NYCWD posted an answer to my “What’s up NYC?” question.

And indeed it’s glorious. Anyways, most of it is based on the idea that if I head to NYC, I’ll be sexed up with hordes of beautiful women — which is as good a reason as any. Oh, and also…

Did you know that, as far as I know, Oxford has a grand total of three (!) coffeeshops? There’s a Starbucks, a Costas, and a McDonalds (I had to include McD’s — ‘two’ was looking awfully pathetic).

Better still: Both Starbucks and Costas close at about 7:00 PM on a weekday. Earlier on a weekend.

Take that NYC!

Yes, it drives me completely berserk. Or it did.

I’ve given up on life, now, you know. So it’s not like it matters that I can’t find a late-night place to sip coffee.

Lately, as you can probably tell, I’ve been trying to revive some inter-blog discussion. Which is, as you’ve also probably guessed, another way of shoveling my own writing responsibilities onto other fellow bloggers.

This time around, we’re going to turn to NYCWD, our esteemed blogger from New York City.

First, the basics:

Postdoctoral Researcher (aka Postdoc)
A postdoc is, in simplest terms, a freshly minted doctor who, now having completed the last vestige of educational hand-holding, finds himself or herself completely bewildered by the frightening prospect of getting a ‘real’ job…you know…out there. So instead, he or she undertakes a few more years of educational hand-holding before being finally booted out — to sink or swim.

You know how some undergrads do a Master’s because they’re not sure what else to do? And some (clearly deluded) Master’s do a Ph.D. because they’re still not sure? Yeah. It’s the same with a Postdoc. It cushions the blow of landing a fully-fledged job in academia or (god forbid) industry.

It’s like academic procrastination, but with a fancy title and a shit salary.

But in a few years, this final stage of academic procrastination will be a reality for me. I’ll be an honest-to-god doctor (not the kind who helps people, mind you), and I’ll have to decide where to do my postdoc.

The three options are: (1) Stay here, (2) Return to the Motherland, or (3) Head to America.

Of course, the logic is, at least if I do (3) and not (1), I’ll avoid the dirty looks I get in England when I whip out my pseudo-American accent ( “It’s Canadian asshole.”)

Okay, so if it comes down to the States, there are a few possibilities. One of them is in New York.

Which, I’ll be honest, scares me.

Having grown up in a city of 850,000 which I can only describe as ‘perfect’, and now relocated to a city of 150,000 which I’ll describe as ‘crowded’, it blows my mind to even consider one day living (albeit temporarily) in a city that — properly equipped — can probably invade Canada. Christ.

It’s not like I’ve never been to New York. I have. A long time ago. I remember it as being dirty, humongous, and way, way too much for my little pee-brain to handle.

And let’s be honest, the portrayal of New York students on TV (e.g. Felicity) isn’t comforting. There, the characters are always pebbles of sand on an all-expansive beach, living in teensy dorms, and performing sexual favours in dark alleys just to keep up with the rent (I forget which episode that was).

So where does my future lie? Is there a place for me in America? In New York City?

Or will it be too much for me to handle?

That is the question I pass off to NYCWD and my dear readers.

To: Rhys
From: Phil
Date: This Morning
Subject: Me me me!

Dear Rhys,

You probably know that on my site, there is an About page.

And on this About page is a Contact form.

Now traditionally, what happens is that my readers (I like to think, cute lovestruck girls in their early 20s searching for life’s true love) visit this page, jot down their most intimate details (name, e-mail, website), and write me prose with such uninhibited flattery and devotion that if anybody in the same room were to simply read them, I’d be forced to make a hasty exit, mortified beyond words and with the tips of my ears burning.

Reading these comments, dear Rhys, have been a part of my daily regimen of confidence-building exercises. You know, like repeating slogans to yourself in the mirror every morning (“Baby, you’re BEAUTIFUL. You’re GORGEOUS. What a LAD.”), or submitting your best glamour shots to those Hot-or-Not search engines.

But lately, I haven’t gotten any.

You see, lately, it seems what’s happened is that a sizable number of YOUR readers, desperate and desolated at being ignored, have traipsed over to MY site, shooed MY customers away, and filled MY Contact forms with outrageous questions.

