Columnist Paul Nakayama is determined to get to the bottom of what his male friends really want in a woman. What he discovered? Ask a woman.

ISSUE: Summer 2012

DEPT: Audrey Living

STORY: Paul Nakayama

To be perfectly honest, I’ve been dreading writing this issue’s Awful Truth for weeks now. Seeing as I’m currently stuck in my hotel room in Jodhpur, India, awaiting the passing of a brutal dust storm, I guess it’s nature’s way of telling me to get off my ass. I just wish my to-do reminders didn’t consist of strong winds scooping up cow dung from the streets and whipping them around town. I prefer the carrot to a stick made of hepati- tis. At any rate, the topic for this issue is what men really want, so here’s what I did: I asked my single friends what they look for, and I asked my married friends what they love about their wives. If this works, the answer hopefully lies somewhere be- tween a booty call and a divorce.

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ISN’T IT BROMANTIC? : What is up with all these guy crushes and man-love?
Audrey’s resident bro expert tells all.

ISSUE: Spring 2012

DEPT: The Awful Truth

STORY: Paul Nakayama

I recently returned from a trip to Vancouver where my writing partner and I celebrated New Year’s Eve. To quote our generation, it was epic. Now, judging from the photo (opposite page), you might assume that we went there as lovers, or perhaps even newlyweds. But, no, dear readers, it is, in fact, a “bromance” of the highest caliber. For those of you who’ve never heard of a bromance, it’s defined as a very close, or homosocial, friendship between two straight men. You’ve all seen examples of a bromance through television shows like Scrubs and Friends or movies like I Love You, Man. There are even real world examples like Ben Affleck and Matt Damon or George Clooney and Brad Pitt. It’s a strong bond formed from common interests and long periods of time spent together. Hearing this, my editor was unsatisfied, or rather, still suspicious, and she demanded a better explanation. I took a look at the photo again, and I thought maybe it is in my best interest to provide a few insights
into this new definition of brotherhood.

The concept of guy-love is lost on those who have never experienced it (so, men from older generations or women). It’s not weird or strange anymore to see men display their affections for their buds physically. I’ve seen grown, bearded men shove aside a fist bump request and instead firmly place their chest against another man’s chest. It’s strange and perhaps unnerving to them to see men platonically bond while throwing in the occasional hugs, butt-slaps and friendly wrestling. Whatever happened to the good ol’ days of stoic machismo, they wonder? Well, these days it’s cooler to be cool with man-love.

I remember one time in high school I spent the night at my best friend’s house once. His dad, an old fashioned type, raised an eyebrow when we went into the hot tub to relax. When it was time to turn in, his dad seemed nervous about something, as if the fate of his son’s future rested on the events of this particular evening. He kept hanging around the room, which was a drag because we wanted to close the door and talk about girls. Finally, after long periods of pacing and internal debating, he looked at us and pointed at the bed. He stuttered, “You know, I don’t think the bed is big enough to hold both of you.”

What do you do when your dad, like many others, mistakes guy-love for gay love? It’s not like we were planning to share the bed, but we did what anyone would do when faced with an awkward opportunity to teach someone about tolerance. We went with it and antagonized the poor man. Arms around each other and a big grin on our faces, we said, “We’ll make it work.”

I thought some more on why bromances are so common these days. When did it all start? I wondered if it was somehow a natural progression from the emergence of the metrosexual man. I thought that the heavy use of high-end conditioner and facial moisturizer made our hearts as soft as our hair and skin. In all seriousness, though, single men these days are simply less concerned with the notion of being identified as gay than their fathers and grandfathers. If anything, I’ve seen bromances take pride in their ability to ride the razor’s edge of platonic and sexual. Take me, for instance. Whenever I get drunk, I tend to lift my brothers into the air a la Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing. I’m not trying to cop a feel (usually); there’s just no better way to show a brother you love him than by doing a ballet lift together.

Bromances aren’t just an American thing. I’ve witnessed and experienced it on many of my travels, like Anthony Bourdain, but instead of food, I sampled male bonding. In Brazil, I befriended a group of the tallest, largest men I’ve ever met, and when I had trouble wading through the packed crowds, one of them actually lifted me up above the people and placed me in front of the bathroom. I said to him, “Obrigado, my gentle giant. Obrigado.” (True story.) In Hong Kong, I spent several nights drinking with guys that simply liked me because I could hold my liquor. Imagine that — bonding with strangers over such a superficial reason, and yet we were inseparable for days. In Singapore, I saw a club full of guys perform a synchronized interpretative dance to Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.” Actually, wait, that might’ve been a gay club; it was kind of confusing. Finally, in Korea, I saw men holding hands and kissing each other’s faces. Well, I wasn’t ready for the master class bromance, but you know, I just wanted to give you another example.

