By Dave Yoo
My wife’s father, Bob, has a certain way of doing just about everything. In his mind, to divert from his strict protocol is to invite disaster. Take washing the dishes, for instance. He doesn’t trust dishwashers, his theory being that you should wash in the order of the object’s proximity to your mouth when you eat. Which means you have to clean the silverware first, then the glasses, and then the plates and bowls last. According to him, to wash dishes out of this order is to invite all kinds of bacteria. Since I’m just as stubborn as he is, I’m constantly arguing with him about his set ways.
Whenever the whole family visits my in-laws on special occasions, Bob always makes a big bonfire. For years, I’ve begged to help out, but he’s always refused to relinquish control as the official “fire master,” because, of course, he has a certain way to make fires. But last weekend, as he was battling a strep throat, he finally granted me the honor. I was determined to prove to him that not only is there more than one way to do something correctly, but that in some instances, there can be an even better way to do it.
After dinner, I went outside to the bonfire pit and collected branches. Earlier in the day, Bob had already stacked some logs in his patented pentagon formation in order to “maximize air flow.” Since it was so cold, the rest of the family waited back at the house for the fire to get started. I stuffed napkins in between branches, and then secretly doused the pile with lighter fluid, which I knew Bob considered sacrilege. When I deemed the pile adequately drenched, I lit the sucker. The flames shot up more than 12 feet! Back at the house, I could see everyone’s faces pressed against the glass, their mouths agape. I felt incredibly proud of my accomplishment, but it wasn’t enough — I wanted the fire to be even bigger. Then something caught my eye.
“Hello, what’s this?” I asked, stumbling over to a big rubber tire. On the ground next to it were the remains of an old, rotting wagon. “More fire wood!” I shouted to myself.
I lugged the walls of the wagon up to the fire and tossed them on. The flames were now maybe 15, 20 feet tall. Bob gave me a begrudging thumb’s up sign. It’s like I was turning into a man before his very eyes. My wife ran out the back door.
“It’s huge!” she shouted. “You’re a hero!”
“I found this old wagon, it made the flames so big!” I said.
Her face turned white.
“You burned the wagon?”
“It’s a pile of junk. Or was,” I said, admiring the fire.
“That’s my father’s wagon. He attaches it to the tractor and bails hay with it.”
“But it was broken.”
“He repairs it every spring. It used to be Grandpa’s. Fixing it is like his way of mourning his father every year.”
Uh-oh.
“It really wasn’t salvageable,” I stammered. “It would have really depressed him to try to put it back together.”
She just stared at the fire, shaking her head.
The next morning, the cars in the driveway were covered with an inch of strange, gray dust. It looked like nuclear winter. I realized it was ashes from my fire-code-breaking bonfire.
The door opened, and Bob peeked his head in the room.
“Interested in vacuuming the living room?” he asked.
“Sure thing,” I replied, and I didn’t question his directives to start by vacuuming the perimeter and then work my way into the center of the room. As I stupidly followed his precise instructions, I caught his reflection in the mirror as he left.
He was smiling.
—Dave Yoo
By David Yi
On a late Sunday afternoon, a groggy Sheena Sakai explains why the ratings of this cycle’s America’s Next Top Model were especially high. Forget about the season’s over-the-top photo shoots (in one, the models had to emulate various Los Angeles disasters such as traffic — don’t ask), or the buzz surrounding the show’s first transgender model, or even the fact that at one point host Tyra Banks appeared as a robot from the future. For all Sakai knows, the season was a success because, well, she was there.
“I’ve done my research, and every time they played me on the previews, they’d have higher ratings,” she says.
There’s no doubt the 22-year-old from Harlem was a fan favorite of The CW’s reality competition, which recently wrapped its 11th cycle. She finished sixth largely due to her strong personality, “soft” pictures and humorous quirks. A few of Sakai’s televised antics: posing with a handbag next to her crotch with one leg stretched behind her head, trying to prove she wasn’t “hooch,” and confessing that indeed, her breasts aren’t real.
“I knew what they were doing,” she says of the execs showcasing her so frequently. “You need ratings? I bring ratings.”
Sakai says her confidence flourished when she learned to embrace her unique background. Born to a Japanese American father who worked as a stuntman on productions like Magnum P.I. and Hawaii Five-O and an immigrant mother from South Korea, Sakai and her younger sister, Minjee, grew up on a Hawaiian plantation house built by their paternal grandfather.
“My life hasn’t always been easy,” she says. “I was an outcast in school, I wore secondhand clothing, I was often ridiculed for my Asian face. [It was] tough growing up. But I learned that when you go through things … you grow and it makes you stronger.”
