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It’s getting increasingly difficult to defend Jon Gosselin: the pudgy, frustratingly meek father from Jon & Kate Plus 8. Our position hasn’t changed dramatically–we’re not suddenly saying he’s a bad guy.
But he himself has stated that he exercises bad–well, “poor”–judgment sometimes.
Y’know, the kind of poor judgment that causes a man to ignore the fact that he’s a relatively famous reality TV dad, and get piss-drunk at a bar while surrounded by phone cameras and college co-eds? Or, most recently, inspires that very same man to voyage out (while his wife is in another state promoting her book) to a different bar–this time with a female friend he refers to loudly to as “babe,” bail from the watering hole at last call, panic at the sight of photographers and their mean ol’ lenses as they snap away, and have the “babe” speed off in his SUV, him riding shotgun, without so much as turning the headlights on?
Poor judgment, indeed. We’ve gotta say, we don’t know for sure what shenanigans Mr. Gosselin is up to in his free time away from Capt. Wifey. But we do know that this guy makes a lot of mistakes.
And Asians hate few things more than a bunch of fuckin’ stupid mistakes.
Happy birthday to our lovable, hot friend Kunal Nayyar! He and The Big Bang Theory co-star Johnny Galecki happen to blow out candles on the same day–today, and we hope they do it together while toasting the success of the only sitcom currently on the air that actually makes us laugh.
Have a great, great, great day, Kunal! DISGRASIAN loves you!
Eat that, Prez-haters!
[via LA Weekly]
Paris-based Maggie Kim is absolutely stunning to look at, but don’t let that distract you from her many illustrious musical gifts. Kim’s voice drips with desire–a smoky, alluring blend of PJ Harvey, Chrissie Hynde, and something all her own–she adds a knowing, bluesy, quirky, New York-y tenor to lyrics like, “Baby please, come back to me” and “Why don’t you know… I could be yours?” All of this, of course, made the more interesting by an eclectic mix of punk riffs, gentle pop beats, r&b bass lines.
Kim’s newest, an album sweetly entitled, “Love Like Everyone” (which features the production genius of Chris Fudurich and Brent Arnold, as well as an instrumental cameo by Mike Watt) is due for a May release, and she’s in the States to spread the word. If you’re in SF, NYC, or LA for her mini-tour dates this month, and you don’t show your face, you’re a gigantic asshole and we promise you’ll regret it.
Find out more at her official site.
Every once in awhile, though we really love the day-in, day-out, double-double-toil-and-trouble of blogging each week, it’s nice to know that we can take a breather–cuz somebody else is doing our job for us.
This time, it’s the crew over at Rotten Tomatoes (which airs on Current TV), who just discovered the celestial secret to creating an age shift (y’know, like in your new favorite film, 17 Again) in a movie:
Duh, ain’t it obvious? A MAGIC ASIAN.
Listen, I don’t want to knock Emily Ho, profiled this week by LA Weekly’s Jonathan Gold, whose meteoric rise from Lakers fan girlfriend to Sasha “The Machine” Vujacic enthusiast to webmaster of the Official Site of the shooting guard is nothing to sniff at.
There’s a part of me that wants to hate– the reallyreallybitchy part of me that first and foremost despises the fucking Lakers (Uh, no, I do not care how good they are). And carries a deep, personal aversion to Lakers fan girlfriends, like my college roommate (who knew dog piddle about hoops when I met her, but to impress her grad school beau, began sporting yellow-and-purple tanks, yelling at the TV for players on the wrong team, and doubting my knowledge of key player trades–something she had, in just one season, not yet witnessed).
This icky thing inside of me also starts snippy, snarling fights with ladies in pumps and half-tops that pretend to watch ball at sports bars without ever turning towards the screen. And it deeply protests the manufacture of team jerseys in pink for female fans, since they don’t contribute to a team’s color domination of a stadium–and overall are cheesy, embarrassing, and offensive. This aspect of me will try to remain silent on the topic of Emily Ho.
A nicer (albeit smaller) part of me celebrates Ho’s opportunity, as well as her commitment to a competitive sport. And thinks it’s just great that her Vujacic official site, which seems primarily trafficked by enthusiastic females (and is loved and supported by the player and his family), isn’t just a virtual beer garden loaded up with stats, action shots, and sports trivia. Instead it’s a fun, girly, window-into-the-celebrity-soul kinda space, featuring interviews with fans and sexy desktop designs; where the athlete Twitters and answers novice questions like, “What’s the best thing about being on the Lakers?” In a way, it lowers the bar of entry in terms of committed fandom of Mr. Vujacic, if not the team and the sport as well: Why focus on a player’s numbers when you might just like his headwear? Why can’t sports enthusiasm be emotional? Why can’t it be about attraction? Why can’t it be about swarthy skin and flowing hair?