While most women comment that it’s “cute” to see men bond so closely, I’ve also had plenty of girls poke fun (with a hint of “what-the-eff” in their voices) at my bromances. When that happens, my buddies and I shrug it off because we know that it’s just jealousy. Now before I get angry letters from you (which I wouldn’t mind actually since it’s at least some evidence that someone is reading this), I’ll explain the source of the jealousy. It’s not uncommon for men these days to be more emotionally available to their man-mates than their actual girlfriends. There’s less emotional risk and you still get the satisfaction of catharsis. There’s no regard for what comes in the future; there’s only the enjoyment of the now. In other words, men can enjoy the intimacy of a long-lasting relationship without the dreaded “so-where-are-we-headed” talk. You combine that level of hassle-free friendship with man-dates that involve common interests in video games, sports, music and entertainment, and it’s not ironic that even the most commitment phobic guys have at some point in their lives said to another guy: “Dude, if you were a girl, I’d marry you.”

Now, with the context I’ve given, does the above photo of me leaping into another man’s arms make more sense? Still weird, you say? Yes, there was alcohol involved at the time this was taken, but that’s not an excuse. There’s no need to make excuses for something as beautiful as the friendship of two men. If anything, I will fight like a Black Friday shopper to defend my right to be cradled in the arms of my best friends. It’s a great thing that the taboos of the past are being cast off to create a world where men are OK with showing feelings, affection and love. Why not have a world where men can accept and hug instead of front and fight? I think it’s awesome. Well, except for those really aggressive huggers that linger. That’s just awkward.

More stories from Audrey’s spring issue here.

In our Winter 2011-12 issue, The Awful Truth columnist Paul Nakayama discussed the ins and outs of the Hall Pass: a week off from your relationship to fool around with other partners. We asked our staff who their celebrity hall passes were and here are their responses.

Assistant Editor/Online Manager Janice Jann: Jake Gyllenhall mainly, but also Diego Luna, Takeshi Kaneshiro, Topher Grace.

Japanese actor Takeshi Kaneshiro.

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THE BACK-UP PLAN: Grenade, hater, cock-blocker — call it what you will, guest columnist Anastasia Kim filters the losers, while wingman Paul Nakayama just tries not to say too much.

ISSUE: Spring 2011

DEPT: The Awful Truth

STORY: Paul Nakayama and Anastasia Kim

PHOTO: Audrey Cho

ANASTASIA SAYS:
I really should charge by the hour for my wingwoman services. Actually, wingwoman doesn’t quite describe the role so much as “booty guard.”

I am not a “matchmaking” wingwoman, just so you know; you can sign up with eHarmony for that. I am what embittered folk call a “cock-blocker,” “hater” or, if they deem me unattractive enough, a “grenade.” (Hopefully this isn’t the case.)

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Destination Tennis host and Audrey contributor Mayleen Ramey has teamed up with our own Paul Nakayama (Awful Truth) and Soles4Souls to organize a shoe drive to help the victims of the Japan earthquake and tsunami. GIVE SHOES: A Tennis Shoe Drive for Japan will be collecting your old tennis shoes and sneakers tomorrow at a Happy Hour Shoe Drive at Gyenari Korean BBQ & Lounge in Culver City, Calif., from 5-8:30 pm. Drop by and say hi to Mayleen and Paul — give shoes and stay for the booze!

More details after the jump.

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DATING FOR DUMMIES
In honor of the New Year, Paul Nakayama and guest columnist Anastasia Kim swear off mental diarrhea, resolve to get over themselves, and break other bad dating habits.

ISSUE: Winter 2010

Dating for Dummies

PAUL SAYS:
Last year, I vowed to lose 10 pounds. The following week, I went to an all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ, making the restaurant regret their business model and upgrading my resolution to 15 pounds. The year before that I lasted about two days before I caved and bought a stack of Blu-rays (and only because the stores were closed on New Year’s).

My previous New Year’s resolutions haven’t gone so well, but that hasn’t stopped me. For 2011, I realized there’s no changing my gluttony or my geeky addictions. Instead, I’ll focus on something new: my weakest, most deficient skill set — ironically, that’d be dating.

I’m 36 and unmarried. Normally, I would emphatically de- fend myself by declaring that it’s by choice. It’s easier to say that I enjoy having the time to write or play video games or re-enact scenes from Lost in my underwear. But I’m more likely single because I sabotaged myself at every turn. It’s not realistic to make huge sweeping changes all at once, so I’ll start with a few simples ones to adopt.

I discovered my joy of writing more than 10 years ago by blogging on AsianAvenue.com and later Livejournal. I didn’t think anyone was reading my stuff so my life sort of became an open book. When social media became mainstream, it was an easy transition to embrace. I was already doing it. Everything I do is transparent: the places I go, what I eat, or what I’m doing. It’s an unfortunate habit. I need to stop publishing every drunken thought, every goofy photo and every lame attempt at humor. So, for Resolution #1, I will filter myself better and curb the mental diarrhea. Yes, it’ll mean fewer comments and “likes” on my Facebook wall, but girls don’t really need or want to know when I’m battling the toilet bowl Hydra.

