I hate it when a non-native English speaker who speaks flawless English begins her presentation with a disclaimer like “pardon my Swenglish/Danglish/Finglish" or "English is not my first language, so forgive me if I make mistakes.” I especially hate it when the person in question is a tall, blonde and model-esque Scandinavian beauty.
Most likely, the roomful of ignorant Americans would go “awww, how cute,” lower their expectations, and be blown away by how un-Swenglish/Danglish/Finglish her language is.
Not only does she unfairly gain herself an extra thumb up by lowering people’s expectation, but she’s also downgrading another non-native English speaker in the room whose English is worse but did not give the same warning (how tacky would it be for me to follow suit and tell the audiences to “pardon my Indolish?”)
When it comes my turn to present, they probably think, who’s this ugly Asian shmuck with the thick accent. She should be the one making the disclaimer.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Jew-ophilia
So, after my last kvetch about my Jewish mom, some people were kind enough to ask how my obsession with Jewish stuff began (you have no idea how much I love listening to myself talking about this!). In recounting all the things that happened between when the Jewish fever bug first bit me and today, when I am a full blown Jew-ophile, I came up with a brilliant theory that describes how the condition develops over time.
Stage 1 - appreciation of all things Jewish:
1. You are thirsty for knowledge of Jewish stuff. You’d rather read very trivial Jewish news like “Lesbian Jewish couple celebrate adopted daughter’s Bat Mitzvah” than breaking news about a deadly pandemic attacking your neighborhood.
2. You have affinity toward every and any Jewish person. You just feel that instant click as soon as you find out that the person is Jewish, even though an hour before you wish this person would get the hell outta your face (well, as you get more experience, you’ll realize that NOT all Jewish people are created equal).
3. You start to appreciate New York.. because it is the Jewish capital of the world.
Stage 2 - identity confusion:
4. You want to dress up as a Hasidic Jew or an Upper East Side Jewish nana (grandma) for Halloween.
5. You get offended when your friends describe Jewish people as stingy, sleazy or just plain annoying – as if they are talking about your dead close relative.
6. You sprinkle Yiddish words and old Jewish adage in conversations. "Oy, I wish I had the chutzpah" or "Listen, the optimist sees the bagel, the pessimist sees the hole."
7. You think depression is hip. You ask your doctor to prescribe Xanax, Prozac or Valium because you want to emulate a Jewish American Princess (JAP).
8. You are convinced that you have a familial obligation to marry a doctor or a lawyer and so you read the NY Times wedding announcements regularly to examine how couples with the last names --berg, --man and Cohen first met.
Stage 3 – enlightenment:
9. After years of telling your friends every Jewish joke that you've learned (among other unimportant information), you realize that no one shares your enthusiasm for Jewish stuff, and you start questioning yourself.
10. You come to accept that you’re nuts, but try to convince people that you’re not the only one. And so you post a Facebook note that may pass as an American Psychological Association (APA) symptom checklist, hoping that people would think that Jew-ophilia is a common condition that could happen to anyone.
Stage 1 - appreciation of all things Jewish:
1. You are thirsty for knowledge of Jewish stuff. You’d rather read very trivial Jewish news like “Lesbian Jewish couple celebrate adopted daughter’s Bat Mitzvah” than breaking news about a deadly pandemic attacking your neighborhood.
2. You have affinity toward every and any Jewish person. You just feel that instant click as soon as you find out that the person is Jewish, even though an hour before you wish this person would get the hell outta your face (well, as you get more experience, you’ll realize that NOT all Jewish people are created equal).
3. You start to appreciate New York.. because it is the Jewish capital of the world.
Stage 2 - identity confusion:
4. You want to dress up as a Hasidic Jew or an Upper East Side Jewish nana (grandma) for Halloween.
5. You get offended when your friends describe Jewish people as stingy, sleazy or just plain annoying – as if they are talking about your dead close relative.
