nefarious MCAT. We're both about to take it for the first time, and we're both very nervous about it. It's good to know that I'm not the only one with anxieties about the MCAT, after all, it's only the biggest obstacle of my life. I've thought about the second-place option of being a lawyer, but I'm just not cut out for it. I just can't defend people that I know that are guilty, and besides, I hate going to court. Court is like a country club full of backstabbers, betrayers, traitors otherwise known as politicians and— — anyway, I'm not invited; nor do I want to be. I wouldn't make it in law school; there's just no way.
As we approach the outskirts of LA, I can see the intense barrage of graffiti on the sides of buildings along the freeway. Some of the artwork can actually merit an exhibit at an art gallery, unlike one particular piece of graffiti which catches my eye, "The One And Only Joe," sprayed in pink paint across the boarded doors of an abandoned warehouse. "The One
— And Only Joe" of course I know that Joe, since he's the one and only; there can't be any other Joe's in this world, since he's the one and only, right? I don't necessarily mind graffiti but at least spray something clever, not something stupid. Does he really think he's "The One And
” Only Joe? I should spray "The Second And Other Joe" right next to his, except that I don't carry a can of spray paint with me, plus, I'm on a date and graffiti's not worth my time. Idiocy like this really irritates me to an astounding degree.
Emilie turns off the radio, which is tragic because The Velvet Underground's Sweet Janewas playing, one of my favorite songs of all-time the wonderful things I have to give up—
for women.
"So Johnson, what do you usually like to eat? Emilie asks, pulling a compact mirror ”
out of her Coach purse, probably to check her make-up.
"I usually like to eat organic stuff, but my parents always shop at Asia World Market to buy all of our groceries. How about you?"
"I usually stick with Korean food. My parents also shop at Asia World Market to buy all of our groceries." Asian parents really are all alike, even where they shop.
"Besides Korean food, what else do you like to eat?"
"Anything but Vietnamese food. It's so...ghetto. It's what peasants eat," Emilie stresses, a hint of disgust in her voice.
“ ”I see... I pause, not saying a word after that. Oh, no not Emilie! I thought that she—
would be different from all the other girls. I can't believe she just said that. She probably believes in the Asian Status Hierarchy, in which the Koreans are supposedly better than the Vietnamese. The thing about Korean culture is that the people are very competitive and— extremely superficial. Remember the advocation of double eyelid surgery for girls as well as parentally-accepted prostitution? Well, it doesn't stop there. Koreans like to indoctrinate and
— —control what a surprise their kids at a very young age, especially when they are impressionable babies. When a Korean baby is a year old, for instance, Koreans celebrate by —giving gold and cash what a surprise. Moreover, Korean parents like to lay out certain material objects on the floor to see which ones their babies will grab first, their choice determining their future field of profession: money for finance, mobile phone for technology, —prescription drug container for medicine or if they're not too careful: drug dealer. All jokes aside, it's appalling that Korean parents start their method of control even before the baby can even walk. "Start them young to get them young" should be the motto of all Korean and— —Asian parents.
— —As if this isn't bad enough, Korean and Asian parents are willing to make an exception to the doctor-or-lawyer requirement, so long as you make a lot of money to make up for your errant, aberrant behavior. Sandra Oh, a Korean actress born in Canada, is one such exception. Her parents wanted her to become a doctor and were gravely disappointed when she aspired to become an actress. Well, guess what? Now that she's been in major motion pictures and hit television series, her parents have retracted that disappointment and are now basking in her fame and fortune, totally approving her choice of profession, as if they've always known that she would be a famous actress one day. Remember, it's always about the money so if you can't be a doctor or lawyer then you better become Bill Gates.