This sounds dumb, but talking has never been my forte, unless it’s about video games. But we’re talking about dating here, not chilling with my nephews. I overcompensate and say stupid things to alleviate the pressure of awkward silences. I found that I had better luck “talking” to a girl over an instant messenger. I had time to come up with something marginally witty, and I didn’t pollute the conversation with filler talk about “Street Fighter.” This eventually evolved into sending text messages rather than calling. I mean, there is no awkward silence with text messages, and I love that. But what happens when the girl actually agrees to go out? “Hey, take off your bra, sexy,” I’d sext her. And she’d turn to me and say, “I’m right here, freak.” Resolution #2 is to communicate the old-fashioned way.

Despite all my fumbling, I do manage to go out on dates. Ah, but that’s when I do the real damage, where I’m either a Michael Bay movie of ridiculous disasters or an indie flick where nothing ever happens. Why do I drink too much on dates or inevitably end up in the “friend zone?” Because … I never say what I want. I’m too chicken sh-t to say, “I like you. I think it would be awesome to watch movies together and see each other naked on a regular basis.” Resolution #3 is to say what I want and mean. The worst outcome is getting turned down, to which I’ll just say, “Alrighty then.” Best outcome is regular nudity in real 3-D. That’s what you’d call a good bet.

I realize that my resolutions may not help you. After all, they’re designed around my issues. If you’re lazy, use mine any- way. If you think of your own, great! If you fail, well, I’ll meet you at the Korean BBQ.

ANASTASIA SAYS:
I’ve dated all kinds of men: the insecure doormat, the unattainable rebel, the chauvinistic meathead, and even the possessive psycho. For years, I wondered why I couldn’t just snag a normal, great guy. But after the tail end of a series of unfortunate dates whipped me across the face, I realized I had been going about it all wrong. I decided then that I’d make a few dating resolutions for myself to get out of this dating slump, instead of waiting for Mr. Right to somehow magically find me.

As a college student, I plunged into the dating pool, head- first, believing feigned confidence and bravura would surely land me a good man. Once, on a date with Mr. R., I talked about myself so much, I forgot for a second he was even there. Midway through the “so this psycho fell in love with me” story, I realized how self-absorbed and entitled I sounded. At some point, I had to tell myself, “Get over yourself. Seriously.” Talking about how many men wanted me didn’t make me seem any more appealing, and complaining about crazy exes made me look like a psycho-magnet. Stories told for the sake of receiving validation should stay between girlfriends; sharing too much with our date only shows how little we have to lose if things don’t pan out. Let’s date each individual as if that person is our last chance at romance because in the end, isn’t that what most of us are searching for?

When I first started dating Mr. H., I thought he was a sweet, funny guy. After the honeymoon blinders came off, though, I realized he was a jobless, unmotivated slob. Less than a year into our relationship, we were fighting over his “Counter- strike” addiction and his penchant for sitting around in his dirty underwear all the livelong day. Ladies, ever meet a guy who’s great in so many ways, but you can’t help but think, “if only he …”? If only he were more ambitious, fit or understanding? How many of us decide to date these men anyway, hoping that with time, and a little “guidance,” they’ll become the men of our dreams? Sadly, people don’t change very often, and I ended up feeling hopeless. Soon after we broke up, I told myself I should date a person’s now, not their potential. Let’s spare our partners (and ourselves) the disappointment, and avoid getting into a re- lationship with someone who isn’t their potential now.

I’ve always been a rigid list-keeper; as such, I often missed out on meeting potentially wonderful men because in one way or another, they didn’t fit my ideal “type.” But after dating men who seemed like my type, and seeing those relationships fail, I learned to break the “type” in stereotype. Take it from me. A doctor from Harvard won’t always know how to mend a broken heart, and old money won’t always solve new problems. A guy with a Porsche may not always rev up our engine, and an Abercrombie model who does his body good may not necessarily do ours any good. Dating isn’t so much about matching outer desires, but more about fulfilling our inner needs. Let’s meet that need first, and then think about all of the extras. Like chiseled abs.

The best way to achieve dating success is to meet love halfway and modify our expectations. Here’s hoping that in the New Year, we won’t need to make any more dating resolutions!

More stories from Audrey Magazine’s Archives here.

The Spring ’11 cover has arrived! Funny gal Olivia Munn is rocking the Shirley Temple curls. Inside, Munn dishes on Chinese mothers (she has one!), dating celebs and her loyal fans.

Not tootin’ our own horn or anything but the Spring issue is pretty solid.  And it’s about everyone’s favorite subject: television!

We have an in-depth report on teen television diversity and its influence on our teens, including a round table with actresses Jolene Purdy, Nikki Soohoo and Ashley Argota and profiles of TV stars Randall Park, Anisha Nagaarajan, broadway baby T.V. Carpio and the indie darling The Go! Team (amongst others).

