I start to fall asleep at the wheel since the drive up is taking its toll on me, so I'm going to let Gabriel drive for a bit. I really don't want to let him drive, since he's a madman behind the wheel. However, he's a special and unique kind of madman because he stays quiet, while other drivers experience road rage and yell bloody murder in order to raise hell on Earth. But even quiet people can be dangerous and deadly.—
I remember when we were driving one night to a club in LA. We had to get there before ten o'clock or else we would have to pay the cover charge. Gabriel drives this Subaru Impreza WRX, because he thinks he's a goddamn racer—like every Asian guy in California. So anyway, he was driving like a bat out of hell, bobbing and weaving in traffic, talking on his cell phone with his left hand, eating a burger with his right hand and even shaving with an electric
— razor all at the same time! I should've thrown him three balls just to see him juggle at least— get some entertainment before we crash and die. I would love to make a bet with any thrill seeker or extreme sports fanatic that they would not be able to last for more than a minute in the passenger seat with Gabriel driving. I've talked to him so many times about the way he drives, but he says that he knows what he's doing and that he's a safe driver. He even claims that the other drivers on the road are the problem, that their driving is too defensive. His theory is that they've taken too many defensive driving courses, so there's too much defense on the road and there needs to be a little more offense, like in football. Gabriel's theory is that his offensivedrivingwill balance out all the defensive driving, thus, neutralizing any problem and making everything okay. Theories like his make me wonder why I even bother hanging out with him.
“ Hey Johnson. Let's go up to San Fran. I know this place where we can score some ”pretty good weed, Gabriel exhorts, almost on the edge of begging.
“We don't have time to visit San Francisco since I'll be ass-kissing my aunt the entire ”weekend. Note to self: get some lip balm.
“Dude, we have to have some fun. We can't just hang out with your aunt the entire ”weekend. Gabriel's right. We really need to have some fun. And I can think of only one thing that allAsian guys love to do for fun—besides being fake race car drivers.
“You up for a little StreetFighter ”, Gabriel? I ask with a simper.
“ ”Hell yeah! Let's do it! Gabriel shouts at the top of his lungs. I know exactly what to say, to get him all hot and bothered.
For those of you that are not cognizant of StreetFighter, it's a video game that started out in the late 80's to become the greatest fighting game of all time and that's a fact! There—
are numerous international competitions in countries all over the world, even decades after its
creation. Classics like StreetFighterwill stand the test of time. I believe that the real reason —Asian guys and girls play — StreetFighteris because most Asians really can't fight!
Everyone thinks Asian people know kung fu and karate, but the truth is that most don't know
shit. Asians spend all of their time studying, reading books and hiding behind a suit and tie, so
they have no time to practice martial arts. Plus, Asian people are generally small, so they
typically gang up on people. If you ever go to a club and mess with one Asian guy, a
hundredfold will jump out of nowhere to help, like ninjas from the darkness of the night. “ ”Gabriel! I shout out loud, as the car traverses into the other lane. I can't believe I'm
letting him drive!
“ ”Sorry, Johnson! I wasn't paying attention. No shit, I think to myself. But why should I
even bother reacting? This type of driving is to be expected from a madman.
“ delight, like an anxious virgin on prom night. Sometimes I wish I could quit school and just be a professional gamer.”
“ ” “ ” “No way in hell! I laugh haughtily. You can't even beat me on my worst day!”
As we make our way up to San Jose, I can't help but to notice the copious number of new houses and buildings all along the freeway, with huge banner signs posting FREERENT and NEWHOMES, all across the city landscape. It's only been about a year since my last visit, but in my absence, it seems that there's a meteoric rise of suburban sprawl that is now infecting the Bay Area like a contagious disease.
“They're building all these new condos downtown, Gabriel says, noticing the awe in”“my eyes. All these yuppies are looking for a piece of the action. I swear, it's like they've all jumped on the condo bandwagon.”
We finally make it to Golfland, a family fun center with miniature golf, but more importantly, an arcade showcasing the best StreetFighterplayers in the world, most from the city of Sunnyvale, which is about half an hour from Auntie's house not too close and just far—
enough away. Gabriel heads straight for the change machine while I venture to the gaming area to scout out the competition. Much to my dismay, no one is there; I guess all the Asians are out racing. Gabriel sees the bleak emptiness of the arcade room and frowns with lament, as if his childhood pet recently past away. Notwithstanding the absence of the best Street Fighterplayers in the world, we both play each other, with much fun and excitement. It's good to relax, unwind and forget about things, even for just a few hours. I then realize that we have to get going or else we'd miss dinner, and Auntie would love nothing more than to scold me to no end—and then telling my parents of course. I haul ass out of the arcade, as I grab Gabriel by the arm.