Okay, I’ll say it: As if the bar wasn’t low enough.
But last night, as I watched the Lakers do a number on the Utah Jazz (save for that nail-biter of a 4th quarter) to advance in the playoffs, yet another (but still very grouchy) part of me rumbled a little. It must have been Vujacic in his stupid black headband, celebrating his big, dumb team’s victory in the series, or something. But I couldn’t help but think about how his official site would soon be buzzing with rabid girl fans hurriedly typing out their post-playoff-game burners: “Is there a locker room afterparty?” or “Does Gatorade in your clothes get sticky?” or “How often do you wash your hair?” By God, it made me crazy to think that his Twitter followers would soon be lauding him for how cute he looked at the line, instead of the intensity of his game.
And I just couldn’t hold it back anymore. So here I go:
I HATE SASHA VUJACIC’S OFFICIAL SITE. IT’S REALLY FUCKING LAME AND SHAMELESS, EVEN FOR A LAKER.
(Fine, I’m a player hater.)
Filed under: Basketball, Bloggers, Emily Ho, Haterasian, LA Lakers, Men Should Never Wear Headbands And For that Matter Neither Should Women, NBA, Pink Jerseys, Professional Athletes, Sasha Vujacic, The Machine
Remember when we said that stealing from your people is a crime beyond shame? We didn’t think that we’d be using our next breath to chastise one of our own peeps, financial manager Danny Pang of Irvine, CA, for allegedly defrauding investors–many from Taiwan and Orange County’s Yellow Belt–out of hundreds of millions of dollars using a life insurance ponzi scheme.
Look, we’re not even talking about the fact that Pang’s former business partner is suing for $50 million and adding loudly to the Ponzi scheme accusations. We don’t feel the need to mention that he apparently lied to investors about his C.V., saying he possessed degrees that didn’t exist. We’ll ignore the highly irrelevant fact that the 1997 murder of Pang’s ex-stripper wife remains unresolved, and that he has been portrayed in court “as a shady businessman and high-stakes gambler [with evidence of] …ties to Taiwanese mobsters.”
Because even though the S.E.C. has temporarily frozen assets managed by Pang, and officially accused him of Fraud, he may very well turn out to be innocent.
That said: if he doesn’t turn out to be innocent, boy, will we be tearing him a new one.
Occupation: Blogger for The Lipstick Diaries
Why She’s A Babe: Bloggers often get a bad rap for being icky-faced trolls hiding behind laptops, or “kids in pajamas sitting in the basement of their parents’ homes.” We, ahem, like to think that bloggers can be both rapid-fire, web-saavy, and dripping with sex appeal–proof positive is the tatted, sultry, animal-loving Kymby, who blogs with five other fine ladies about nightlife, streetwear, and hot art for The Lipstick Diaries.
We also figure that if she does happen to blog in her pajamas, they’re very cute pajamas.
Daisy De La Hoya, one of my favorite jilted lovers ever to be dismissed by Bret Michaels on Rock of Love 2, is–rather surprisingly–a strong enough character to carry her own show. Predictably, Daisy of Love features Miss Daisy taking a booze-and-gasp-filled tour down Douchebag Lane, in hopes that she’ll be able to settle down with a boyfriend that’s VD-free and mentally stable-ish enough to emotionally support her through rocky career exploits of modeling and singing.
The series premiere, which first aired over the weekend, introduces viewers to 20 guys vying for the lady of the hour’s heart (Note if you haven’t yet watched: Without fail, every time you gasp in horror at the level of douchery exhibited by a newly-introduced cast member, prepare to hear Daisy say something like, “Yummy!” or “Just my type!”).
It’s like an all-encompassing television answer to the hypothetical questions I often find myself ask when eying the creepy, forced “alt” stores on Melrose Ave., Hollywood Blvd., or St. Mark’s Pl.: “Who the hell buys pre-safety pinned mesh tank tops?” or “Are people still dying their hair with Manic Panic?” or “People don’t pierce their muthafuckin’ foreheads now, do they? ” Oh, and less often: “Is it really possible to get a 6 gauge Prince Albert piercing? That shit can’t feel good.”