Also in the issue:

• Columnists Anastasia Kim and Paul Nakayama discuss cock-blocking and wingmans.
• The juicy color orange is all over the runway. Get it from the catwalk to your closet!
• Let’s talk eyebrows.

All this and plenty more! To purchase a copy of the Spring ’11 issue (or get yourself a whole year’s subscription while you’re at it), check out our shop here. It will be out in news stands and your mailbox early March!

Itching to read some of our old issues? Now you can at our Archives page.

What are your thoughts on the new cover?

Paul Nakayama says long-distance dating can be A-OK. Guest columnist Far East Movement see things a little bit differently.

ISSUE: Summer 2010

DEPT: The Awful Truth

STORY: Paul Nakayama and Far East Movement

PAUL SAYS

Whenever I go to karaoke (which is far too often for someone my age) I’m reminded of one of my personal greatest weaknesses — I can’t rap for spit, not even the easy Sesame Street ones meant for toddlers. I was always convinced that if I could just overcome this one hurdle, I would be surrounded by dozens of googly-eyed girlfriend candidates drawn to the masculine rhythms of rap as opposed to my Glee show tunes. And so when I had a chance to hang out with the boys of Far East Movement (FM) and see all the love they got from the ladies, I was surprised to learn that they have love maladies of their own — the issues of dealing with long distances. It’s my job, then, to let them know how good they got it. Long distance is not so bad, and can even be the perfect litmus for a relationship.

If you take a glance at my dating portfolio, you’ll notice a couple of things, besides the fact that it can fit into a fortune cookie. One, my relationships were almost all long term, and two, they almost all transitioned into long-distance relationships. Now, most of you would probably interpret this to mean that my girlfriends were forced to move to another state or country to escape my grasp, and some of you punks might be right. But my interpretation for this trend is that life is short and ever changing, and if you’re like FM, you’ve got to take to the road if you want to realize your ambitions. That means that in any relationship, there is a remarkable possibility of being separated by work or family or crazy 2012 earthquakes. This means, of course, that you either survive the distance or don’t. And me, well, I’m writing a relationship column while being almost monk-like single, so take a guess at my track record.

As painful and frustrating as long-distance relationships can be, I was always subconsciously drawn to them on some molecular level. My former roommate and I would have a running ritual whenever I traveled to another country. He’d say, “Don’t come back with a girlfriend!” I’d promise not to, even pinky swearing despite his homophobic protests, and yet a week later, I’d come home professing that I’d found love. I idealized these girls from Farawaynia, found everything to be marvelous and disregarded anything that resembled straitjackets. I’d fly home, thinking, “For her, I could do the whole long-distance thing.” But truth is, it never lasted very long or went beyond phone calls and IM chats that started and ended with “How was your day?” And why should it last? There was never a real connection strong enough to begin with that could sustain a relationship beyond the superficial.

Despite my failures with long-distance relationships and knowing logically that they’re unlikely to work, I’m still drawn to them … because of the “what ifs.” What if it did work? Would that make her The One? I hate drama as much as I hate mayonnaise or reality TV, but I suspect that I’m constantly finding myself in long-distance relationships because it’s the ultimate test. If you can survive living six hours apart, then you can survive petty arguments, jealousy and probably zombie attacks, because you will trust each other. I guess when I’ve been with a girl for a long time it’s good to know that we can survive anything, if we try. Of course, the problem is, most people I’ve dated didn’t really want to try. Hold on a sec while I wipe my tears with this here fiddle.

Now, the good news is, if the relationship is going to fail anyway, at least with a long-distance relationship you’ve got plenty of free time to do the things you want to do. I went out with my friends if I wanted. I’d spend Friday nights playing hours and hours of video games in my underwear while I stuffed my face full of Red Vines and drank eight liters of Mountain Dew. I’d dance along with America’s Best Dance Crew while eating out of a bucket of fried chicken. I’d choose to watch Bruckheimer over effing Nicholas Sparks. But, if we were living together and the relationship still went sour, well, then I suffered Letters to Juliet for absolutely nothing, and my soul would have a gaping hole in it the shape of a vagina. Yes, I know. Nicholas Sparks brings out the worst in me.

It’s hard being separated and making real relationships work. It takes more energy to send real love when you’re spanning hundreds of miles. But if you can survive it, then that’s good love right there, and that’s not something easily distilled. In my book, long distances aren’t necessarily non-starters for a relationship. Actually, in some ways, it’s a true starter because you have to really want it, and you’re forced to compromise to get the things that matter. And if you mess up, at least you’ve got a head start on running away or the time difference to think of an apology. There are worse things than being in love with someone on the other side of the planet … falling out of love with someone on the other side of the bed, for one. Hearing me rap is another.