“ I was whooping you longtime”, Gabriel jokes, strutting and prancing. Fo' shizzo!“ ” “ ”Fo' shizzo? I remark with astonishment. Since when did you turn black?“ ” “ ”Oh, calm down, fool, Gabriel coolly replies. Don't be a sore loser.“ ” “I'd rather be a sore loser than be a fake Blackanese ”like you. I really don't have a
problem with Ebonics, the idiomatic African American slang of our generation. I just wish that words such as fatand scaredwouldn't be turned into phatand scurred. It's astounding to me that monosyllabic words can actually be made more complicated, with the needless change in spelling. And if that's not bad enough, there's a rapper that goes by the moniker, 50 cent— they can't even spell their own name right! Many people are avidly concerned about the increase in violence, drug use, and sexual paraphernalia in our generation; I'm more concerned with the horrific spelling and grammar! Phatand scurredaccount for the reasons why most young Americans can't even locate the United States of America on a map. That's why I'm almost livid with Gabriel speaking Ebonics.
“ ”Alright, alright. Let's just drop it, Johnson, Gabriel peacefully amends. No reason to“ ”get your panties in a bunch. I decide to let that remark slide since I really am sore that Gabriel beat me so many times in StreetFighter. Of course, my pride won't allow me to admit this, sure enough, or even accept this. Besides, I have to put on my game face when I see Auntie, and I can't look all whiny and grumpy.
I ask Gabriel for my keys so that there's no chance of Auntie catching him behind the wheel or else she would tattletale to my parents, with consequences of my slow torture and death. While passing through the neighborhoods of Palo Alto, I can't help but to notice how the scenery is somewhat similar to Irvine, except much more venerable with a veneer of Spanish and Italian flair: houses with straight-barrel mission, clay tile roofs made famous by—
— the neighboring Stanford University tall birch and cottonwood trees across wide, verdant yards, teeming with spaciously rectangular gardens of every flower of every color just like in— Irvine.
Auntie lives right next to Stanford in one of the opulent houses along University Avenue in Palo Alto. Not too long ago, she actually use to live in East Palo Alto, the alter ego of the affluent Palo Alto, since it consists mostly of Latinos and African Americans and not its rich, snobby counterpart. It's truly amazing how East Palo Alto is right next door, shares the same area and zip codes and even some of the main streets, but by adding the word East,it then turns into the ugly-stepchild ghetto. If you've ever seen the U.S.-Mexico border from atop a building, then you'll know what I'm talking about different as night and day.—
The drive to Auntie's house is relatively short, as I pull into the driveway and park the BMW there so that everybody can see it, per my parents' instructions got to show off to the—
neighbors, remember? I march up the front walkway, stepping over a myriad of shoes and sandals outside the doorway of her house. You can always tell if an Asian family lives at a certain house, just by the copious number of shoes and sandals in the doorway. I press the doorbell and Auntie opens the door, supplying me with an endearing pat on the back and nothing for Gabriel; most people don't like him and the rest, hate him. Of course, I'm only
Auntie's house is still as I remember it: traditional and passé with antiquated Oriental cabinets, tables, and chairs. Lanterns, small and large, hang from the ceiling. Red New Year couplets, for good luck, stream the walls, along with a myriad of bamboo wall scrolls written in
— ancient calligraphy typical inside an Asian house. Of course, a calendar with the zodiac, for good fortune, is hanging on the kitchen wall for all to see just like at my house except that—
Auntie displays a total of seven. A new item that instantly grabs my attention is a recent picture of Auntie and Darcy, her son and my oldest cousin, sitting up above the fireplace of the living room. My uncle past away a long time ago before Auntie moved to America, or else he'd be in the picture, too. It may just be me, but it seems like Darcy is frowning next to Auntie in the picture.
Before stepping into the living room, I carefully and punctiliously take off my shoes and place them outside the doorway. Gabriel does the same without the slightest of a hint because all Asian people know this tradition: take off your shoes before you walk inside a house. What most people don't know is that this tradition has nothing to do with respect and courtesy, but instead, has everything to do with the Asian obsessive desire to keep carpet from getting dirty!
Long ago, it was actually considered common decency to step into an Asian family's home withshoes on. There's even an old superstition about how wearing shoes inside a house will protect the guests from ghosts entering through the soles of their feet in other— words, protect the soul by protecting the sole. Surprisingly, with a sprinkle of sarcasm, once carpet was created, they decided to inventa new tradition of 'taking off your shoes' outside a house.
