little. yellow. different. A weblog by Ernie Hsiung

Returning to Yahoo!

A couple of months ago, I had written a blog post where I had announced I was leaving Yahoo! to pursue an opportunity in Vancouver. Maybe if this website wasn’t so public I would go into some of the details; instead, I’ll simply say that lessons were learned, photos of myself sitting alone in restaurants were taken. Once it became obvious that I wouldn’t be moving to Vancouver any time soon, there was a lot of moments working from Internet cafes and watching television at home. (Did you know Bob Barker isn’t on The Price is Right anymore? Or that Rosie O’Donnell was once on The View? I KNOW!)

When it was time for me to start looking for jobs, applying to Yahoo! again wasn’t even remotely on the radar - besides, who leaves a company only to come back to it, right? - until Kevin told me about an opportunity at Yahoo! Brickhouse, Yahoo!’s experimental start-up incubator in San Francisco. When he told me about the project, the types of things I would be doing, as well as some of the fantastic people involved - people I respect professionally as well as am friends with in real life - well, I had to at least see what kind of trouble I could get myself into. (I’m under NDA so I can’t really say much besides that. If anyone really gives me a hard time, I’ll just say I work on Gay Pipes or something.) This job is also giving me an opportunity to move out of Fremont and to the Mission, but that’s for another blog post.

So we’ll see.

By the way - just so we can get it out of our system now: I’m a Brick… Hooouuuse. Yes, I’m might-tay might-tay, just lettin’ it all hang out, yes yes. I know. It’s the name of a popular song in the 70’s. I get it.

gay bomb

Mike: In the “I’m so ashamed of my home country” department, or in the “HOLY FUCKING SHIT FUCK” category: http://cbs5.com/topstories/local_story_159222541.html
Ernie: I read. trust, i read
Ernie: that is SO a gay porn movie plot written all over it, you don’t understand.
Ernie: they’re filming that shit RIGHT NOW.
Mike: Life in the Iraqi desert was hard for SSgt Jack Throbmore, but it was only going to get … worse. When the chemical bombs hit, Jack was unable to get into his protective rubber suit in time, exposing him and many in his unit to the full effect of the pink gas. The crush of humanity in the barracks became too much to bear. Thus begins story of the 4069th MASH.
Mike: (Yes! Alan Alda and gay porn in the same thought!)
Ernie: [slow clap]
Mike: Although instead of following Hawkeye, the movie should follow BJ Honeycut.
Mike: Right. Back to powerpoint.

The National Spelling Bee

Right now on the local news there is a live feed of the house of the local 13 year old boy who won the National Spelling Bee. I wonder if the news crew is aware that the kid isn’t going to be at his house since, you know, the spelling bee takes place in Washington DC.

This took top billing on the 11 o’clock news tonight, probably because it’s a slow news day and we don’t have any humpback whales slowly dying in our rivers this week.

I did get a chance to watch the live coverage on ABC, though - they had ESPN Commentators and those special segments that they do with Olympic Athletes - except replacing “athletes” with “11 year old geeky boys with glasses and braces.” One segment in particular focused on blond hair, blue-eyed, Tia Thomas - the all-American girl with pigtails and is athletic, unlike all the other home-schoolers and Chinese and Indian overachievers. Shots of her playing the flute and skiing and discussing Parkinson’s Disease over dinner. The producers had a plan for her, man. Pretty and smart, she was going to be America’s next sweetheart. Maybe even a walk-on role in a movie.

Then she spelled “zacate” wrong. Oops, her bad.

I would have live-blogged this - I mean, it’s two hours of live spelling, and thus, instant blogging zaniness, but for the most part, watching the majority of spelling bee consisted of the following: Some random Asian kid is given the task to spell “bouleuterion.” Kid writes with his finger on the back of the piece of cardboard with his name on it, while an ESPN commentator reminds us that he’s not REALLY writing the word out, it’s just his finger. After we watch him do this for two minutes, the bell rings, meaning that he’s spelled the word wrong, and defeated, he walks to his parents and sits with them, on stage. Neither of them console their child or look supportive.

“Holy crap,” I think to myself. “That kid is going to get the beat down when he gets home.”

Hypocrisy through Motiviational Posters

Very funny, Kevin.

(Some people might wonder how I might be okay with this photo when I posted a tirade about Mister Wong just a week ago. Easy: context. I know Kevin, I like Kevin, we can make fun of each other. It also helps that, honestly, the photograph is throughly hilarious.)

Mister Wong, the Offensive Social Bookmarking Portal

Alex, I’ll take “European Web 2.0 companies that make you say WTF” for $200: In Germany, a country where there is the most broadband users in Europe, the biggest social bookmarking website isn’t Yahoo! owned del.icio.us, but a site called… Mister Wong. Why yes, that WOULD be the logo of Mister Wong to the right, thank you for noticing.

Yeeeeeah. Wow.

I mean, being an engineer in the web industry, I’m sure it has some of the standard features that make a social bookmarking portal interesting and relevant, but seriously, who were the branding and advertising geniuses that came up with this one? I mean sure, it’s based in Germany, which is practically a whole world away. Maybe people aren’t as sensitive to political correctness as they are here in North America. But seriously, one of their web badges has the slogan “ping pong, king kong, Mister Wong.” Which I, of course, interpret as “ching chong, Mister Wong” and get INCREDIBLY FUCKING ANGRY. It’s like the Ask Jeeves butler and Uncle Ben had a illegitimate Asian coolie son.

I mean, Christ, his face is on soccer jerseys. SOCCER JERSEYS.