FAR EAST MOVEMENT SAYS:

Tour life is a dream. You’re so removed from all immediate worries like bills, responsibilities and the general stress of everyday life. No one really knows you when you enter a city, and no one really knows you when you leave the next day. It’s just you and your best friends, going to new places, seeing new things and creating new memories. Life on the road is all we really know so when it comes to romance and relationships, what we know is quick and from a distance. A few of us have had long relationships with girls we might have loved or maybe still do, but keeping those relationships might be harder for us than getting a hit song on the radio.

Over the years we’ve learned good women need good attention, and good intentions don’t take the place of immediate action. We’re going to keep names out of this because we value our privacy, but we can each give examples from our lives for days on end. We’ll tell a few stories, so you know what we’re talking about.

One of us had a girl he wanted to ultimately marry. His mission was to do anything he could to be successful in the music business. He wanted the chance to be able to take care of her for the rest of her life. Extra late nights at the studio, months on tour, and all the hard work were motivated by wanting to take care of this girl and create a family. In the end, however, great intentions don’t make up for being around for things like cooking dinner or the holidays. Slowly that relationship turned to resentment and eventually died. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make up for lost time. Buying a stuffed animal in every city stop or staying faithful through any temptation don’t counter the feelings a girl gets when her man is away.

Then there’s the flipside to this in FM. One of us has been able to keep a great relationship going like a Duracell battery. For a relationship to last with careers like ours, it takes two people that understand each other better than they understand the English language. This understanding is what allows for crazy trust, which will get you through the lowest, darkest times. We’re constantly away for months, but as soon as we step off the plane in L.A., she’s there to pick us up. Immediately, they chat like he never left. A relationship like that gives us all hope, but to earn what they have, you’ve got to endure more turbulence than our last flight to Tokyo. It takes a strong man to stay true to his woman at a club across the country or overseas, but it takes a stronger woman to trust that man.

As touring artists, we know the single life oh so well. When we were younger, people would always suggest finding a girl quick. Once our careers took off, it would be impossible to find someone who could understand our schedule without having that history in place. Late-night recording sessions, impromptu meetings, booze-fueled shows at nightclubs, tours that last for months can all spell trouble for a budding relationship. In this lifestyle, you always catch yourself looking out the window of the tour bus for your own Penny Lane, like the character from Almost Famous; someone who enjoys freedom and is willing to accompany you on the road. But most girls that we’re drawn to usually have day jobs or school they can’t leave behind. And, besides, we can’t bring anyone with us on the road, because space is tight and limited only to people who own a meaningful role on the tour. But the single life doesn’t necessarily mean we are lonely when it comes to the ladies. We meet some extraordinary girls that sweep us off our feet. It just means we haven’t been able to build that thing called “love” into a relationship. Maybe the time just isn’t right yet.

We love what we do and wouldn’t trade it for the world. Over the next few years, finding a balance between our dreams and our relationships will be essential to keep us inspired and movin’ like a Movement. We have a saying that we, the Far East Movement, are “Free Wired” … and we need girls who are the same. A “Free Wired” girl is supremely comfortable to wild out and just be herself. She’s wired not because she parties all night, but because she’s able to stay connected to us. Her communication skills are off the hook. It’s a free and full exchange in getting to know one another. If you run across one of us someday and want to get to know us, live free and stay wired.

Guest columnist actor Roger Fan and our very own Paul Nakayama weigh the benefits — and costs — of snaring a VGD (that’s “video game dude”).

ISSUE: Spring 2010

DEPT: The Awful Truth

STORY: Paul Nakayama and Roger Fan

Roger Says:

Romance does not have to be complicated. If you’re a single lady who is truly ready to embark upon a lifelong journey of happiness and genuine romantic affection with a guy who won’t Tiger Woods you, the answer is simpler than you think — get good at video games. Forget the diet, the tan, the hair extensions, the accent reduction courses, the exotic body glitter, the plastic surgery to get the double eyelids, etc. All that stuff is unnecessary. The only thing you need to do to snare that bloke who will forever treat you like a queen even when your crow’s feet sprout to the size of tree roots, is video game mastery. And don’t worry, you don’t need to get good at all the games. Just pick the top two or three most popular ones (currently “Uncharted 2,” “Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2” or “Bioshock 2”) and master them. I know this concept may seem rather confusing and perhaps alien. But sometimes a massive paradigm shift is necessary to right Occam’s razor of love and happiness. So grab a joystick ASAP and get ready to have your mind blown. It’s time to vacate any and all traditional hunting grounds of love and head on over to Best Buy. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here just yet …

Don’t buy into the hype. I have worked in the entertainment industry for almost 14 years and I can say with clear conviction that my business is single-handedly responsible for creating a completely fictitious and utterly unobtainable idea of love, romance and relationships that most civilized ladies on earth mistaken as personal entitlement. Forget the Mr. Right Checklists. It’s all bunk and bull dookie; lies mistaken for gospel. I know it sounds somewhat counterintuitive, but if your primary checklist has stuff like tall, good-looking, athletic, smart, ambitious, successful, funny, businessman, lawyer, rich, etc., you are basically assembling a cocktail of personal misery mixed with a twist of heartache. Men with those dominant qualities will cheat on you the second you become boring and/or predictable. Here’s the truth — on the surface, true romance and genuine life partnership is rather unimpressive and sedate and more closely resembles the stillness of the American Gothic portrait rather than the vibrant flirtatious noise of a Michael Bublé music video. It’s time to stop being seductively misguided by all the bling and start focusing on the true love and happiness thing. Yes, I meant that to rhyme.

