Explain This Show to Me Please

I need help understanding a TV show my mom watches on weekdays on MBC, a Korean cable network we get here in Flushing. I don’t even know the name of the show, since the local TV listings seem to have garbled the time slots.

Each episode contains a handful of featurettes, about 10 minutes long, each following a different scandal/mystery/historical event. Most of these stories take place in the United States or another Western country. Tonight’s show featured the life of Marlon Brando, something about Hitler, Hollywood McCarthyism, and something about Obama’s approval rating after the Bin Laden assassination. A previous episode covered that white guy who robbed a bank last year wearing a realistic mask of a black man.

These particular stories contain reenactments in English, with Korean subtitles, starring white actors for whom English is clearly not their first language. (I missed parts of the Obama featurette, but it looks like they worked around their pesky lack of a black actor with some clever camerawork – and maybe a black mannequin head?) The result can only be described as A Current Affair meets Unsolved Mysteries, brought to you by the Tommy Wiseau players.

Side note: Though the acting and editing is laughable, my mom doesn’t seem to notice. This begs the question, Can you distinguish bad acting in a different language, with a different cultural backdrop? Who knows, maybe my mom thinks all native English speakers act like this: halting speech, with slightly delayed yet explosive, emotional reactions.

Oh, also the actors sometimes wear ridiculous wigs.

Pictured: The blacklisted Dalton Trumbo, presumably dying of shame from this wig.  (BTW, the best translation I could find for that text in the upper left corner is “40 years of awards,” which I can’t find any relevant results for on Google, and which may in fact be a tribute to the station or something else rather than the show.)

Anyway, I’d really like for someone to explain to me the overall tone of the show, since I don’t 100% trust the pulpy presentation. (Aside from the bad acting, each vignette features lots of grainy black & white photos of things like CIA documents, sliding across the screen repeatedly.) I want to know if this show is pushing some dangerous agenda, and if I should advise my mom to take it with a grain of salt, or perhaps even flip over to one of the other 2 or 3 Korean channels that are available.


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On PSY, Snoop Dogg, and Good Hair

This music video by PSY and Snoop Dogg made me really sad, you guys.

In it, PSY and Snoop Dogg are at a bar, throwing back soju shots, when they catch eyes with a laughing, pony-tailed woman a few tables over. She and her fellow fun-loving gal-pal (one with a curly bob and bangs, like me!) pull up some chairs to join the rappers(? Is that what PSY does? Rap?) and they all continue on a raucous night out in the town.
Later, at a karaoke bar, it’s clear that PSY and Snoop are looking at their companions with soju goggles, as evidenced by the intercut scenes of skinnier women with long, straight hair and skimpier outfits singing and dancing seductively. Afterwards, the quartet drunkenly staggers through a carnival – affording me a better, head-to-toe look at these apparent frumpsters.
And you know what? Other than the fact that the one who looked like me had mysteriously changed into a garishly colored pantsuit (Was it a carnival prize? Maybe PSY won the jacket and Snoop won the pants? And they fit one girl better than the other?), they looked fine. They were not comically fat or old or anything else that pop culture sneers at (which is also a problem, but other than to say I’m super into white hair and big butts lately, I don’t feel like it’s my place to… blog about it). These girls looked normal. They looked like me.
I suppose, in a music video for a song called “Hangover,” with copious drinking as foreshadowing, I should have figured that these ladies were going to end up the butt of a joke. I guess, in my excitement at seeing some normal women – women who seemed to love soju and comfortable sweaters in equal measure – featured in a glamorous PSY/Snoop collabo, I dropped my guard and thought YES THIS IS OUR MOMENT.
And, I mean, I’m not blind. I noticed right away that these ladies bore a few extra pounds and layers of clothing than the booty-shaking backup dancers in the rest of this video (and every video ever). I just thought maybe PSY and Snoop – neither of them exactly an archetype for the traditionally attractive male body themselves – were saying that that’s okay for a couple of drinking buddies, if you’re outgoing, unpretentious, and down-for-whatever. But no, apparently you also need to be rocking a thigh gap and a long, sleek mane.
I may have taken this harder than I normally would have, because I was reminded of how earlier that week a boy I’d been seeing confessed that he prefers my hair longer. This was right as I was contemplating giving myself what I thought was a long overdue trim, because as agonizingly awkward it feels at first, I think I look happier with short hair. And, since it came from a white guy, this also took my hurt feelings at the “Hangover” video outside of the “Oh, that’s just an Asian pop culture standard of beauty” realm.
So, with tears in my eyes after watching that PSY/Snoop Dogg video (which is a very ridiculous situation, I admit) I thought, Wow, people really don’t like the way I look, do they.
I think I’m going to go ahead and give myself that haircut anyway.