6. You sprinkle Yiddish words and old Jewish adage in conversations. "Oy, I wish I had the chutzpah" or "Listen, the optimist sees the bagel, the pessimist sees the hole."
7. You think depression is hip. You ask your doctor to prescribe Xanax, Prozac or Valium because you want to emulate a Jewish American Princess (JAP).
8. You are convinced that you have a familial obligation to marry a doctor or a lawyer and so you read the NY Times wedding announcements regularly to examine how couples with the last names --berg, --man and Cohen first met.
Stage 3 – enlightenment:
9. After years of telling your friends every Jewish joke that you've learned (among other unimportant information), you realize that no one shares your enthusiasm for Jewish stuff, and you start questioning yourself.
10. You come to accept that you’re nuts, but try to convince people that you’re not the only one. And so you post a Facebook note that may pass as an American Psychological Association (APA) symptom checklist, hoping that people would think that Jew-ophilia is a common condition that could happen to anyone.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
My Mom is More Jewish Than Your Jewish Mom
If you’ve ever asked me what’s with my obsession with Jewish stuff, chances are you’ve heard answers that range from “Jewish boys are the hairier and taller version of Asian boys” to the more politically correct “I find their religious practice to be fascinating.”
Truth be told, there are a lot of reasons for my obsession with Jewish culture, but one of the bigger ones is that I have a Jewish mom.
I mean, obviously, my mom is not from Israel (which explains why I don’t have any resemblance to Natalie Portman), nor does she practice Judaism (though sometimes she begins her texts with ‘shalom’). But in every other sense, my mom fits the Jewish mom’s stereotype that is made popular by comedians, perhaps even more so than many real Jewish moms out there.
She thinks that a woman’s ultimate goal in life is to get married. I may get into the best b-school in the world or make a 7-figure income at 25 (I wish!), but before I get married, all she would say is “Good, but you also need to think about your future. Remember that no matter how smart you are or how much you achieve, no one has respect for an old spinster.”
To get me to think about marriage, she nags, threatens, manipulates, and of course, guilt trips me. Ask my mom how she’s doing, she’ll say “I’m fine... I’ve just been crying a lot lately,” and continue with such rhetorical question as “Why is it that other people’s daughters are all married but my own daughter does not even think about getting married?”
If I yell at her and ask to change the topic, she’ll further guilt trip me by discussing her assortment of health issues. "God forbid, I may die sooner than you think," she'd say. "Don't do anything that you may regret later." And while she's at it, she'd remind me that she dreams of being able to coddle my kids, which means that I should get married and make kids ay-es-ay-pe.
Seriously, how more Jewish can she get? And as if that's not enough, she’s also overbearing and overprotective, another stereotype of a Jewish mom.
Mom: Have you been eating well?
Me: Yea, I eat a lot of steamed broccoli lately
Mom: Are you sure broccoli doesn’t contain any unhealthy substance?
Mom: How’s work?
Me: Good. My boss is nice.
Mom: Is your boss male or female? Does he want anything from you?
I can go on and on and cite examples of my mom's Jewish-ness, but you get the point. And before you misunderstand me, let me clarify that I love my mom to death, and I love that she is very very Jewish. This note, rather, is my official explanation for why I stock canned matzo ball soup of all instant food, always brag about having a Jew-dar, and tell you all the Jewish celeb gossips as if I subscribe to the Jewish version of People. My mom is my excuse for being the Jewish-obsessed person that I am.
Truth be told, there are a lot of reasons for my obsession with Jewish culture, but one of the bigger ones is that I have a Jewish mom.
I mean, obviously, my mom is not from Israel (which explains why I don’t have any resemblance to Natalie Portman), nor does she practice Judaism (though sometimes she begins her texts with ‘shalom’). But in every other sense, my mom fits the Jewish mom’s stereotype that is made popular by comedians, perhaps even more so than many real Jewish moms out there.