So let’s cut to the chase — get yourself a serious case of VGD. That’s right, a “Video Game Dude” (not some sort of funky medical condition). Cast your net in this pond and you’ll get what you’ve secretly been looking for since the day you first swiped an Oxy pad across your forehead. A VGD, you say? But aren’t they mostly pale, skinny chaps who live at home with moms and drink Grape Crush? Yes, but do not be alarmed. This is just the primary screening tool. Limit the pool to VGDs first, and then you can start sifting for your own personal gold. But why a VGD instead of the prototypical GQ? The answer is simple — Video Game Dudes have spent a life enveloped in a cocoon of social isolation and electronic fantasy, too scared and intimidated to explore and engage the human world. Find a way to connect with a VGD and he will gift you with eternal loyalty and forever worship you even when you mature into a raisin. One word of caution, however: Like any seabird just emerging from the trauma of an oil spill, a VGD may not exactly be impressive to the eye. But do not fret. They will do whatever you say. Style him and ask him to work out. He will not protest. In fact, give him a smile and a moist peck on his cheek and he’ll dive into a nest of hissing cobras without pause just because he loves you (eternally). So where do you find this VGD? Simple. Just go to your local Best Buy and troll around the gaming section. He’ll be that guy busy playing the new hot game at the demo kiosk. Like him? Good. Want to snare him? Be careful. These VGDs are delicate. They know that you’re there and are easily startled. Do not engage a VGD at a gaming kiosk in your traditional girly way. It’ll scare him and cause him to cry and run home to mom. Instead, waltz up to the kiosk, grab the vacant game controller and join in the second his avatar dies. Do not look him in the eye. Just casually say in a slightly commanding register, “Can I play?” He will not say no. Once he lays witness to your impressive gaming ability, even letting out a giggle or two in glee, he’ll strike up a conversation with you and look you in the eye. If that happens, congratulations, your mission is accomplished. The VGD is yours for life, just like when a Na’vi bonds its halu with the banshee for the very first time (that’s an Avatar reference, btw). So go forth now, young butterfly. Go snare yourself a VGD and embrace a life of infinite happiness and eternal love. If you require my further romantic assistance, please feel free to find me at YouOffendMeYouOffendMyFamily.com. Just know, I too was once a VGD …

Paul Says:

Knowing that Roger was once a VGD gives me great hope because he’s something of an industrial-strength chick magnet and I’m something of a full-power geek. And so it pains me that it’s my duty to provide a counterargument to his proposal, which left alone could convince some of his hot actress friends to go out with me, finally. But I’m a writer first and a lover second (but only because I was told to keep my day job). Truth is, and you’ll likely be really shocked by this, but we VGDs are not the incredible catches Roger makes us out to be.

Going after a VGD, especially by adopting his world, is a tremendous undertaking and one not to be taken lightly. Jumping in half-assed will result in that cheek getting slapped hard. You see, hot female celebrities recently figured out that playing video games or spouting sci-fi/fantasy trivia was a surefire way to access nerds and geeks, the undiscovered country for rapidly increasing fan base. G4’s Olivia Munn’s entire career is based on this simple tip. I’ll admit that even I googled the crap out of her. But now, every actress or model is trying to be geek chic, and it’s transparent and frankly a turn-off to VGDs everywhere. You will likely be called out on your facade by the denizens of the Web, kind of like how people post photos of bad plastic surgery, but more mortifying. Nobody likes a poser, unless said poser is totally into showing her boobs, in which case she can pose all she wants.

If you take Roger’s advice and truly begin training in video games, there are some physical changes you should come to expect. One, your neck will begin to stretch forward like a chicken as you attempt to focus on the TV screen. Two, you will find yourself involuntarily veering your body left and right as you control your game characters. Three, you will develop odd muscles around your fingers. Finally, you will find your mouth agape on a regular basis; I’d watch for stray insects and pools of collecting drool inside.

Now, if you actually happen to try video games and decide that you like it, I need to include some warnings about dating VGDs, as is my duty for the term of this column. While I simply adore girls that sincerely love video games, I have to say that dating a VGD isn’t as rosy as Roger would lead you to believe. Even as you play together, you should know that video games will be a direct competitor for your attention. A romantic dinner with the bird or playing 20 solid hours of the newly released “Final Fantasy XIII”? Oh, that’s a toughie. VGDs won’t cheat on you with another woman, but we will certainly cheat on you with a game. I’ve been known to sneak out of bed to squeeze in some extra game time. That’s the reason why we VGDs so closely studied Ross’ “hug & roll” technique on Friends.

