You are currently browsing posts tagged with Disappointment

That Socks

September 23rd, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana


When our buddy Dave sent us these Hokusai-print socks (pictured above) via Fashionably Geek, I got crazy excited.

Immediately, I was like, “I want In the Hollow of a wave off the coast of Kanagawa on my tootsies!” Why? FRACTALS! Perfect fractal geometry as presented in art, right on my feet! Who wouldn’t want that (mathletes, c’mon, you’re with me here)??

Then I took a closer look at the landscape. That’s not the coast of Kanagawa.

Then a closer look at the waves. Those aren’t fractals.

So hunh. They’re just doodley Hokusai-print socks.

I guess that’s still cool.

Just not as cool.

Or not cool at all. Totally fract up.

[Fashionably Geek: My Socks Told Me Where To Go]

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Thanks, Dave!

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Manny, This Sucks.

May 8th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana


Dear Manny,

I want to believe that you started taking the women’s fertility drug H.C.G. because you had some harebrained idea that you could make a buck or two being the first pregnant man that is also a professional baseball player. Maybe you thought you could hit a few homers with Manny Jr. in your tum-tum. That’s actually very sweet.

But I don’t believe that. I believe that you’ve been trying to cover up your juicing. You are a cheater. You may be a good guy on the inside, but you’re a cheater all over.

It makes the Dodgers sad. It’s got my bestie Colin, the world’s biggest Doyers fan, practically in tears. The residents of Mannywood are left destitute. The Sports Guy and his kid may never recover. I don’t even want to know what Jen is thinking about how these actions reflect on her BoSox–and the two World Series you shared with them–right now.

Cheating hurts people, dude. If you aren’t already, you should be severely ashamed of yourself.

Cuz everyone else is ashamed of you.

Said sadly,
Diana

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So sorry, Colin…

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Hot For Robot Teacher?

May 8th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana


“Hello. I am Saya the robot teacher. I have been programmed to educate young children. And. To make them successful adults. My face can show. Five Hardass Asian Teacher emotions. They are Fear. Disgust. Anger. Sad. Surprise. Technically, I can also show Happy. [robot laughs] I do not use Happy ever. My hard drive has also been pre-loaded. With. Standard phrases that help students learn. Study more tonight. Why don’t you try harder. I am disappointed. Your parents will be ashamed. What a delicious apple. “

[Ubergizmo: Saya Robot Teacher]

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Hole-y Sh*t, Is That a Magic Asian?

May 1st, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

I’ve been really, really excited-like, all week long, since I found out that Asians are magic.

SO excited that I started seeking out magical proof of our Asian magical magicness, and actually–or perhaps magically–stumbled on a video of cute magical Asian gal doing an actual magic trick!!

Let’s check it out!

Um.

I. Um.

Don’t think I like magic so much anymore.

Time to go practice the violin or something.

[DP: Tongue piercing may negatively impact dental health]

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Shrink Fast!

January 5th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

I saw this headline in today’s WSJ


…and was like, Whoa, sweet! China’s making therapists now, too? Great news!!! Maybe that’ll make sessions in Hell-lay more affordable, if not slightly more expedient! Maybe this is a giant leap for Asiankind, because it means that we’re not so scared to admit that life sucks for everybody and we need to deal with it and what better way than looking up at the ceiling and free-associating pretty much everything from the sky to our road rage with the relationships we have with our parents?

Turns out, however, that the Chinese manufacturing sector has really just shrunken. That’s actually kinda bad news.

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ROCK OF ASIAN: Big Bang

November 12th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

I was instantly stoooooooked when I saw that there was a brand-new album release from Big Bang, assuming for some reason that it was some sort of musical interpretation of my favorite sitcom:


Wrongo! I realized that Big Bang is actually a Korean b-boy group with a new rekkid, Remember, that just hit the streets. And then I remembered that they feel familiar because I lustily wrote about BB member Tae Yang’s hot frickin’ body over the summer. Dumb Diana!