And just when you think I couldn’t get anymore WTF’ed - Mister Wong has a Chinese version of their site. Seriously. Now, I’ll fully admit to being the naive American here - maybe my cultural American bias is slanted and that people from mainland Chinese won’t be completely horrified to see a caricature of someone their ethnicity touting the virtues of the social web. Hell, you have Wang Lan of the Chinese support team on the front page. “It’s okay to use this page,” she seems to beckon. “I’m Chinese too, you see?”

Since I don’t speak German and there is just an intro English page, maybe there’s a story on how the site came up with its name and branding and someone can help out. Mister Wong had better been based on a real person and saved twenty burning orphanages in Stuttgart, because otherwise, I’m calling foul.

(Cross-posted from 8 Asians. Thanks for the heads-up, MJ.)

synchronized swimming

Yesterday, I went to see Stephen at a fundraiser for the San Francisco Tsunami, the gay synchronized swimming team. (The term “gay synchronized swimming” might be kinda redundant, I realize.) One of the swim routines consisted of a medley of “Going Back to Cali” by LL Cool J, with “California Love” by 2Pac and Dr. Dre.

I would like to think that artists get royalties each time a song gets played, and somewhere in a music studio somewhere in the hills of Southern California, someone - most likely an English butler, because my imagination is kinda vivid like that - had just delivered Dr. Dre an envelope with a check sealed inside. Dr. Dre would inquire as to who was the latest person who played his song, and the butler would squint at the envelope, adjusting his monocle, before answering, “why, it looks like a ‘San Francisco Tsunami,’ sir. It appears to be a gay swim team.” And then Dr. Dre would nod before going back to producing his music or drinking his 40 or smacking his bitches or whatever.

This is what goes on in my head, I swear to God.

Also: I’m looking for a job. If you guys know of any good web development and blogging positions, drop me an e-mail. Ernie at this domain.

No, seriously, gayest vacation ever.

Nuff said.

Incidentally, this is what a building in Miami looks like. A group of people actually sat at a table in the 1980s, presumably in their pink suits and gold chains and cigars, and said, "you know what? I think we should have a building, and it should be in five bright neon colors. There should be a corner that looks like a missile silo." Then they all snorted a mountain of cocaine and called it a night. The end.

The Gayest Vacation Ever

On Saturday, I am leaving for a week-long trip to Miami, for the Miami Gay & Lesbian Film Festival.

If this seems a little out-of-character for me, it’s because it is: I’m going as a guest of my friend Royce, who won tickets, airfare and hotel accommodations to the festival through a contest. I’m actually the fourth person he chose, since his boyfriend isn’t over the age of 21, another friend is getting ready for the Peace Corps and yet another friend is in Arizona.

Seriously, I’ve never been so excited to be fourth string in anything, ever.

While I’ve been to Disneyworld three or four years ago, I know enough to know that Miami isn’t the same as Orlando. What I DO know about Miami consists the following: Miami Vice, The movie “The Bird Cage,” Gloria Estefan and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. So basically, the image in my head is of the following: Nathan Lane in a hot pink bikini, listening to his Walkman (NOT his iPod, mind you, his WALKMAN) while he’s rollerskating down South Beach. Then some random guy in a Hawaiian shirt comes up to him, does a line of cocaine and shoots him in the back of the head. The End.

On top of all of this, Royce and I are going to spend a day or two in Key West, which single-handedly makes this the gayest vacation I’ve ever been on. (Seriously, have you browsed the gay accommodations in Key West? Christ, I’m going to feel like I’m trapped in an 80’s porno movie.)

I’m handling all of this with a mixture of excitement and absolute horror; while Royce is getting an outfit, his hair done and has appointments at tanning salons planned, it’s not really my thing, personally. And as a result, I might have to apologize to the locals later for how tubby and pale I am, walking around their city full of beautiful people. If nothing else, it’ll make for an interesting blog post. (And if you’re in the area, of course, let me know one way or another.)

Crocodile: 1, Taiwanese Vet: 0

Ernie: http://news.yahoo.com/photo/070412/ids_photos_wl/r795903880.jpg [warning: GRAPHIC PHOTO]
Ernie: HAPPY THURSDAY!
Leslie: OMG.
Ernie: there was a bloodier version that i couldn’t send you. i didn’t have the heart.
Leslie: ick
Leslie: who ever heard of a one-armed vet? poor guy. i wonder if they could get it back
Leslie: and why the hell wasn’t the beast sedated? do they not believe in sedating alligators in taiwan?
Ernie: ha ha ha… SEDATING ALLIGATOR SO UNLUCKY!

Two Things I’ve Learned From Eating Alone in Vancouver

1. This is the first time I’ve eaten out alone. Well, okay, the first time I’ve eaten alone that isn’t a fast food restaurant or a burrito truck or coffeehouse, but an actual restaurant where the point of the institution is to sit there with someone else, eating food together. Eating out has always been a social activity for me. I don’t go to bars alone, don’t go to movies alone and have never gone to a nice restaurant alone before. And yet, here I am, taking blurry camphone photos of myself while the two Japanese girls in the school uniforms roll their eyes at me.

   For one reason or another, I thought it would be more difficult than it actually is. As I end up more and more in strange cities where I know very little people, I figure I should start getting used to this feeling; being strangely alone, but not necessarily lonely. (Or is that the other way around?) Now all I have to do is be able to stand hanging out at a gay bar by myself and I’m all set.

2. Someone told me that even the bad sushi in Vancouver is great sushi. THIS IS A BOLD-FACED LIE, especially if you go to that one sushi house on Main Street and Broadway. Bacon-wrapped scallops should never be in a bento box. EVER.