She thinks that a woman’s ultimate goal in life is to get married. I may get into the best b-school in the world or make a 7-figure income at 25 (I wish!), but before I get married, all she would say is “Good, but you also need to think about your future. Remember that no matter how smart you are or how much you achieve, no one has respect for an old spinster.”
To get me to think about marriage, she nags, threatens, manipulates, and of course, guilt trips me. Ask my mom how she’s doing, she’ll say “I’m fine... I’ve just been crying a lot lately,” and continue with such rhetorical question as “Why is it that other people’s daughters are all married but my own daughter does not even think about getting married?”
If I yell at her and ask to change the topic, she’ll further guilt trip me by discussing her assortment of health issues. "God forbid, I may die sooner than you think," she'd say. "Don't do anything that you may regret later." And while she's at it, she'd remind me that she dreams of being able to coddle my kids, which means that I should get married and make kids ay-es-ay-pe.
Seriously, how more Jewish can she get? And as if that's not enough, she’s also overbearing and overprotective, another stereotype of a Jewish mom.
Mom: Have you been eating well?
Me: Yea, I eat a lot of steamed broccoli lately
Mom: Are you sure broccoli doesn’t contain any unhealthy substance?
Mom: How’s work?
Me: Good. My boss is nice.
Mom: Is your boss male or female? Does he want anything from you?
I can go on and on and cite examples of my mom's Jewish-ness, but you get the point. And before you misunderstand me, let me clarify that I love my mom to death, and I love that she is very very Jewish. This note, rather, is my official explanation for why I stock canned matzo ball soup of all instant food, always brag about having a Jew-dar, and tell you all the Jewish celeb gossips as if I subscribe to the Jewish version of People. My mom is my excuse for being the Jewish-obsessed person that I am.
Friday, April 3, 2009
What Has Google Been Telling People Behind My Back?
It was recently brought to my attention that 70 percent of Americans Google someone they are about to meet. If the statistics is right (which I don't dispute because I do that myself), then I should expect that a blind date's or a job interviewer's first impression about me would be based on what they see on Google rather than in our first encounter. Kind of unfair, given that Google's portrayal of me is not so flattering and not updated in real time to reflect my frequently-changing-and-improving self.
A search on "Yuyun Hartono" takes 0.18 seconds and comes back with tens of results, none of which is particularly great: my LinkedIn profile; my Facebook account; my newspaper articles; and my blog.
So what are these search results telling people about me?
I suppose.. that I have a job? Thanks to LinkedIn, I have a medium to tell the world that I am employed. But unfortunately due to its widespread use, I can't inflate my job descriptions as much as I'd like to since every one of my colleagues is on LinkedIn and can sense the grandiosity.
That I am normal? (because I have a facebook account)
That I am an untalented aspiring journalist? You bet. Every page of my search results is flooded with newspaper articles with blah headlines like Students Rally for Tibetan Freedom or Students Rally for Gay Marriage and underwhelming content that always starts with "University of Wisconsin [students/professor/staff/etc.] [activity] [goal] ... ". I like to think that my writing has improved since my college newspaper days, but evidence that I suck is forever there to stay (thanks, Google!).
That I am a chronic complainer? I guess so. The search result that pops up most after the newspaper articles is my blog, which contains nothing but kvetch, kvetch and more kvetch.
Now put yourself in the shoes of a blind date or a potential employer. After you read all those ugly articles and my super modest job descriptions, would you believe me if I told you that "my strong writing skills will allow me to make a significant contribution to your firm"? Would you not think that I'm faking my positive attitude on our date having read all these complaint-laden blog posts?
The fact that my name is "Yuyun Hartono" of course doesn't help. These job interviewers and blind dates can spot me easily and can be sure that the information they've been scouring for the past 15 minutes is indeed about me.
I wish I could do something about it, like knocking unwanted results, prohibiting people to Google me, or changing my name. But none of those is likely gonna happen. That said, all I can do for now is just complain, complain and continue to complain until I realize that seasons change, hair turns gray, and Google will still be bitching about me.