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Spot It!

Last Christmas I got my sister Alice this game from her Amazon wishlist.


How to play: Each Spot It! card is covered with cartoon illustrations of eight easily identifiable items – a dolphin, a cactus, a key – that kind of thing. You lay out a couple of these cards, and the first to call out the matching pair of illustrations wins the round and collects those cards. The cards are replaced and the process is repeated until the deck is gone and whoever is in possession of the most cards wins.

I was excited about this game because, since it’s so straightforward and visual, I figured it’d be easy to explain to my mom and get her to play with us. And I also figured it’d be an opportunity for my mom and I to brush up on our respective English and Korean vocabulary as we named the matching items.

I was right on that first point: My mom took to Spot It! right away, growing her stack of cards with the same deranged enthusiasm she’d previously shown for Jenga.

My mom was quick. In fact, in her mad rush to beat me and my sister, my mom didn’t bother to even name each item. “이거! (Ego!),” she’d declare, using the Korean word for “this.” My previous intentions to identify any items I could in Korean went out the window; I was sluggish enough finding matching sets and conjuring up words in my native English. My mom’s card collection swelled at an alarming rate – even though my sister and I adopted her triumphant “Ego!” technique.

When all was said and done, Alice and I had collectively collected less than half the cards that my mom had, without having learned any new words in Korean. We called for a rematch but my mom, satisfied with her 100% winning streak, called it quits. Ego, indeed.

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Mom’s Birthday 2013

Yesterday was my mom’s birthday. It was a good day *mostly. I dressed myself in this shirt my mother bought me last time she went to Korea. (She picked it for me because, “[I know you like dogs.]”)


My mom’s house is weirdly colored.

My brother and his wife prepared a dinner of mi-yok-guk (seaweed soup traditionally eaten on birthdays) and Chinese takeout. We had to get takeout because after my mom got out of work, we had only a small window of time to catch a 6:50 screening of a Korean movie at the nearby Bay Terrace theater, called The Face Reader.


This film blends a fictional story of an old-timey physiognomist with the real-life story of a royal coup. It’s really entertaining throughout, and, like most Korean movies, has a very emotional ending.

I think this was the first movie my mom saw in a theater. She enjoyed herself. My sister-in-law said she heard my mom call out a few times during the movie (“Oh my god!” “He killed that guy!” etc.) but I didn’t hear this. Perhaps she mistook this for her own mother, who is kind of a good friend match because she’s as chatty as my mom is fairly reticent.


Girlfrandz kickin’ it couch-style.

*The one dark cloud in the day took place when we were killing time before the movie in the surrounding Bay Terrace shopping center. This was kind of my stomping grounds in my teenage years; I went to high school nearby, and it was the closest thing thing I had to a local mall. It was insane to see how much had changed; they have a Five Guys now! Despite all this progress, we did pass an old man who looked at my mother and her friend, and spat out, “Fuckin’ chinkies!”

I wanted SO BADLY to yell, “You go to hell and you die!” and maybe follow up with some remark about how he wouldn’t be missed because he’s old and obviously uncared for if he’s left to just wander around shopping centers spitting obscenities. Instead I just glared. I guess it’s best that I yelled nothing back, not because the man was obviously unwell (though I rarely care about that; I think this brand of crazy should get what they give – verbally) but because doing so would have drawn attention to this short but ugly episode. My mother and her friend continued walking happily along. So as long as my mom had a good time on her birthday, we’re cool.

After the movie we returned to my mom’s house and ate this apple pie I had made.


My mom likes pigs.


Filed under childhood, Flushing, mom, movies, tradition!

Mom Voyage!