Last but not least, you'll find this really funny: the Koreans of Koreatown actually held a parade after Alice Kim and Nicholas Cage, a famous actor, got married in 2004. Many Koreans celebrated this marriage as a "win" for the burgeoning Korean cultural movement, as if they themselves did something to help accomplish this "major feat." For crying out loud, it's not like they cured cancer. But for Koreans, one of them getting married to a famous American —celebrity means more than curing cancer how superficial and pretentious! Instead, why don't they hold a parade to withdraw all the soldiers fighting in the neoconservative, undeclared Iraq War? Instead, why don't they hold a parade for all the Americans that participated in the World Cup? The reason is because these things do not relate to the big three money, status, and—
—power at least for them. If it doesn't affect them directly or in relation to how it affects them, then it's not important. Care to guess what's trulyimportant to them?
You're probably thinking, Why am I just bashing Koreans? It's not just them. The Japanese are just as bad, working like slaves in order to show off their money, spending it excessively like they're kings and not giving a damn about anything else. The Chinese work like slaves, too, but are known to be cheap and will do anything like putting melamine in milk—
—or lead in toys just to save money, throwing morals and ethics out the window. Then you —have the rest of Indochina the Vietnamese, Laotians, Cambodians, too many to list— following the Chinese, Korean, and Japanese, striving to obtain a small piece of that greedfilled pie. It's true that ethnic heritages like Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and Vietnamese are different, but they are all the same when it comes to one thing: money. They all want there kids to grow up to become doctors and lawyers; why? money. They all want to live in the—
—United States of America; why? money. Remember, they can care less about freedom, —liberty, and patriotism that's insignificant compared to money. They would be more than happy to live in a despotic, totalitarian society, just as long as they make lots of money.
Mommy once told me that the reason why Asians love money so much is because it will always be there, unlike governments which fall. Does she really believe her own crap? Has she not heard of the German hyperinflation in 1923? Or the hyperinflation of Chinese currency during World War II and shortly thereafter with the rise of Mao's Communist Party? Even the mighty Romans experienced a complete collapse in their fiat currency. Money will not always be there, so I just wish she would stop making excuses and just admit that she's obsessed with money, like so many Asians. Anyway, all cultures in Asia are different, but they —are all the same when it comes to one thing and you know what that one thing is. And if you still don't believe me about the Asian Status Hierarchy, then ask a Korean mother what she thinks about her son marrying a Vietnamese girl and vice versa and see what kind of an— —
answer that you get. Then come and talk to me if you still don't believe.
I decide to take the Vermont Avenue exit, in order to escape the heavy traffic associated with the later exits. I turn left on Western Avenue and continue on past Wilshire Boulevard, the entire area saturated with Korean stores and restaurants, thus, we're now in Koreatown. After driving for what seems like hours because of the traffic, Emilie points at Koreatown Galleria, the shopping mecca of Korean glitz and glamor. In actuality, it's just a small shopping mall with a few Korean restaurants and retail stores, not surprising that the Koreans named it a galleria in order to make it sound grandiose and spectacular. I drive into the parking garage and park my car on the first level, so that it's easier for me to remember. Emilie and I walk in, observing the crowd of Korean people moving about the mall. We coalesce into the crowd, blending in, walking and window-shopping at the same time.
"Oh, look at that dress, Johnson," Emilie directs with her finger, pointing to the white sheath dress in the store window.
"That looks exquisite," I lie, trying to hide my disinterest. I wish I could fast forward this date and get to the "good stuff."
"I'm going to try it on. Come on!" Emilie commands, grabbing my right hand and dragging me into the store, with no possible escape in order. If you don't know what just happened, I got caught in a trap. With Asian girls, you'll have to buy them what they want or they won't give you what you want. I'm lucky that I brought Daddy's credit card, for emergency purchases only, emergency purchases such as white sheath dresses in order to win over a girl. I'll be unlucky with Daddy later.
Emilie asks the store manager to get the dress in different sizes, in order to try them on and find the right one. The store manager comes back holding a mountain of dresses so high that her face is completely hidden. She's also carrying several other items, apparently different accessories that match the sheath dress, which precipitates a lurid, haunting fear in me with the thought that Daddy's credit card will soon be maxed out. On the bright side, I won't have to worry about getting into medical school since Daddy will surely kill me.
