On Thanksgiving, a group of about 15 watched me whomp the greatest Guitar Hero player I’ve ever met, song after song, after song. He went down to the tune of Metallica’s “One,” Living Colour’s “Personality,” Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Pride and Joy,” and then some. During The Who’s “The Seeker,” he got so frustrated that he yanked his beautiful axe and smashed it–like a modern-day Pete Townshend–into five pieces on the ground. Was this, you ask, the greatest moment of my life? Abso-fuckin’-lutely.
The peanut gallery swirled with rumors. Diana is autistic! Diana is unemployed! Diana is a game hacker! No one could understand why or how someone above the age of 12 could be so effing good at something requiring an Xbox 360. “How many hours do you have to play to get that good?” one skeptical fellow asked, convinced that I must have quit my job to devote the free 60-or-so hours to heroic strumming. “You practice every night, don’t you?” I shook my head no. Practice Shmactice. Some people are just gooooooooooooood.
I mean, come ON. I’m Asian! There should be no surprise here. We love to be great at things, more importantly, we love to be the best. Nothing drives our ambition more than the prospect of beating someone else at something they love! Nothing! But people just think that our competitive streak is limited to all of the boring bullshit, like spelling bees (of course I’ve got trophies), academic decathlons (check my parents’ house for my medals), math, violin-playing, chess.
What those people don’t realize is that we love to rule at EVERYTHING, including cool shit. And it begins at birth. Take, for example, these kickass little Amazian Jrs., who already have such amazing skills on the tables that I want to cry. Eat that, Steve Aoki!
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