By episode’s end, five dudes get the boot. Without blinking, the little lady dismisses three Swedish brothers that share a band, a personality, and a lady (and who seem about as cool as, like, Tokio Hotel), that are more interested in eating the set’s catered buffet than making a love connection. Also saying “lates”: a goofy, pale, high school dropout that Daisy isn’t attracted to.
But as is often the case, the most interesting parts of elimination night are the reveal of the big winner and big loser, in this case also a study of the difference between “Being Asian and Getting Laid” and “Being Asian and Not Getting Jack Shit.”
At the top of the pack lands Daniel, aka Fox:
And how does he seal the deal? Doling out compliments, flashing his pearly whites, and sucking face on the first night. An easy peasy technique that almost always works. Kudos to Fox–can somebody grab this guy a Costco pack of Trojans?
But booooooo… closing out the cuts is Kenn, aka Torch:
If Torch’s chin pubes and Jem hair don’t scare a lady, his weak conversational skills and incessant determination to speak Swahili to non-Swahili speakers certainly will.
Lord knows I won’t miss Torch in the episodes to come. Not him, not his hair, and not his clickity-clackety tongue. After all–with 15 jokers to choose from–Daisy can definitely find herself a better tongue (albeit probably a pierced one).
Kim Kardashian’s new hair hue must be camo or something, cuz we can’t seem to spot her in the crowd anymore:
Occupation: Poet, Essayist, Blogger
Known for: quietly fighting the good fight. Woeser, who was profiled last weekend in the New York Times, is the daughter of a Tibetan mother and half-Han Chinese army general (schooled in Mandarin, she is one of the few Tibetan writers to speak in Chinese).
The Chinese government condemns her books, four of Woeser’s blogs have been blocked or hacked by authorities, and her family and friends have experienced detainment and questioning for disseminating her information–yet still she continues to blog. Her site, “Invisible Tibet,” has become a reliable source of Tibetan news for those who can scale The Great Firewall, and she recently published the book “Forbidden Memory” in Taiwan, which shares her father’s photos of the Cultural Revolution.
Despite the level of danger she faces on a daily basis, Woeser keeps on speaking, hoping enough people will eventually hear.
Filed under: Bloggers, China, Cultural Revolution, Danger, Essayists, Forbidden Memory, Hackers, Invisible Tibet, Mandarin Speakers, Poets, The Chinese Government, The Great Firewall Taiwan, Tibet, Woeser
Though the story broke in a barely-reliable “news” source, it took milliseconds for people to respond in shock and horror to British tab News of the World‘s claim that 9-year-old Slumdog Millionaire star Rubina Ali was being peddled for adoption by her father.
Let’s just say the odds were stacked against Ali’s father, Rafiq Qureshi: Ali’s biological mother publicly praised the paper for releasing the story, even duking it out over the matter with Qureshi’s wife (and Ali’s stepmother) in the streets. And people have been naturally suspect of the Slumdog showbiz dad after his name first emerged, amidst controversy–after the film was a raging success, he felt his daughter should have been paid more (despite the fact that filmmakers arranged the Jai Ho Trust to provide the young actors and their families with education and housing needs).
While speaking to CNN with the young Ali, Qureshi did in fact admit to meeting with a wealthy Dubai couple (who turned out to be News of the World journalists), with the rather dubious caveat that he actually never intended to accept money for his daughter, and that he was misunderstood because of his poor English.
“’I talked to them in the room,’ Ali told CNN of the meeting, conducted by undercover News of the World journalists. ‘My dad said I could meet people if I want to, ‘But I will never give my daughter away for any amount of money.’”
But here’s the rub: although the undercover reporters argue that they have seven hours of taped evidence showing Qureshi and his brother negotiating the sale, the video has no sound. And this week, Mumbai police dropped their investigation of the father, citing a lack of evidence. So perhaps Qureshi didn’t attempt this terrible thing, and maybe he did. As is often the case, the truth is difficult to discern amidst the chaos.
All we can say is that we feel deeply for poor Rubina, who really just can’t seem to catch a break. And to anyone who’s actually thinking about it, might we suggest following PETA’s advice (not something we’d often do), merely applying it to adorable, talented, potentially-up-for-grabs children:
Filed under: Adoption, Chaos, India, Jai Ho Trust, Mumbai, News of the World, PETA, Poor Kid, Rafiq Qureshi, Rubina Ali, rumors, Selling Children, Showbiz Moms and Dads, Slumdog Millionaire, Tabloids, The Truth