Emilie takes the dresses, and much to my excitement, tells me that she'll model each —of them, one-by-one, for my approval and entertainment. Now we're getting to the good stuff! She enters the fitting room, and I grab a chair to sit in, waiting for my supermodel. The store manager comes up to me and asks me if I would like something to drink. I decline since Emilie and I are about to go eat. The store manager then asks, "What is your nationality?" Oh here we go again!
"I'm American, that's my nationality," I intelligently reply, knowing full well that she will not accept my truthful answer.
"No. I mean, your nationality. Are you Korean?" she mistakenly asks again, not knowing that I've already answered her question.
"My nationality is American." She looks at me with a condescending glare and walks away into the back of the store. Asians asking other Asians about their ethnicity or racial heritage—not —nationality is the same as people asking the proverbial, What do you do?“ ” Asian people are sizing you up, to see if you're an ethnicity worth talking to. Apparently, the store manager didn't like my answer and judges those that do not adhere to the sacrosanct Asian Status Hierarchy.
After what really seems like an eternity, Emilie finally comes out, her stunning beauty magnified by the white sheath dress. She walks down the hallway, looking like an ethereally divine angel sent to save me.
"Well, what do you think?"
"You look amazing," I reply, "but I might look better in it." I love joking with her.
"How about we have a dress-off and find out who really looks better?" Emilie rebuts, overturning my joke in her favor. I get up from the chair and walk over to her.
"I think you'll look much better in it," I concede, letting her win for my favor. Suddenly, she kisses me, her soft, tender lips pressing against mine, as the bangs of her hair lightly caresses my cheek. I eagerly yield to her, forgetting everything else in the world. So if I say“ that you look better than me in lingerie, will you try that on for me, too?" I kid, playing off her kiss like it was an insignificant moment, though, it truly was the most significant moment of my life.
"Haha. You're lucky you got lip action, hon. Keep pressing your luck and we'll see if you get any more!" Her warning puts me in my place.
Emilie finishes putting on the last dress, not finding the fit copacetic. She decides not to try on any of the matching accessories, including the white gold mariner bracelet that peaked her interest earlier. Emilie doesn't know it, but she just saved my life, as any extravagant purchases on Daddy's credit card would surely mean my death.
We leave the store and head upstairs to the food court, which is comprised of several restaurants displaying a vast array of Korean food. Emilie orders for the both of us, as I willingly put my trust in her. She decides on a simple meal consisting of a few dishes: Bulgogi, thin slices of barbecued beef sirloin in a marinate of special sauces, spices, and other ingredients; Kimchi, fermented cabbage with various spicy seasonings; Chapchae, stir-fried noodles in sesame oil with sliced beef and mixed vegetables; Bibimbap, warm white rice with an egg on top of sautéed vegetables in cooked chili pepper paste; to drink, two bottled —mineral waters and yes, this entire meal is actually simple! I decide to hold off on the alcohol, since Asians are known to get flushed red in the face with just a mere sip. Trust me; it's not pretty. But then again, maybe I should order a few beers so that Emilie can get drunk, since women are much easier when they're drunk. And when I say easier, I don't necessarily —mean sexually or maybe I do; don't kill me.
After eating our meal, we tour the rest of Koreatown Galleria. Emilie tells me that she wants to check out a bookstore on the upper level, next to the balustrade of the food court balcony. I think this is a great idea, since I need to catch up on my reading. Upon entering, I see a multifarious selection of Korean magazines, newspapers, books both soft and—
—hardcover educational toys, and puzzle games. Emilie focuses her attention on the stack of beauty magazines so I decide to peruse the literary section on the other side of the bookstore. A few of the books draw my attention, but I consider saving the money instead and just checking them out at the library tomorrow. All of the sudden, I feel a tap on my left shoulder. I turn around to see Calliope, a classmate of mine from neurobiology at UCI, smiling and —holding a pile of books. Calliope she's named after Homer's muse is exceedingly beautiful,—
almost as beautiful as Emilie, but of course, I'm partial to my lovely date, which I need to be careful since I don't want to get in trouble for talking to another attractive girl; we all know how jealous girls can get. I've hung out with Calliope before, since we were lab partners for many of our school assignments, and she's the typical Asian girl: smart, studious, academically —gifted but without any common sense! She's got book smarts but lacks street smarts; in fact, she wouldn't even know what street she's driving on if you asked her!