A search on "Yuyun Hartono" takes 0.18 seconds and comes back with tens of results, none of which is particularly great: my LinkedIn profile; my Facebook account; my newspaper articles; and my blog.
So what are these search results telling people about me?
I suppose.. that I have a job? Thanks to LinkedIn, I have a medium to tell the world that I am employed. But unfortunately due to its widespread use, I can't inflate my job descriptions as much as I'd like to since every one of my colleagues is on LinkedIn and can sense the grandiosity.
That I am normal? (because I have a facebook account)
That I am an untalented aspiring journalist? You bet. Every page of my search results is flooded with newspaper articles with blah headlines like Students Rally for Tibetan Freedom or Students Rally for Gay Marriage and underwhelming content that always starts with "University of Wisconsin [students/professor/staff/etc.] [activity] [goal] ... ". I like to think that my writing has improved since my college newspaper days, but evidence that I suck is forever there to stay (thanks, Google!).
That I am a chronic complainer? I guess so. The search result that pops up most after the newspaper articles is my blog, which contains nothing but kvetch, kvetch and more kvetch.
Now put yourself in the shoes of a blind date or a potential employer. After you read all those ugly articles and my super modest job descriptions, would you believe me if I told you that "my strong writing skills will allow me to make a significant contribution to your firm"? Would you not think that I'm faking my positive attitude on our date having read all these complaint-laden blog posts?
The fact that my name is "Yuyun Hartono" of course doesn't help. These job interviewers and blind dates can spot me easily and can be sure that the information they've been scouring for the past 15 minutes is indeed about me.
I wish I could do something about it, like knocking unwanted results, prohibiting people to Google me, or changing my name. But none of those is likely gonna happen. That said, all I can do for now is just complain, complain and continue to complain until I realize that seasons change, hair turns gray, and Google will still be bitching about me.
Monday, March 30, 2009
You Are What Your Lunch Order is Called
I hate that the awesome salad at Cosi is called “Shanghai chicken salad.” What would my lunch companions think if they heard me ordering Shanghai chicken salad? Of course they’ll think that I’m a FOB (fresh off the boat); a young Chinese immigrant who eats nothing but the familiar food she grew up with, even at Cosi. True, I was drawn to Shanghai chicken salad for the same reason I am drawn to rice, hot food and umami taste. Because I’m a FOB! But do I need to make the people standing next to me aware of the fact? And make them give me that condescending look that implies “there's a Chinese takeout across the street, FYI, if you miss your mom's cooking"?
Dear Cosi, would you do me a favor and take the stigma out of ordering that goddamn salad? Maybe by calling it with a name that is more geographically-neutral? Like name it after the ingredients? Soy ginger salad is actually not a bad name. And in fact, I think it invokes a Zen, peaceful, mind-body-and-soul kind of feeling, something that I don't mind to be associated with.
What’s wrong with Shanghai chicken salad is that it is obvious that you name it after a place in China, a country that in an average American’s mind bears no image of sophistication, trendiness, or other images that New Yorkers strive to exude (think counterfeits, child labors, rude ladies and greasy wok). For a Chinese descendant like me, ordering a salad named after my grandparents’ not-so-glorious origin at a Midtown Cosi adds a FOB factor to the whole controversy that results in an even more severe and complex damage to my image.
Here is a tip for you and other restauranteurs out there: Give a quixotic name to foods that potentially make the eaters look less-than-ultra-classy. Examples from other restaurants:
- Beef/red meat -> steak
- White bread -> French bread, Italian (or some other romantic European country) bread
- Pork burrito -> carnitas burrito
Sure 75% of the population knows that carnitas is some kind of pork, but at least carnitas sounds cute. Plus, less critical dining mates may not make the connection right away. By obscuring the essence of these foods with misleadingly positive names, you are allowing your customers to get away with ordering their favorite comfort (yet unhip) food in a social setting, without being judged right off the bat.
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