When I played “Warcraft,” it was all my friends and I talked about during dinner. Now that I don’t mess with that crack, I realize it’s as fun to talk about as calculus. For the newly initiated, general video game talk will have the same effect. It will also likely reduce your libido in the same way anti-depressants work. Of course, once you’re fully converted, you’ll be unable to have normal conversations with non-gamers. You’ll even begin to interject gamer-speak, which is confusing. See how your co-workers react when you say you’re going to “pwn” the competition or if you exclaim “w00t” at the end of a meeting. Of course, the VGDs in your office will probably give you a fist bump and/or flowers.

If, after reading all this and ruling out lesbianism, you’re still interested, by all means seek me and my fellow VGDs out at the local Best Buy, preferably on Tuesdays when all the new stuff is out. We promise a hot evening of a Yelp-approved restaurant, a Twitpic on Twitter as proof of our date, engaging conversation on topics like why Princess Peach from Super Mario Bros. is a bitch, and a guaranteed “Like” on anything you do on Facebook henceforth. We may even go buckwild and hold your hand. It will be magical. Won’t you come and be my Player Two?

“To this day, I don’t feel our band really arrived yet. Once I feel that way, you know, I won’t work as hard. In my head, it’s always a struggle, and it’s staying hungry to write better songs. It’s not to downplay what we’ve accomplished so far, because I’m proud, but I want to keep that attitude.” — Richard On, O.A.R.

ISSUE: Spring 2010

DEPT: Feature Story

STORY: Paul Nakayama

Photo by Joe Scalfaro.

This interview started unlike any other. It began with a dinner date in Culver City, Calif., with an attractive woman, Sueann. As we strolled through downtown, the night was humming with the possibilities of romance, and as she turned to face me, I expected the evening to take a certain turn.

“So …” she began.

I took in a deep breath. “Yes?” I asked, my eyes twinkling with tears of joy, a sure sign of my anticipation.

“There’s someone I think you should really meet. I think you’ll really get along,” she said.

My heart sank. I kicked a trashcan. Maybe an innocent bystander, too.

A week later I received a call from Sueann. She said there was someone else on the line. A voice much deeper than I was expecting to hear followed: “Hey, this is Richard On.”

Christ, I thought, she thinks I’m gay. She is setting me up with a dude. But, sensing my neuroticism, she explained, “Richard is the lead guitarist for the band O.A.R. We talked about doing an interview.”

I’d heard of O.A.R. before; an ex had used one of their songs on a mixtape. I sat down to Google a little pre-interview research and was blown away by what I learned. Close to two million albums sold, a number of chart-topping singles and an enormous cult-like fan base. Yet, they’ve remained mostly off mainstream radar and much of their success is without a major record label (by choice). I thought, I need to know their secret to success.

I listened to O.A.R.’s 2008 album All Sides, and watched a number of their online videos. Their sound is definitively mainstream and catchy, despite their indie mentality, and combines pop-rock with hints of light reggae. I found myself, hours later, singing their hit single, “Shattered,” in the shower and again in the car. I’d developed a man-crush on the Chinese American guitarist/songwriter Richard On. We traded tweets for a week and finally decided on an interview date.

O.A.R. and Richard’s musical career both began in the 1990s at an eighth-grade talent show alongside bandmates Marc Roberge and Chris Culos. They formed under the name Exposed Youth — a name that raises my eyebrows. A laugh escapes me, and Richard interjects, “Let me explain. You know, before you think we were …”

“Naked?” I ask, still snickering like the mature 30-something that I am.

“Or really young pedophiles,” he jokes. “This was around the grunge era with Pearl Jam and Nirvana coming out. That was a big changing point for a lot of kids our age, and you felt like a part of that movement … you know, like parents just don’t understand and like we were these oppressed kids, so we thought the name sort of fit. Of course, we grew up in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. so we probably faked we were more miserable than we really were.”

While on the topic, we talk about his other musical influences: The Cure for understanding pop melodies, Bob Marley for the feeling and the groove, and U2 simply for their songs. “The Edge is probably my favorite guitarist because despite how simple his parts are they speak so loudly. And I’ve never been a shredder myself,” he admits. I feel compelled to offer my own, but there’s no place for Olivia Newton-John in this conversation. At least, not yet.

In 1996, their junior year of high school, O.A.R. recruited Benj Gershman, their bassist, and recorded their first album for $500 using Benj’s father’s credit card. The Wanderer went on to sell 300,000 copies without the help of a record label, an incredible feat. Richard says, “It’s really hard for me to listen [to it] because I was a really horrible guitar player back then, but there’s something about the innocence of making that record that caught people’s attention.” It’s not surprising that Richard’s favorite song to perform to this day, “That Crazy Game of Poker,” comes from this album. “The album version was nine minutes long because we didn’t know anything about songwriting back then, and we were just freestyling, but people really responded to it. We play it at every show and it’s really grown since. It’s the song I always look forward to playing.” I can’t help but wonder if this song is a metaphor for the band itself and its evolution through the years.

