It's funny. Despite my Asian exterior, I've always been an All-American kind of guy. I love baseball, apple pie, hot dogs and Chevrolet. Having been born in NYC, I've spent the majority of my life straddling the line between the country of my birth and the heritage of my culture. I've put kimchi on my hamburgers. I've mixed sake with my Budweiser. And, to the chagrin of all my Asian friends, I sing classic rock songs when we go out for karaoke.
But just in case there was any doubt about my progressive path towards assimilation, I think yesterday pretty much confirmed for me that you can never truly escape your past.
As I sat on my couch watching the Mets game, eating some dried octopus and drinking a glass of scotch, I realized that not only was I wearing a Korean soccer jersey and flip flops but also that my breath totally reeked of kimchi and I smelled like a Korean taxi cab driver. Furthermore, I found myself yelling at the television while cutting my toenails at the same time.
Holy crap, I'm turning into my father!!!
Quick, somebody stop me before I start speaking in monosyllabic grunts, cutting my own hair, and blowing snot rockets onto the ground!