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Authors: Kim Wong Keltner
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Now, whether there was an actual contestant from Berkeley I do not recall. The thing that sticks in my mind after all these years was that there was an Asian female participant, and she was so enamored of the white boy opponent to her left that she tanked horribly, and her demise left me seething with anger and disbelief.
I donât remember which college had to shamefully claim her as its own, but all the contestants wore sweatshirts with their school names emblazoned on the front, and in my faulty, snarktacular memory, her sweatshirt read RICE . Honestly, at first I thought she was cute. I had high hopes that she would prove to every TV-watching family in America that Asian women are a force to be reckoned with. She had a perky, bobbed hairdo and looked smart, which is to say, she looked Asian. At first glance, I thought she must have believed her right side was her more photogenic, because during the entire game her head was turned toward the left. However, what became quickly apparent was that she was all goo-goo eyes for the white guy on her left with whom she had chummy rapport. Between each of Alex Trebekâs questions in answer form, she made chatty little comments to Lover Boy, constantly tossed her hair, and winked like she was plagued with an embarrassing facial tic.
I could accept that she was a boner, I mean a goner, for this guy. However, the thing that made her behavior completely unacceptable was that she was losing. LOSING. An Asian brainiac nerd was losing. Can you believe that? And she was not just lagging behind by a few hundred points, but rather, she had no points at all. Alex would fire off a clue, and when White Boy would hit the buzzer first and answer correctly, she consistently gave him a little high five or a fist bump as if to say, âSweet!â
Okay, I thought. Convivial relations with the other contestants, and joshing familiarity. Thatâs so college! Right. But after the third or fourth time it happened, and even the sixth time, I was starting to get pissed. Where was her Asian competitive instinct? Seriously, she was letting him win, and she seemed happy about it. I wanted to shout at the TV, âHey, RICE girl! Get ahold of yourself!â After a while, even the White Guy started to look a little peeved. He gave her a look like, âUm, could you please stop touching me cuz my girlfriend back at Texas A&M is probably watching and also, uh, youâre kinda creeping me out.â
Meanwhile, in my darkened, dusk-just-turned-to-night apartment with my uneaten bowl of ramen, I was furious. She was Asian, and what the hell was this? If she had been any other ethnicity, I wouldâve just laughed and thought she was a regular-variety dope. But no. Something simmered inside me until I just couldnât take it anymore. All by myself, watching a game show in the dark, I yelled, âCRUSH HIM!â
But she did not. Crush him, that is. It seemed to me that she should have been genetically preprogrammed to demolish any opponent under academic circumstances. But no. Every time the guy answered correctly, she beamed with pride.
Câmon, woman! Iâm as romantically deluded as anyone, but if I was on freaking Jeopardy! representing my college and the entire Asian American population, I sincerely hope I would self-censor my burning desire to rub myself all over Hunky Boy. Where were her priorities? First win a million dollars, then you can hump his brains out . . . LATER. Offscreen, okay? In the privacy of the network green room.
But instead, Asian Girl lost miserably, and when the competition was over, White Guy walked off the platform like she didnât even exist, and she was the one who ended up getting crushed. I wanted to feel bad for her, but I didnât. My Oriental-flavored Top Ramen was cold and so was I. I felt betrayed and disgusted. Poor RICE. What an effing idiot.
After all these years, I still remember watching that episode of
Now, whether there was an actual contestant from Berkeley I do not recall. The thing that sticks in my mind after all these years was that there was an Asian female participant, and she was so enamored of the white boy opponent to her left that she tanked horribly, and her demise left me seething with anger and disbelief.
I donât remember which college had to shamefully claim her as its own, but all the contestants wore sweatshirts with their school names emblazoned on the front, and in my faulty, snarktacular memory, her sweatshirt read RICE . Honestly, at first I thought she was cute. I had high hopes that she would prove to every TV-watching family in America that Asian women are a force to be reckoned with. She had a perky, bobbed hairdo and looked smart, which is to say, she looked Asian. At first glance, I thought she must have believed her right side was her more photogenic, because during the entire game her head was turned toward the left. However, what became quickly apparent was that she was all goo-goo eyes for the white guy on her left with whom she had chummy rapport. Between each of Alex Trebekâs questions in answer form, she made chatty little comments to Lover Boy, constantly tossed her hair, and winked like she was plagued with an embarrassing facial tic.
I could accept that she was a boner, I mean a goner, for this guy. However, the thing that made her behavior completely unacceptable was that she was losing. LOSING. An Asian brainiac nerd was losing. Can you believe that? And she was not just lagging behind by a few hundred points, but rather, she had no points at all. Alex would fire off a clue, and when White Boy would hit the buzzer first and answer correctly, she consistently gave him a little high five or a fist bump as if to say, âSweet!â
Okay, I thought. Convivial relations with the other contestants, and joshing familiarity. Thatâs so college! Right. But after the third or fourth time it happened, and even the sixth time, I was starting to get pissed. Where was her Asian competitive instinct? Seriously, she was letting him win, and she seemed happy about it. I wanted to shout at the TV, âHey, RICE girl! Get ahold of yourself!â After a while, even the White Guy started to look a little peeved. He gave her a look like, âUm, could you please stop touching me cuz my girlfriend back at Texas A&M is probably watching and also, uh, youâre kinda creeping me out.â
Meanwhile, in my darkened, dusk-just-turned-to-night apartment with my uneaten bowl of ramen, I was furious. She was Asian, and what the hell was this? If she had been any other ethnicity, I wouldâve just laughed and thought she was a regular-variety dope. But no. Something simmered inside me until I just couldnât take it anymore. All by myself, watching a game show in the dark, I yelled, âCRUSH HIM!â
But she did not. Crush him, that is. It seemed to me that she should have been genetically preprogrammed to demolish any opponent under academic circumstances. But no. Every time the guy answered correctly, she beamed with pride.
Câmon, woman! Iâm as romantically deluded as anyone, but if I was on freaking Jeopardy! representing my college and the entire Asian American population, I sincerely hope I would self-censor my burning desire to rub myself all over Hunky Boy. Where were her priorities? First win a million dollars, then you can hump his brains out . . . LATER. Offscreen, okay? In the privacy of the network green room.
But instead, Asian Girl lost miserably, and when the competition was over, White Guy walked off the platform like she didnât even exist, and she was the one who ended up getting crushed. I wanted to feel bad for her, but I didnât. My Oriental-flavored Top Ramen was cold and so was I. I felt betrayed and disgusted. Poor RICE. What an effing idiot.
After all these years, I still remember watching that episode of
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