If you don't believe me, then go inside an Asian person's house, and you'll see their best furniture covered in plastic. Furniture is meant for sitting, but for Asians, it's meant for showcasing. The plastic is to keep their furnishings from getting dirty, just like shoes are kept outside to keep the carpet from getting dirty. It has nothingto do with respect and courtesy and everythingto do with Asian indolence and fastidiousness to keeping things clean.
Auntie brings into the living room a tea tray, a porcelain teapot on a trivet, and a superfluous number of teacups. It's tradition, even for the younger generation, to drink tea inside an Asian household.
As we sit down, Auntie asks Gabriel a series of questions: What medical school do you plan to attend? How are your parents doing? Do you still live near Johnson? these questions— appear to be innocuous, but I assure you that they are not. Asians love to say things in subtextmode, which is an expression for saying one thing and meaning something entirely different. For example, a girl might say to another girl, That's a nice dress, but really mean,“ ” “That's so dreadful! Why would you wear that? So if I translate what Auntie's ” reallyasking, her series of questions would be the following: What medical school would accept a loser like you? Are your parents still in debt? Are you still living in the rich part of Irvine or the poorer section?
Likewise, people enjoy asking the proverbial What do you do? not because they“ ”—really care about what you do, but to size you up and see if you're worth talking to. Many people have asked me this question and don't seem to be interested in the fact that I'm a
— pathetic college student big surprise! But whenever they ask this question to Darcy, who happens to be an obstetrician and gynecologist, they are immediately suffused with admiration, and their attention couldn't be drawn away by a circus of clowns twirling kittens tied to dynamite thrown through a ring of fire. One word from J.D. Salinger's TheCatcherIn TheRye,pretty much sums up how people really are: phony."“
Auntie doesn't ask me any questions because my mom has already gossiped to her behind my back about what a complete loser that I am; I consider myself lucky so that she doesn't waste any of my time. This is why I don't visit her as often as my parents would like me to.
After Auntie's interrogation is over, we take our bags and head upstairs to go unpack. I'm staying in the guest room with Gabriel, since I don't want to stay in Darcy's room, even though he's in England for a medical conference. There's nothing wrong with his room; it's just that I don't really like him. Don't get me wrong. My oldest cousin is a nice guy, but he always brags about his accomplishments. He's an only child, for starters, so he's spoiled right off the bat. Not to mention the fact that he always got straight A's from grade school all the way through college, graduating from Harvard and receiving his M.D. with honors from John Hopkins Medical School. He's also on the top of the list as the best obstetrician and gynecologist in Northern California, or NorCal for short. Plus, his wife is a former beauty queen from Sacramento. Yes, I'm jealous who wouldn't be?—
The only noticeable weakness of Darcy is his name. He got picked on constantly as a kid and has been ridiculed by many a classmate to no end. I got picked on, too, since my first name is a last name but not nearly as bad as Darcy. Asian parents enjoy giving their kids very American names like Darcy, Johnson, Churchill, hell, I even knew a kid named Endymion; I wonder if he's still alive because no sane person would ever be able to make it past elementary school with a name like Endymion.
The reason that Asian parents give their kids very American names is simply based on their misconceived notion that it's an advantage for getting a good job. They think that having a veryAmerican name would be more appealing, thus, hireable, instead of a lessAmerican name, aka an Asian name. That's why Gabriel's parents gave him a veryAmerican name— the same reason that my parents gave me my name. Anyway, trust me when I say that more“
” “ ”appealing and hireable is absolutely not worth the many years of belittling and suffering that plenty of Asians have endured for having veryAmerican names.“ Hey Johnson! Come look at this picture of Darcy! Gabriel shouts brusquely from”
across the room, picking up the photo on the bedroom drawer. He looks like such a dork! I“ ” have to see this for myself.
“ Actually, he looks much better than you, even with those coke-bottle glasses and that butt-cut hair, I tease.”
“I thought it was just you that's ugly. Now I know it runs in your whole family, Gabriel” teases back.
“He may be ugly but you've seen his wife. She's a mighty fine piece of—”
“ ”Not as hot as my Honey Lee! Gabriel interrupts, with excitement upon mentioning her name. Honey Lee is a Korean model and a former Miss Korea, but more importantly, Gabriel's biggest infatuation—and presumably every guy in Korea. What I don't get is why her name is Honey. She might as well have the name, Sugar Lee, so it sounds like sugary, then she can be put in Kool-Aid or chocolate cake. And with a name like Honey, she may as well be a stripper and work the pole, because no one's going to take her seriously. The thing with people in Asia is that they love to give themselves ridiculous English names.
