It’s true in anyone’s life that the family you’re born into isn’t the only family you’ve got. There’s the family that you find for yourself amongst your closest peers and mentors, but there’s also the family that finds you…
It was a regular night of drinking and dancing at one of my favorite clubs in West Hollywood, GameBoi night at RAGE. (GameBoi will need to get its own CORQ blog treatment in the near future, but for now, let’s just describe it as a pan-Asian buffet without the food poisoning). I was dancing with my boyfriend at the time — and by “dancing” I do mean dry humping while trying not to spill my drink amidst the sea of Asian guys packed in tighter than the last Tokyo subway car of the night — when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a tall, stylish Asian guy, dancing next to me. I think I got a buzz off the alcohol on his breath as he leaned in and screamed over the music, “My friend think you’re cute!” And pointed into the crowd at nobody in particular.
Well, dancing led to a sobering-up 2am IHOP run and throwing up in the parking lot (you know, typical Friday night stuff), which led to him crashing on the floor of my boyfriend’s apartment. The next day he woke up, thanked us, and before he left he informed me, Continue reading
I have this group of friends that’s primarily gay Asian guys (which you should have assumed by this point), and one of the first times I was hanging with them at a bar, they started throwing around the term “PWC”. Saying it, mouthing it, spelling it out with hand symbols… I had no idea what the hell was going on, and it wasn’t just because I was a few Tokyo Teas deep at that point.
As we’ve all probably experienced, when people spend vast, borderline-unhealthy amounts of time with the same small group of friends, they start to develop their own unique language — a language that makes perfect sense to anyone in the group but makes about as much sense as gay Republicans to outsiders (FULL DISCLOSURE: I did recently vote for a gay Republican).
It’s a fantastic communication tool as it can be used to convey complex and elaborate thoughts with a concise expression that everyone in the group immediately understands. It can also be used to talk shit about people around you without them knowing. It’s so totally high school… and so totally awesome. Continue reading
Last night a friend of mine sent me a hilarious YouTube video. And by hilarious, I mean so utterly offensive and ignorant that it’s flat-out impossible to take seriously, so the only possible reaction is laughter. At the time the original video had a few hundred views. This morning it had a few thousand. As you read this, who knows what that number has climbed to.
You just have to see for yourself. I’ve added my own reactions in the subtitles for your enjoyment, but don’t let that overshadow the comic brilliance of the original material. Continue reading
I am comically horrible at finding people in a crowd. On more than one occasion I’ve scanned a busy food court or college campus only to have the friend I was looking for tap me on the shoulder from right in front of me and startle me. However, when it comes to Asian men, I have 20/20-telescopic-snyper-eagle-eyes with a night vision option.
There’s a scene in The Bourne Identity where Matt Damon is in a diner and says to the girl he’s with, “I can tell you the license plate numbers of all six cars outside. I can tell you our waitress is left-handed and the guy sitting up at the counter weighs two hundred and fifteen pounds and knows how to handle himself. […] Now why would I know that? How could I know that and not know who I am?” He doesn’t know why, he just knows that’s how his brain works.
That’s me with noticing Asian guys. It’s just how my brain works. If Where’s Waldo was an Asian dude, I would finish that book in 2 seconds. Continue reading
You know that Janet Jackson song “Feedback” from a few years ago? I love it! Whenever it comes on at the club (which is becoming all too rare, such is the sad fate of pop music that’s more than a minute old), my gay white friends and I grab our drinks, run to the dance floor, and proudly shout out the lyrics with Janet “LIGHT SKIN!” while raising our glasses and gleefully acknowledging that we are all, in fact, light-skinned. Within about 30 seconds, we’ve wandered off the dance floor because, come to think of it, we really only loved that one lyric about light skin. And when’s the DJ gonna stop playing this ancient crap and spin the newest Gaga?
If that scenario sounds ridiculous and a little unbelievable to you, you’re instincts are correct. I don’t have any gay white friends, please.
Hello internet, my name is White on Rice and I’m a rice queen. Continue reading