Yesterday my mother embarked on a 7-day cruise to the Bahamas. I visited my mom in Flushing the day before to say goodbye. My brother and his wife were also there, since she was to accompany my mom on the cruise (which was a gift from the two of them) and he was to drive them to the dock the next day.
My sister in law, Boo, had been on this cruise before, so she’d prepared a list of items for my mom to pack. It was really sweet watching my mom fill her little travel bag, since this is the kind of thing she’d never buy for herself. She even had to buy herself a bathing suit! I did not photograph her in it, because COME ON amirite ladies?!?
Boo asked my mom if she’d packed a hat as protection from the sun. My mom sighed, “[Yes, but it’s not very good.]” and put this on:
mom voyage
Apparently she’s worried that it’ll fly away because it doesn’t have straps to tie it onto her head.
The BEST article of clothing I saw her pack was a pair of black stretchpants, which she’d purchased from some old asian lady store so she could wear them in the evenings, when it’s cooler. Check out the logo on the back pocket.
daft pants
I told her what the logo meant, but she didn’t care. I made my sister in law promise to take lots of pictures on the cruise for me. Even if she doesn’t, I’m sure that any iPhone-toting hipsters that may be on the ship will see to it that my mom’s ass appears on the internet somewhere.

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Party Well Buffet Lunchbox House Garden

My birthday was this past weekend. To celebrate, my mother offered to take me out to dinner at… our family’s restaurant. Some history is in order. (WARNING: This is long.)

My mom works/I was raised in a Korean food catering place called Mae Il Jahnchee Jeep. I don’t really know what Mae Il stands for, but “jahnchee” seems to be a relatively new word to the Korean lexicon, meaning “lunchbox” — not the collectible Mork & Mindy kind, but more like the bento kind. “Jeep” translates to house, which you’ll find in the names of many Korean restaurants that offer traditional home cooking. (Sometimes my mom and her associates drop the “jeep” when referring to the store.) On a final confusing note, according to some English signage, the place is also called Party Well Buffet.

My father’s side of the family seems to be a lot wealthier than my mom’s side. With the financial backing of my better-off uncle, my parents opened a Korean joint called Mae Il Jahnchee in the early ’80s. This was actually the first business of its kind to appear in the states (or at least in New York City), which begs the question of whether or not my family coined the term “jahnchee.” Perhaps “jahnchee” had already existed as the Korean word for lunchbox, but I’ve heard that my parents were the first to use it to refer to a restaurant. (Take that, DJ Conner!)

The first incarnation of Mae Il Jahnchee was a no-frills catering operation in Flushing, Queens. It was a one-story building with a picture window that gave passersby a glimpse into a chaotic kitchen. There was some sort of rudimentary counter behind which my mom and dad took orders, but for most of the day all hands were on deck in the back, and no one really manned the front of the house.

In the late ’80s, my uncle decided to invest in expanding Mae Il Jahnchee. He purchased a large building that was catty-corner from the business and set about renovating it into a catering hall. No one in my family seems to know what this building was used for before my uncle bought it. I’d imagine it was for some kind of entertainment. I remember seeing red vinyl columns but that’s about it.

The renovation took several years. My family moved into a house right next to the new store. My sister and I played in the construction rubble.

My mom and dad dealt with a lot of stress for this long stretch of time: signing a lease on a house; raising two dirty, accident-prone little girls and one teenage boy who had taken to good old American rebelliousness a little too much; overseeing the construction of a new business while still operating the old one. And during all of this my father’s health was declining.

I remember one late-night argument my parents had during this time. My family must have just recently moved into our house, because we were all sleeping together on the living room floor in a mess of blankets. I pretended to sleep as my mom and dad raged over their kids’ prone bodies.

My father passed away in 1990. He never saw the finished, new Mae Il Jahnchee Jeep.

The grand opening was a huge event; pretty much the entire Korean community in Queens was there. Mae Il Jahnchee continued to be the happenin’ spot for weddings, babies’ one-hundredth day celebrations, decade birthdays, and other significant events in the lives of local Korean Americans.

In addition to the main hall on the ground floor, there were two ancillary party spaces that I’m sure were more affordable. One was in the basement, past the bathrooms and sharing a wall with the kitchen. The room itself had low ceilings, terrible lighting and a tacky linoleum floor.

The other party space was on the second/top floor, and though it was airy and spacious, it was also obviously just part of a cleared-out apartment. The room was flanked on either side by bedrooms that came to be occupied by my brother, my cousin (rich uncle’s son), and my grandmother, as well as a couple of bathrooms, complete with bathtubs and toiletries that shouted, “Someone lives here!”

Strangely enough, business moved so briskly that it was a common occurence for each party room to be booked on weekend nights. When karaoke mania hit the US in the mid-early ’90s, I usually fell asleep to the cacophony of not one, not two, but three drunken revelers belting out K-pop ballads.