At a young age, Sakai knew she wanted to pursue the entertainment industry, partly to help break barriers. “Growing up being Asian American, you don’t see a lot of [faces like yours.] Where’s the person that represents me?” she says. Her parents supported her dream and worked hard to put her in dance, singing and drama classes. Through singing, Sakai got a taste of the limelight as she performed on the Hawaiian festival circuit.
At age 19, Sakai moved to New York for greater opportunities. She produced an album, 7-7-07, and started working as both a go-go dancer and a stunt actress. While doing stunt work for the movie Tropic Thunder, she caught the eye of casting directors who asked if she was interested in the show.
The way Sakai flaunted her heritage throughout the season was a stark contrast to the insecurities of past Asian American contestants like Gina Choe (cycle 6), a Korean American who admitted she “wouldn’t date Asian guys because they’re short” and Anchal Joseph (cycle 7), an Indian American who was self-conscious about her dark skin.
“I’m gonna show you, America,” Sakai declared on one of the first episodes. “You ain’t ready for this yellow fever. One time for the Asians!”
During the castings, judge Jay Alexander commented: “She has the booty of a black girl, the grace of a Japanese geisha, and the class of a Korean princess.”
Now that the show is over, Sakai says she wants to distance herself from it, and even turned down an opportunity to appear on The Tyra Show.
“I want to go back [to The Tyra Show] when I’ve made it,” she says. When asked about Banks as a person, Sakai coyly responds: “What you see is what you get.”
Sakai has recently had some modeling gigs and has been offered the opportunity to go-go dance around the world. Though she says her biggest goal now is to get into television. No matter what the form, it’s clear she just wants to entertain.
“It’s a release,” she says of bringing joy to her fans. “The most important thing, though, is to stay true to yourself. As long as I can have peace with myself and respect myself, I’m good.”
He likes Korean food!
During a friendly phone conversation with South Korean President Lee Myung-bak in November, President-elect Obama, who grew up in Hawaii and Indonesia, apparently confirmed the rumor that his favorite Korean dishes are bulgeogi and bibimbap.
He speaks Korean!
At an Obama campaign rally, one audience member stood up and introduced himself as a high school student originally from South Korea. The then-presidential candidate responded with, “Annyeonghaseyo!” to a wave of applause.
His economic advisor is Korean!
Audrey Choi, 40, has been tapped to join Obama’s presidential transition team as an economic advisor. The Harvard graduate who once worked as a correspondent for the Wall Street Journal in Germany was formerly chief of staff for the White House Council of Economic Advisers during the Clinton administration. Great Choice, Mr. President.
His dry cleaner is Korean!
Remember how dapper our president-elect looked as he took the stage on election night? It wasn’t a stylist who made him look so good, but his Korean American dry cleaner. Sarah Kang, owner of Golden Touch on the south side of Chicago, told the Joongang Ilbo that it was her cleaners that laundered and pressed Obama’s winning suit and that the Obamas are regular customers. You may have noticed Obama forgot to thank Kang in his speech, but he had a lot on his mind.
His name is (sort of) Korean!
The Korean media reported that, after Obama’s election win, a meat company offered to give free meat to customers with the last name “Oh,” the first syllable of Obama’s surname as well as a common Korean name. At least our new president’s last name (Oh-ba-ma) phonetically jives with Hangeul sounds so it’ll be easier to pronounce for Koreans. “Bush-ee” not so much.
– Compiled by staff
Recycle
Umma would never let you throw away wrapping paper at Christmas. She’d fold it up and use it for birthday gifts. Of course, there are less obvious (read: tacky) ways to recycle: using old TV dinner trays to reheat food in the microwave, reusing fabric softener sheets to keep drawers and suitcases smelling fresh, and making quilts out of old clothes. Protect your wallet and the earth!
Take What’s “Free”
Sure, you used to cower in the booth every time umma would hoard sugar packets and napkins from McDonald’s. (The chili flakes at pizza joints were an extra special treat.) But don’t be afraid to snag a few extras here and there. Why spend money on an expensive car wash when you can squeegee your entire vehicle at the gas station for free?
Find A Roommate
Hey, umma didn’t seem to mind living under the same roof with both sets of grandparents. Free babysitting.
DIY
In her stand-up routine, Margaret Cho jokes about the time her mom refused to buy her glue for a school project. “Just-a use riiice,” Mama Cho advised. Not a bad idea. Follow her lead and be resourceful in concocting homemade household products. Mix together vinegar and baking soda and you’ve got yourself an effective cleaning agent. Blend oatmeal, cornmeal and wheat germ for an exfoliating body scrub.