Disappointed, I still peeped the video for the LP’s first release, “Sunset Glow”:

…and even though it contains no sign of Sheldon Cooper, I’m such a sucker for K-Euro-pop-hop and neon colors that I loved it anyway!

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Get Outta My Waysian, It’s My Goddamn Birthdaysian

October 20th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

What’s up, party people!!!

Today is my birthday! So far, the best part of the day has been: being met after my birthday coffee and birthday lox & bagel with boxes and boxes of birthday Sprinkles cupcakes, hand-delivered to me by pretty blonde birthday ladies.

The worst part, however, was… finding out that I share my birthday with Michelle Malkin.

Unhappy Birthdaysian Discovery

WHAT!?!?! THE DISGRACE! THE HORROR! (Also, shouldn’t she be a heckuvalot cooler if all of the stars and moon and shit are aligned?)

If she doesn’t switch birthdays (might I suggest 9/11?) pronto, I’m cracking skulls.

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You Didn’t Break Any World Records, Loser

August 19th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

I can’t say I’m a big fan of the individual microphones that NBC has clipped onto certain notables in the Olympic crowds of Beijing–Michael Phelps’s mom, Nastia Liukin’s friends, whoever–ya just never know what you’re going to hear. Maybe it’s your average cheering (which is so awkward to listen to without the context of the rest of the crowd), or else it’s personal chatter/words of disappointment/performance criticisms/judge slander that you were never meant to hear anyway. Whatever the audio, it all makes me feel like a totally creepy voyeur. (And listen, I am a creepy voyeur–as any neighbor couples that have ever had sex near a thinly-veiled window will likely attest to–but I really, really hate feeling like one.)

Last night, while watching the women’s pole vault competition, I roused myself from near-Sleepyland just in time to witness American rookie Jenn Stuczynski’s final sky-high bounces. The girl has only even been doing the sport for four years (??) (!!), and kapowed her first Olympic games with an astounding silver medal finish. It should be noted that she came in second just to the very cocky, very gifted reigning double world, triple European, and defending Olympic champion Yelena Isinbayeva, who proceeded to break her own world record a centimeter after claiming the gold.

Beating her would’ve been quite a longshot, and a silver medal for a relative novice is fucking amazing, right? Not according to Stucynski’s coach, Rick Suhr, who congratulated the medalist with this charming, slit-your-wrist pep talk while mic’d up for NBC viewers:


Jesus H., where did Suhr go to school, the New York Academy of Hardass Asian Coaching? Both of my parents were really taken aback by the coach’s unexpected caustic attack, at least that’s what they told me on the phone this morning when we talked about the clip.**

**My dad–who made the same face as Suhr (see left) when he realized I’d achieved second chair violin in honor orchestra instead of first, later clarified that he was mostly taken aback by the fact that any Hardass muthafucka would be egotistical and stupid enough to allow themselves to be mic’d on national television, while berating their prodigy.

Hrmmm.

I’m pretty sure my parents think that Stuczynski is a total loser.

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Margaret Bis This Crap?

June 10th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

As I’ve watched the candidates in this election cycle come and go, and their powerful friends step up to give endorsements, I’ve found myself developing more of an opinion about the endorser than the endorsed.

For example:

Chuck and Huck

When Chuck Norris came out strong for Mike “God and I Think the Constitution Could Use Some Work” Huckabee, I didn’t lose any sleep or respect for the Huckster (there wasn’t a lot to begin with). But I definitely stopped believing that Norris can kill two stones with one bird.

So now how should I feel, even though a Presidential candidate isn’t on the line, about the fact that my heroine Margaret Cho has come out on behalf of Tila Tequila?

She wrote this today on her blog:

“I love Tila Tequila and in many ways I consider her my spiritual daughter. She is a beautiful Asian American woman with a head for business and a bod for sin. She rules and she’s got tattoos!! Oh and she is bisexual!! She’s great and I think her show “A Shot at Love” is groundbreaking and fabulously entertaining

Sometimes people complain and say that the show is all fixed fake and that Tila isn’t really queer and it’s all bullshit, but I don’t believe them. I think it is real, and even if it isn’t – who fucking cares? We have a major hit TV dating show that revolves around a queer star. The real identity of the players or the legitimacy of the game isn’t important to me. What is important is that people like Tila, which means people like me, are no longer invisible. We are here, we are queer, and everyone is getting used to it.”