Questions like, “Phil, I’m a bit worried about Rhys. Can you let me know she’s alright?”, or “Phil, I heard Rhys was having a hard time. Have you spoken to her?”, or even, “Phil, I miss Rhys. When will she be back? You’re sort of cool too. Okay, not really.”

Okay, I made that last one up, but can you blame me? It’s all there, somewhere; between the lines. Rhys this and Rhys that.

This just won’t do, Rhys. This will simply NOT do.

So here’s the thing. Will you let us know what’s up and that you’re doing okay? Will you return to writing on a semi-regular basis? It’s not that I care, really, it’s more to do with the fact I need my regular dose of esteem-boosting shots. I’m not a man who can live up to the daily rigors of life without them, Rhys, and I can’t go on living with you stealing the spotlight. Bitch.

Yours in sincere(ish) concern,
Phil

P.S. What do YOU have that I don’t, anyways?
P.P.S. It’s the ‘boobs’, isn’t it? God, that’s always the reason.

Dave has taken to complaining over the fact that his last exam ends on April 18th 2008, days after most of his friends are already enjoying newfound freedom — you know, frolicking in the cool spring breeze, playing with the rabbits, kittens, or whatever. (It’s been ages since I’ve had a proper summer and I’ve forgotten what is it, exactly, that we do).

However, let me take this opportunity to remind the lazy git that his last exam ends before the third term even begins for me and my scholarly brethren (that would be the 21st of April).

Yes. We have a third term. Yes, I still teach in this third term. Yes, it will be glorious.

So STFU, motherfucker.

In the last post, I handed the torch to fellow blogger Dave, along with the request to comment on the news of the Hollywood adaptation of the ‘true’ story of a group of Asian-American MIT students winning big in Vegas. The result was the recently released 21 — but now with white actors and actresses replacing the shamefully geeky geeks.

Dave replied in a typical Dave-like manner (That is, incoherently raving about nothing in particular, and supplementing his argument with hastily photoshop-ed pictures. Did he, by the way, even use Photoshop? Looks more like Microsoft Paint to me).

But he makes the point that,

Dave oh Dave. Allow me to rebut.

The status quo is changing. Minutely, perhaps. But it’s changing nonetheless.

No, you’re right. The really big Asians names in Hollywood probably only include Jackie Chan and Jet Li — and both do nothing to deter the Asian kung-fu-master stereotype (that’s assuming we’re not including the likes of Keanu Reaves who, by the way, has a minute droplet of Asian blood).

But there are certainly names that have recently inched the status quo in our favour.

Let’s start with Yul Kwon (South Korean), who graduated both from Stanford and Yale, then worked briefly for Google. However, you might know him as the winner of Survivor: Cook Islands during the infamous season when the castaways were first split into tribes according to race (I wrote about it here).

In winning, he not only blasted pretty much every single Asian stereotype out of the water, but he was also named one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men of the Year.

That’s Exhibit A, Dave.

For Exhibit B, we turn to Maggie Q who starred alongside Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible III, then had a far more memorable role as the girl who kicked Bruce Willis’ ass for most of Die Hard 4 until he um…threw her down an elevator shaft.

Okay, I’m cheating a bit, here, because Maggie Q is only half Asian (a feisty product of a Polish father and a Vietnamese mother), and if we were to open that door, I suppose we could also bring in Kristen Kreuk (of Smallville fame).

But there are other examples: Michelle Yeoh, the first Asian bond girl in Tomorrow Never Dies and another one of People Magazine’s Most Beautiful. And don’t forget Grace Park who plays Number Six in the hit show Battlestar Galactica, also named in the 2006 Maxim’s Online Hottest 100 List.

And this, my dear friend, brings us to the last exhibit.

I chose one that would be close to your heart.

Daniel Dae Kim plays Jin on the television series Lost. But I know what you’re thinking: large ensemble cast — the casters would have had to put in an Asian actor for political reasons, anyways.

But no, the reason why I bring him up (in addition to the fact he’s another one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive) is the fact you can often spot him comfortably cruising around on bus billboards ever since he’s teamed up with Gap.

In your blog post, Dave, you asked, “What’s the point?”.

While these are indeed exceptional and rare example, perhaps the point is that the situation is not as hopeless as you once imagined.

There’s still the possibility of change.