Cut Your Own Hair
So you still have nightmares about that jjigae bowl inching toward your head. Get over your fears by giving yourself a trim that won’t get you beat up on the playground, er, at the office. Some tips: Wet hair is easier to cut than dry hair, snip only a little at a time and use sharp scissors. And if you’re a guy who doesn’t need a high-maintenance Ryan Seacrest ‘do, the Flowbee isn’t such a bad idea.
Got A Green Thumb?
Save major cash by growing your own fruits and vegetables. Umma loves boasting to all her friends and relatives that the ingredients in her latest culinary creation came straight from her backyard.
Buy In Bulk
Umma did it with kimchi, why not get a Costco card and do it with everything else?
– Michelle Woo
I had to set up a new phone number once I moved out of my old apartment, and since then I’ve been deluged with upwards of 20 calls a day from the bane of man’s existence: telemarketers. I was on the Buzz-off List at my old place and had stopped getting bothered by these faceless cold-callers years ago, and apparently I’d taken for granted how nice it is to just be left alone as I work at home as a writer.
There’s a sweet science to dealing with these people. I mean, you can’t just say no, because they end up calling back a day later. And simply ignoring the call only guarantees they’ll keep trying you ad infinitum. Besides, it’s hard to decipher the numbers that show up on my caller ID. Who do I know in Florida? Texas? What if it’s a long lost friend, or someone calling to invite me to do a book reading or something?
The thing is, you can’t berate these people, either. That’s a surefire way to guarantee they’ll call back simply out of spite. Telemarketers, by nature, are incredibly vengeful people.
So you have to get creative.
I’m street smart enough to know not to give out personal information over the phone, lest I want to wake up one morning in a tub with homemade stitches in my side and one of my precious kidneys missing. So I lie when they press me for details, but I always end up fumbling.
“Is this David Yoo?” a telemarketer will ask.
I’ll sigh into the receiver.
“Sorry, this is a business line,” I say, thinking it’s a sufficient conversation-ender.
“Oh, what kind of business is this?”
This always frazzles me, and I end up quoting George Costanza for lack of being able to think of a single other type of company.
“Um, I-I mean, we, we’re in the, uh, importing exporting business,” I say.
A pause on the other end.
“Are you lying?” the voice asks.
I hang up the phone.
My other trick is to claim to be someone else.
“Is this David Yoo?”
“Oh, sorry pal, that was the former tenant. Dude no longer lives here,” I say.
“And who am I speaking with?”
“Um … Jon,” I stammer. “Yeah, this is John … Stamos?”
“Sir, are you actually David Yoo?”
“Don’t call here again,” I snap, slamming the receiver into its cradle.
I even pull a move sometimes that most 8-year-olds would find childish, and pretend that the phone connection is bad.
“I’m sorry,” I practically shout. “If you can hear me just know that I can’t hear you. Phone line … bad. So … frustrating, wish I could hear you!”
“I just need a minute of your time, sir,” the telemarketer says.
“Can’t spare a minute, like I said, um, I can’t hear a word you’re saying,” I reply.
Silence on the other end.
“Sorry,” I say softly, then hang up the phone.
OK, so none of these tactics have ever really worked for me, but the other day I finally did come up with an effective solution. The phone rang, and I answered sounding extremely pleasant, as to suggest that I was totally open to hearing their spiel. Midway through the marketing script, I suddenly kicked the door loud enough for them to hear over the receiver and shouted, “Jesus, who are you? Get out of here! I’m on the phone with the police and, oh Jesus, don’t, stop, no, what are you doing? Please!” and hung up the phone.
The telemarketer didn’t call back.
The thing is, I ended up staring at the phone for 10 minutes, feeling at first sad and then deeply hurt that the person didn’t try me again. I mean, the telemarketer heard me struggling with an intruder and made no effort to check up on me.
What kind of heartless monster would do that sort of thing?
—Dave Yoo
FOR ONLY $28!
Featured Event
One of the the biggest Asian cinema events to hit Southern California opens on May 10. The Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival, presented by Visual Communications, features the latest works by established and emerging filmmakers, along with seminars, panel discussions and symposiums on topics relevant to Asian Pacific cinema.
Opening Night features “Shanghai Calling,” directed by Daniel Hsia and starring Korean American Daniel Henney, who plays a Chinese American expat lawyer navigating his way through the mean streets of Shanghai (the picture above also indicates he is a raisin smuggler). But does he take off his shirt? Go watch the movie to find out! read more
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