Meanwhile, Mae Il Jahnchee still did out-of-house catering. My brother and the aforementioned cousin (who deserves his very own essay) earned their keep as delivery boys, driving aluminum trays of food out to Korean businesses, churches and households all over the tri-state area.

Though the store had assumed a more presentable reception area, there wasn’t a lot of walk-in business. Most transactions were conducted over the phone, and the drivers received cash on delivery. The kitchen produced a handful of small styrofoam trays of snacks – jahnchees! – everyday, and what didn’t get sold was usually forced onto me and my sister.

Over the years, as more Korean establishments popped up in the area, Mae Il Jahnchee didn’t change much about its business model. There are still no computers; all numbers are crunched on laypersons’ calculators and documented by hand in composition books. Though I’m sure they’ve started taking credit cards, I don’t recall ever seeing any sort of card reading device.

Thus, business slowed down at Mae Il Jahnchee. As the glamour of the party halls deteriorated, they booked fewer and fewer in-house events. The bedrooms upstairs emptied out as my brother quit his delivery job and moved into another apartment, my grandmother passed away, and my cousin took on a new house and some sort of managerial role at his dad’s newer, grander party hall in Astoria. (That is, until his drug use landed him in a rehab program in Hawaii, where he seems to have been for the past decade or so. Hm, maybe he doesn’t need his own essay after all.)

The basement party room now houses teetering piles of dry goods – napkins, Sterno cups, to-go containers – and, in recent years, the occasional cat. Every now and then the staff will welcome a new cat into the kitchen for mousing purposes. They always name it Nabi, which is Korean for butterfly.

And then – this past Christmas – my brother mentioned that there is now a restaurant on the main floor. Somehow I’d missed this development in preceding months, during which I guess I managed to entirely avoid this area. Anyway, this is when my already weak grasp of the family business reached new, hypoglycemic levels of weakness. My mother sort of just shrugged off our questions, apparently not understanding why this was such a big effing deal.

“Is it ours?” “Did rich-uncle finance this?” “Does the downstairs kitchen make the food?” “Will there be a grand opening?” “If there is a grand opening, can we come?”

Over the course of last night’s very tasty dinner I learned two things from my mother. First, they did not – and will not – have a grand opening. Second, this place is called Mae Il Garden.

I also observed some things which may mean different things about this restaurant and my family’s relationship to it. There is a small, separate kitchen from the dining hall, which I guess means the restaurant’s food prep is under some other jurisdiction. (Although my mom said the kimchi we ate was ours.) We were given a check, which means the place is not ours, though the check had a significant “working staff” discount applied to it. Serving as hostess was a cousin of mine – one of my father’s sister’s daughters – indicating that my father’s sister has some money in this venture (and/or which may also explain the “working staff” hookup).

After the barbequed fatty pork and assorted VIP freebies including shrimp tempura and sizzling stir-fried mushrooms, we were unable to eat a lot of other items on our table. Worried that it would get wasted, my mother picked up a bowl of spicy seafood stew (one of the bahnchan, or non-VIP freebies one typically gets in a Korean restaurant) and carried it into the staff’s plating area, asking them to put it somewhere safe so she could eat it at work the next day. Though they were nice about it, I could tell that her actions were somewhat out of bounds.

All told, I am still pretty confused by this place. I eagerly await someone’s Yelp review to help fill me in.

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March 5, 2013 · 3:25 am

Twitter, Jenga, and The Year of the Class Act 2.0

I’m a terribly unreliable blogger as it is, but I’ve recently been approached with an exciting new project that will unfortunately eat up most of my time for at least the next few months. BUT I’ve recently started using Twitter less for stalking and more for its intended use (microblogging, right?) so you can find me updating more frequently there, under the ill-conceived name PantsForDogs.

The holidays, of course, are also keeping me really busy these days. My sister Alice came to town from DC as she does every year for Christmas. This time – in her ongoing attempt to engage our mom in language-neutral board game family fun times – she brought Jenga.

Jenga Mom 2

My mom got pretty into it!

Jenga Mom Play

Jenga Mom smile


Drunk on Jenga fun, sometimes she’d start her move as Alice was still finishing hers. That’s her hand creeping into the shot.

Near the end of 2011 I declared 2012 to be the year of the class act, which at the time meant that I’d be discrete and sensitive about my impending breakup, try to keep my big mouth shut in general, and maybe not throw up from alcohol. I think I nailed the first goal and not so much the others, so I’ll try to keep it going in 2013.

I hope all of you have a great new year. Keep it classy.

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