I remember a missionary from my church that told me the names of several kids in villages all across China: Kobe Chang, Shaq Huang, Pokemon Mah, and a multifarious mockery of other names, including the worst of them all, American Idol Wang! One of the boys actually has the first name, American Idol. I couldn't help but laugh my ass off. No wonder Americans make fun of Asian foreigners; I would too!
“Gabriel, your little Honey Lee ain't all that.”
“Oh you're just jealous because she's hotter than your Emilie, Gabriel teases,”
displaying a stupid smile that I would love to smack right off his face.
“ ”I wish she was my Emilie, I say, dejectedly. Damn I wish she was mine. Let me tell you that she's absolutely stunning in every way: tall, thin, and statuesque. Her eyes are wide, but nicely shaped, and—wait! I've already told you about Emilie, haven't I? I really need to snap out of it.
An unexpected knock comes at my door. The door opens even before I can say Come“ ”—in like Daddy, like Auntie.
“You need go to sleep now. You two go to bed. Church tomorrow. Wake up early.” Auntie slams my door, just as violently as Daddy; I guess the both of them went to the same parenting boot camp. Gabriel is use to my parents' austere behavior so he doesn't even bother commenting about Auntie.
I remember when I was a kid, going to Disneyland with my parents' friends and their children. My parents had to go out of town that weekend on a business trip so one of the — —parents whose name I've forgotten long ago announced proudly and confidently to my “dad, If Johnson bad, don't worry. I will spank him like he my own son! Truth be told, I wasn't”
as scared as I was pissed. Who does this guy think he is? What gives him the right to discipline me? Gabriel told me that this happened to him before as well when he was a kid in Japan. So I guess Asian parents like to beat up on other kids as well as their own children. Why don't they pick on someone their own size, instead of hurting defenseless, innocent, little children? I guess the reason is because they're really cowards, just like cops. Yeah, that's right: cops. Cops loveto abuse their power. Many of them are dropouts with an authority complex, beaten up one too many times in high school, so now they think that it's their turn to pick on people. Only they pick on the defenseless just like Asian parents and dastards.—
It's not reallytheir fault, though; I read a news article once about the instituted police “ ”policy of a maximum intelligence standard for new officers, meaning that if you're smart, you can't be a cop, and if you're dumb as a rock, welcome! The maximum intelligence“
”standard is set at an IQ of around 99, which is a little below average. They like them dumb enough not to question the law, but just smart enough to know how to shoot and tase the hell out of innocent people. This reminds me of a bumper sticker that I saw not too long ago, that read: To Protect and To Serve, To Assault and To Taze. I love wordplay, especially when it's true. Anyway, if you don't believe that there's a maximum intelligence standard, just Google“ ” it. That's what I did when Gabriel first told me. And you and I both know that Gabriel is full of it, so you always have to double check whenever he tells you something.
I'm still not done talking about cops. Cops these days remind me of the mindless high —school football player not that football players are mindless, just as a cliché and they only— know how to do one thing and nothing else: take orders. Like in Seattle, when a cop tased a pregnant woman because she wouldn't get out of her car fast enough maybe because she's—
freaking pregnant and can't move very fast, Officer! How about the time cops tased a wheelchair-bound woman to death in Florida? Or how about the time a cop started beating up a teenage girl and boy in an Arkansas park just for skateboarding? Cops gone wild pretty“ ” much sums it up.
Of course, cops would always use the same excuse in their hapless defense: Sure“ we're the bad guys, until of course, you need us, then we help you out regardless of what you ”think of us. What a crock! What do they mean we needthem? They needus; we pay their salaries. They needus because they are suppose to serveus.
Police officers swore an oath with bond to protect and to“ serve”! It's interesting that I —“see that slogan to protect and to serve”— everywhere that I go. Whom are they really protecting and serving? I bet you didn't know that a big percentage of law enforcement officers are contractors, aka corporate police. If you go to your local courthouse, airport, even the trolley station in San Diego, you'll notice these officers with a corporate logo versus a“ ”
“ ” “regular police logo. So to protect and to serve is short for to protect and to serve
”corporations. My apology for going on a diatribe again; I just get all fired up whenever I hear of hypocrisy, discrimination, and bigotry. Speaking of which, I have church in the morning.