That's racist!

One of the many reasons I like living in Bermuda is that there's no racism. Lemme clarify: there's no malicious racism. What I mean is ppl aren't yelling 'chink' or 'gook' at you, both of which have happened in the states. Out here, it's more ignorance. Just ppl not knowing any better, like they've never seen an Asian before.

When we were here for Sandy's interview, the cabbie says to us: "Oh there's ppl here that look like you guys". He wasn't trying to be a prick about it. He was just stating a fact.

When I come back from Taiwan, the customs ppl are always like..."Oh my brother loves Taiwan. He loves going to the beaches and every thing's really cheap over there." Oh, you mean your brother loves the cheap hookers in THAILAND? Or "you learned to cook food while you were there? I love Thai food!" OK, that's not really racist.

Our first winter, Sandy's coworker's cousin's boat broke off its mooring and wound up by our dock. We helped the cousin and his buddy get the boat back and give them a ride back to their place. Our conversation on the ride:

Cousin: So where you guys from?
Sandy: Oh we're from Chicago.
Cousin: Oh, sorry.
Sandy: Sorry about what. (I give Sandy a "I can't wait to hear this shit" look)
Cousin: I thought you guys were Asian.
Sandy: Oh no, we're Asian. We just grew up in the states.
Cousin: Oh.

I'm pretty sure he still had no idea what we were talking about. Did Whitey oppress you too? But how can you be mad at that? Seriously. He just had absolutely no clue. He wasn't saying it to be mean or hurtful. He was asking a legitimate question. That I can take. And I just smile and laugh it off.

But, earlier this month, we were at a restaurant to watch the Christmas boat parade. This dood at the table next to us was arguin with his wife, so he decides to chat me up.

Guy: So where you guys from?
Me: Chicago.
Guy: Oh, I'm from Boston.
Me: Cool.
Guy: Yeah....I'm surprised you're from Chicago. You look like you'd be from Asia.

That shocked me so much that I had no witty comeback. Guy couldn't even use the excuse that he's an ignorant Bermudian. He's from the states! Are there no Asians in Boston? I'm pretty sure that white shirt Paul Revere's was wearing that historic night was dry-cleaned by an Asian. But again, guy wasn't trying to be an ass. So what am I supposed to do?

Some one here once said to Sandy: "Wow, I can't believe you have no accent when you talk. Every Asian I've ever met has had an accent, and I've traveled all over the world!" Are you fucking kidding me?! Does your 'worldly travels' include the United States of America, at places other than massage parlors?! Jesus.

Seriously tho, how do you respond to stuff like this? You can't really get mad. They just don't know any better. They're just not exposed to much out here. Most of the Asians here are Filipino or other Southeast Asian ethnicity working as wait staff in restaurants. Basically Asians = Mexicans. And yes, I'm aware of the irony that I myself am a racist. But I admit it!

It's like when I was in rural part of China way back when. My mom and I walk into a store. Mom talks to the store owner in Chinese. I'm just standing next to them, bored as shit. Mom introduces me as her son. Shop owner is shocked: "That's your son? What nationality is he?" For real?! Give me a fucking break lady! We're the same peoples! You're my peoples! I'm your peoples! Or however you're supposed to say that shit. I'm gettin racism from my own fucking race. At that point, you just gotta realize you're forever fucked and give up.

At least it's better than when we were at the airport and the military dood at security takes my US passport and says in Chinese, "Let's see what a Chinese guy looks like." Later on my mom said it was meant as an insult. Too bad he was too stupid to realize my Chinese sucks ass. Booyah!

And that's still better than back in the states when a lil white kid called me "Daisuke Matsuzaka" while Sandy and I were playing tennis. Or when a group of guys drove by us after golf and yelled out the window "ching chong ping pong". Or another guy calling Sandy Michelle Wie. Or a big ass white dood calling us 'gooks' after a night of clubbing. Yeah, I wasn't drunk enough that night to get my ass beat. If you're biceps are bigger than my thighs, say whatever you want bro.

So yeah, I'll take stupid over nasty any day.

Vegas recovery

I think I'm finally fully recovered from Vegas. We left on the 2nd and got back last Wednesday. Basically a week's recovery time...pretty standard. Thing is, it wasn't a typical Vegas trip. I didn't place a single bet, go to any club (clothing optional or otherwise), hit any buffets. Hell, I didn't even drink a drop of alcohol. Half the time we weren't even on the strip. And when we were, it was in the podunk Monte Carlo.

Sounds like an absolute blast, I know. Reason we were there is cuz Sandy was grading an actuarial exam. These losers actually volunteer to grade actuarial exams (for free, in case you guys didn't understand the 'volunteer' part). After spending however many years studying for these brutal exams, you'd think they'd want absolutely nothing to do with them. Guess not.

And the cheap ass actuary heads booked these slaves in the ghetto ass Monte Carlo. You'd think they'd show some gratitude and shell out some actual cash. That whole actuary thing is such a racket, but that's for later. If I hadn't first walked thru the lobby first, I woulda thought we were staying at a Comfort Inn. The room was not good. The bathroom was average, at best. The handle on the faucet wasn't even attached. I was scared to put my dirty feet to the nasty ass carpet in case I'd catch herpes or something. Who knows in Vegas.

The other half of our trip was spent in the suburbs with Victor and Tammy. Even when we were on the strip, we'd spend our nights back in the burbs. I had the Monday free to myself. Instead of spending the day gambling, cruising the strip, at the bar or talking politics with the friendly strippers, I spent the day dancing and cooking with my 2 ½ year old niece. Very wild, I know.

The highlight of the weekend was getting to shop at Target. Yes, that's the retail store with the red bullseye logo. It's not Vegas code for sex shop. Highlight shoulda been Costco, but Sandy wouldn't let me go cuz we had already bought a lot of stuff and didn't want our luggage to be overweight. Target was so awesome that I went to two different stores a total of at least 3 times. It was so euphoric that I actually lost count.

We're so deprived of shopping here in Bermuda that my heart actually skipped a beat when I walked in retail stores. Target and its big open space: love it. Best Bath and Beyond and their tall ass wall of kitchen goodies: amazing. Best Buy and those damn blue shirts: score! Sadly, Wal-Mart is just depressing. Even in the parking lot, Sandy and I were like...damn, this place is fuckin ghetto. Walking thru the Wal-Mart is almost the equivalent of driving thru the streets of 3rd world countries.

The food highlight of my trip was Arby's. Twice. My fast food dilemma was Taco Bell or Arby's. Double Beef N Cheddars won out, even though I already had one at the ATL airport. No Bellagio buffet. No sushi. No steak. No oysters. But I did have like 5 Venti Java Chip Frappuccinos.

You know you're getting old and lame when the highlights of your Vegas trip consists of Target and Starbucks. Our old asses woulda prolly just died had we actually been there for something like a bachelor party.