The thing is, I don’t know if I care more about the fact that Margaret got behind Tila (not lit-rally, but like the Kennedys for Obama), or her casual willingness to dismiss the importance of the identity of Tila’s sexual pawns. I’m all for high-visibility gays and bis but without identity, attention is just bullshit. And should we really celebrate exploitation without real progress? I dunno, maybe we should ask mid-century Black performers that got to dance and sing for white folks but couldn’t enter through he same concert hall doors.

How should I feel about this? Maybe I’ll just introduce Margaret to Chuck and call it a day. That’ll kill two stones with one burn.

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Thanks, Jasmine!

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DISGRASIAN OF THE WEAK! Myanmar’s Junta

June 6th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

U.S. Navy vessels carrying tons of relief supplies for the suffering victims of last month’s Myanmar cyclone turned back around this week, without unloading their cargo. Although the United Nations has stated that a million survivors still don’t have adequate food or shelter, the ruling junta refuses to allow entry for fear that the Americans will bum rush the troubled country for its rich oil deposits.

And so the victims continue to suffer without the mobilized assistance.

We have to say, we’re more than embarrassed that our country’s pathetic reputation as oil hoarders makes for a plausible assumption that we’d do just about anything to get our hands on the grease.

Do we all seem this bad?

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What’s Your Damage, Rivers?

April 22nd, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

I once spent the better part of two years–during the furious shift out of my late teens–working through an epic collection of poetry. It spanned early observations of the incremental breakdown of my mother’s side of the family to the detritus of my first love, from guilt about sex to a love affair with drunken sunrises. Needless to say, it was a pile of self-indulgent shit, but it was my shit, sincere shit from my young heart and achy-breaky-burning soul.

I had the entire thing enclosed in a romantically battered leather file folder, which tied closed with a leather string and made the documents inside feel precious and ancient. My older sister stumbled upon it one day and asked if she could see what was inside, to which I acquiesced, half-hoping that she would be so moved that she would cry all over the leather file (adding even more salt-water character to its mahogany-colored exterior). I was exposing my insides; but in the presentational, on-paper way, my private thoughts for public display. I wanted her to tell me that the volume should be published, that I belonged in the Canon of writers, that my young age truly belied my incredible wisdom and cadence.

My sister scanned through three or four pieces and then smiled, saying, “They’re really good, Di. I like the one about the tree, you used really charming words. I don’t know if Mom would want to read that one about her sisters, though.” Then she closed the whole thing up and handed it back to me–a girl seething both with disappointment and rage. I threw my leather file in a drawer and didn’t find it again until last year, when I moved and was forced to rifle through 35 boxes of storage. And whenever she asked to read my writing after that day, I would only send her graded essays from college or my weekly music column, so that when she called them “good” I wouldn’t care one way or the other.

I guess, in some way, I can identify with what I call Rivers Cuomo’s interminable disappointment, a cloud that landed over him after he vomited up his deepest, darkest secrets and set them to cacophonous pop for his band Weezer’s 1996 sophomore effort, Pinkerton. Even though critics by and large found the album brilliant, the rest of the world was like, “Dude, this shit about asian chicks doesn’t sound anything like ‘Buddy Holly’” and refused to buy. Instead of giving everyone the finger and recording more weird Cuomo brianarrhea after that, he simply recoiled, spending years as a crazy hermit with a dark soul. It really didn’t seem like he would ever write again, how could he? He was probably too old to dream up surf hits, and no one dug his love of Madame Butterfly.

But Rivers did emerge in 2001, this time with a big fuck-you finger that came in the shape of this:

“You liked my blue album? Well, then: second verse, same as the first.”

Anyone that ever sat through a verse of his idiotic stoner anthem “Hash Pipe” could read between the lines: Rivers was in full rage mode. If we didn’t like his diaries, he was gonna give us what we liked. Skateboards. Weed. Cheeky hooks. Power chords. Rock on!