I once told her a joke: "What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef," and she—
looked at me discombobulated, confusion completely overwhelming her. Finally, she said, "Why would ground beef have legs? It's already ground up!" I shook my head in — —disappointment and disapproval and explained to her that a cow with no legs would fall to the ground, thus, it would be called ground beef, like at the grocery store. Guess what? She still didn't get it. That's what you get with so many Asian girls and Asians guys as well. I'm—
not saying all Asians are like Calliope, but if you go ask an Asian person something unrelated —to academia for instance, a common sense question such as "How do you weigh a golden retriever accurately with a bathroom scale?" or "How do you tell what time it is at night without —looking at a clock or watch?" I guarantee that you'll get a blank stare. Also, the reason that Asians can't drive well is because it involves common sense; actual driving can't come from a textbook. Book Smarts:Asians::Street Smarts:Not Asians.
I'll elaborate a little bit more on Asian girls and their lack of street smarts and common sense. I was at a restaurant a few years ago with a group of Asian friends: guys and girls. After we finished eating, we went outside and the girls suddenly started yelling and screaming, hysterical beyond belief. Of course, the guys are trying to figure out what exactly was the problem. The girls pointed fiercely at the ground, at a little caterpillar crawling on the —pavement. I stared at the girls with a "What the hell?" look on my face and bent down to—
gently pick up the caterpillar and put it in the grass just a few inches away. Apparently, all that studying didn't teach them how to simply pick up an innocuous, little caterpillar.
Calliope puts her pile of books down and steps over to give me a light hug. I glance over to the magazine section to make sure Emilie is still there luckily I see her! As I'm—
hugging Calliope, I'm thinking about how younger Asians don't hug their parents, but they hug each other all the time; it's quite obvious that we need love and affection just like every other — —human being since we're not robots and if we can't get it from our parents, we'll get it elsewhere.
"How've you been, Calliope?"
"I'm doing fine. How about you?"
"I'm doing good. Do you need a strong, bodybuilder like myself to carry those books for you?" I jokingly brag.
"Haha. No, I'm okay. Thanks for asking. So what are you doing here?" Calliope asks, with an inquisitive look on her face.
"I'm here on a date with that girl right there," I say, pointing my finger directly at Emilie. "You can tell how our date's going so far judging by the fact that we've ended up inside a thrilling and exciting, action-packed bookstore," I continue joking.
"I'm sure it can't be going that bad," Calliope consoles, needlessly of course.
"Oh, I was just kidding. I'm really having a good time."
"But you just said that your date isn't going so well since you're at a bookstore," Calliope alludes, with a perplexed and bemused look on her face.
"I...never mind. Hey, I got to get going. I'll see you in class tomorrow."
"Sure, I'll see you tomorrow. Later." Do you see what I mean? She's an Asian ditz, with black hair instead of blonde. So there you go, guys: if you want a non-blonde ditz, there's plenty with no common sense!
Since we're on the subject of Asians lacking common sense, I'll illustrate the reasons as to why, with an example alluding back to Yao Ming. Yao Ming, as you know, is a NBA basketball player, considered one of China's greatest basketball centers of all-time and proclaimed as a cultural hero and icon, his superstardom burgeoning beyond the Asian stratosphere. Despite his success as a dominating center in the CBA, Chinese Basketball Association, he does not even come close to that status as a NBA basketball player. Many people use the excuse that he's new in the league and that he's transitioning to the American style of basketball. Well, it's been seven years and that's not exactly new in the league anymore. Seven years is enough time to transition so if he can't do it by now, he'll never be able to do it. The truth as to why Yao Ming is a star player in China and a mediocre player in the NBA is simply because Chinese basketball players are not accustomed to the physical, —aggressive style of American basketball even though Yao Ming is 7'6", he still gets pushed around! Bluntly put, Asians are too timid and feeble, thus, lacking backbone.