And it worked. People gobbled it up. So he did it again. And again. Fuck you guys, I’m gonna make more lame jock rock. Fuck you all!!! Cuomo is angry!

And it looks like, over 12 years after The Pinkerton Incident, he wants to do it yet again:

“Get it? The Red Album! Get it??”

And quite frankly, I’ve had it. And so now I need to speak directly to the guy.

Note to Rivers Cuomo:
RIVERS, I UNDERSTAND YOUR RAGE. NOBODY WANTS THEIR INNERMOSTS POO-POO’D ON. BUT DUDE, WE’VE ALL (ESPECIALLY THOSE OF US WITH HARDASS ASIAN FAMILIES) BEEN THROUGH IT, AND EVENTUALLY WE ALL JUST HAD TO REALIZE THAT NOT EVERYONE IS GOING TO UNDERSTAND EVERY PART OF US, AND WE CAN’T JUST GO AROUND PUNISHING THE WORLD TO MAKE OURSELVES FEEL BETTER. SOMEBODY DOES LOVE YOU–THAT SWEET LITTLE JAPANESE (SURPRISE) GIRL THAT YOU MARRIED A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO–SO LET HER BE THE ONE TO “GET” THE COMPLEX BLARGHITY-FOO OF YOUR BRAIN AND STOP HAMMERING AT US WITH THESE STUPID, SEMI-IRONIC, TERRIBLY-TUNED, FUCK ALL Y’ALL RECORDS. I CAN’T HANDLE IT ANYMORE. IT’S BEEN OVER A DECADE. GET A THERAPIST. OR AS MY FORMER INTERN USED TO TYPE IN EMAILS, “THERAPITS.”

Anyway, later.
Diana

P.S. Ew, you’re such an icky Asiaphile which is still just such a bummer. Don’t tell me that’s an unfair accusation!! I didn’t come up with the concept for the El Scorcho EP cover, did I?

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DISGRASIAN OF THE WEAK! Whore-y Cows

April 18th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

Wassup Chi-town?

You know we love you, right? You’re home to so many delightful things and people: Wilco, Charlie Trotter’s, R. Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet, deep-dish pizza, our very own intern Jasmine, and, of course, the Cubbies. Is there anything cooler in baseball than that ivy-covered outfield (Jen would say The Green Monster, but she’s wicked biased)? So it really took the Windy City out of our sails to read about these fuku-ed up t-shirts that are selling like hot bräts outside Wrigley. Y’know, the ones that read “Horry Kow!” (translasian: “Holy Cow!”–an homage to the late, great game announcer Harry Caray)? With the chinky-ass bear on the front and Cub outfielder Kosuke Fukudome’s name and number on the back?

Hang on a sec…did we just write that Fukudome’s name and number are on the back of this tee? Horry Shit–is this what you call a tribute to your new star from Japan? Wonder what he thinks of this ching-chong nonsense. Oh wait…

“I don’t know what the creator of the shirt meant this to be, but they should make it right,” Fukudome said through his interpreter after being shown one of the shirts Thursday. “Maybe the creator created it because he thought it was funny, or maybe he made it to condescend the race. I don’t know.”

Do ya really wanna piss off a guy who’s batting .321, has an OBP of .441, and isn’t a diva about getting shifted around in the outfield?

Here’s the thing. There’s still time to make it right. This t-shirt is an unlicensed piece of shit merch selling on Addison Street across from the park. The merch stand’s operator is a charming, enlightened dude named Mark who doesn’t see what all the fuss is about:

“I’m making money,’” he said. “It doesn’t offend me. If other people are offended by it, it’s just a silly T-shirt. Nobody is trying to offend anybody.”

Mark says that only 1 in 10 people who come up to the stand tell him that the shirt is offensive. Let’s make that 10 in 10, shall we?

Chi-town, we’re counting on you. Don’t disappoint us.

UPDATE: Aww. You make us so proud, Chicago!

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Thanks, Jasmine!

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