And it's not just with sports; it's with everything. Asians lack backbone because of the extremely intensive indoctrination and conditioning instilled in them to follow orders and to serve, which causes them not to think for themselves and not to stand up for themselves; this is critically important to understanding why Asians are the way they are and don't change. This indoctrination and conditioning is a result of the overly extensive use of the power of
—control Asian Pride Theorem: Number 3. Remember how it all starts with just a grain of rice? —"Start them young to get them young."
Throughout the thousands of years of Asian dynasties, all the emperors, kings, and presidents have ruled with an iron fist and formidable will, controlling every aspect of the lives of Asians. Because of the long duration and large-scale domination, it's only natural that Asians continue living lives of subservience and docility. For example, why is there such a — —huge rich-poor gap in China 1% controls 99% when they are supposedly communist, meaning everyone is equal in sharing the ownership of wealth and goods? This is the same with North Korea. Asian people can't stand up for themselves, instead, letting themselves get “ ”pushed around by those above. They only know how to serve and to follow orders, thus, stifling their creativity and mental capabilities, resulting in the lack of intuition and preventing the utilization of common sense. That's why Asians like the Japanese generally improve technology versus invent, just follow what's already done so that there's no need for creativity and intuition to come up with something new. That's why Asians are usually quiet; they don't speak up in meetings or in class, remaining timid and feeble so as not to cause trouble. That's why Asians save face, trying to maintain a good image, yet not knowing that this is ultimately a form of weakness and lack of backbone. Asians are smart when it comes to high academia — —aka erudition and making money, but when it comes down to the heart of it all, they fail at Life 101.
I tiptoe over to Emilie and tap her lightly on her right shoulder then move quickly to her left. She turns to her left immediately and asks, "What? Are you in first grade?"
"No, I'm in college," I respond, with a smart-ass tone.
"Alright, smart-ass, you wanna go?"
"Yeah, you want to go see a movie?"
"Cool, I'll make sure to pick a chick flick so that you can suffer through it."
"I won't be suffering because I'll be making out with someone veryspecial."
"Good luck with that because I won't be." Emilie teases, pushing me back, then walking out of the bookstore while waving her finger to beckon me to follow. In the words of the wellrenown Velvet Underground's Lou Reed: She's a femme fatale.“ ”
Upon leaving the Koreatown Galleria, Emilie receives a call on her mobile phone, which is in her purse, and as she hastily tries to take it out, accidentally drops it onto the concrete pavement of the parking lot. Luckily, the phone is still intact, surviving the long fall, but unluckily, the screen is completely blank and shining bright like a torch flashlight, which is —kind of cool but not for Emilie. Mobile phones are very important to Korean or rather all— — girls so we decide to go to the nearest mobile phone retail store to purchase a new one as a replacement. When I purchased my mobile phone last year, it took me about two minutes to decide, but it's taking Emilie about two hours to pick one, since she's meticulously matching each phone with her khaki-brown Coach purse, determining the right choice in color. This sucks because we won't have time to watch a movie, thus, I won't be making out with her. This kind of crap only happens to me.
After Emilie finally picks out the mobile phone that perfectly matches the color of her expensive purse, she decides to make the purchase, which I offer to pay without hesitation, but she explains to me that the broken phone is insured by her mobile phone carrier so she gets a new one at no cost. I really want to pay, because I really want to let her know that I care about her. But I have to tell you that with Asians, as long as they offer to pay, then that's all that matters, even though they really want other people to pay instead of them like the— obligatory donation box at a funeral or the obligatory fee for a wedding. Asians are known for “ ”playing the offering game. You'll see Asians at a restaurant, for instance, fighting over the — —bill literally and offering to pay, even if they don't really want to, because it makes them look good, promoting an attractive status for themselves, Asian Pride Theorem: Number 2. And since offering to pay is free, Asians are more than happy to participate, hoping that the other party really pays. For Asians, it's always about the money; for Johnson, it's always about the truth.