But like any path in life that you’re passionate about, everyone reaches a crossroad. For me it was a hard decision to give up “Dungeons & Dragons” and my life as a Dungeon Master upon getting accepted into a university; I wanted sex and not with girls into elf cosplay. Richard had real things to consider as his bandmates were deciding between attending Ohio State and the University of Texas, the two largest schools in the country, and in their minds, the two biggest venues for their blossoming musical career.

The band was determined to stay together, but Richard also wanted to be realistic. When Marc, Chris and Benj left for Ohio State, he didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he took classes at a local junior college, taking some time to figure things out and “getting into typical punk Asian kid trouble.” Eventually, his bandmates convinced him that Ohio State was an amazing opportunity, and he transferred there to focus on the band. That’s also when they recruited their fifth and final member, saxophonist and Ohio native Jerry DePizzo. “That’s a pretty lofty goal — choosing a school just because you wanna play music for all those people there,” Richard reflects. “Not to sound dramatic, but I really don’t know what I’d be doing without [the band]. The band really took me to a good place and made me feel like I matter.”

The crazy thing is I believe him. Having the same “co-workers” for more than 15 years is hard to imagine for someone like me; I’ve probably switched companies every two years for the last 10. The fact that his bandmates are some of his best friends doesn’t make it easier for me to comprehend; it’s harder to grasp. I’ve had screaming matches with friends over the last roll of toilet paper, so there’s a long pause on my end while I process all this.

I think Richard senses my struggle with the concept that mixing friendship with business could work. I ask him, bluntly. He admits there was a rough patch in the early days. “We were guys with our own ideas and agendas, but once we knew we had to be a team, it was simple. We’re all on the same team, and it isn’t every man for himself or an ego thing. We need each other. And once we realized that, our roles within the band fell into place.”

Their approach to songwriting is similarly honest, direct and mature. “Early on, all of us would just sit around in a room,” Richard explains. “As we got older, we all live in different cities now, and we all have our individual ideas and opinions. So the band is run like a democracy. We vote on everything. Even if you feel really strongly about something, but you’re outvoted, that’s it. Each of us will make our own demos and share with the group. And, if it’s good, it’s good, and if it sucks, it sucks. When we first started, we weren’t being honest with each other, and so the band suffered and the music suffered.”

Meanwhile, I’m taking notes. This is really good life lesson stuff. If I had applied this whole democracy notion to my own Movie Club and our film picks, we probably would’ve been spared the travesty that was G.I. Joe. It definitely sucked, and I definitely suffered.

The band’s hard work and commitment to their craft certainly paid off. O.A.R. has sold more than 1.7 million albums and performed for more than 1.5 million people. They’ve sold out shows at Madison Square Garden numerous times. I ask if that’s when they felt like they’d arrived as a band. Richard is modest in his response. “To this day, I don’t feel our band really arrived yet,” he says. “Once I feel that way, you know, I won’t work as hard. In my head, it’s always a struggle, and it’s staying hungry to write better songs. It’s not to downplay what we’ve accomplished so far, because I’m proud, but I want to keep that attitude.”

But if there was a defining moment for O.A.R. to look back on, it would have to be the first time playing at a 1,700-capacity venue in Columbus, Ohio, called the Newport Music Hall, where all the big bands play. “We always told ourselves that one day we’re gonna play that joint,” Richard remembers. That day arrived when they were invited to be the opening act at a CD release party for a popular local band. Richard’s expectations were low since their set was set to begin at 3 p.m., and there was virtually no marketing set aside for them. “You never really know how you’re doing as a band, but when we got there, the place was packed. It was all word-of-mouth. We assumed the crowd was for the other bands, but as soon as we finished our set, everyone just split. That was a big wake-up call for us that something special was going on.”

O.A.R.’s manager and Marc’s brother, Dave Roberge, agrees that there was something special and recalls a conversation following the band’s graduation from Ohio State. The band wondered if they should pursue their careers or if they should pursue the band. “I told them it wasn’t their choice or my choice to make. The fans had already decided,” remembers Dave. “‘Look at the numbers,’ I said. ‘People don’t want you to just go away.’ That year a lot of music industry guys thought we would fall on our faces, that we were a college band, but we sold 98 percent of our tour tickets.”

Even with their popularity, I ask if there were any challenges as an Asian American musician. Richard grew up in a predominantly Jewish and Asian community. Describing his multiethnic band sounds like the setup to a joke. (“Three Jews, an Italian and a Chinese guy walk into a bar …”) So, it wasn’t until he ventured to the Midwest to attend Ohio State — then not the most diverse campus — that he first encountered culture shock. “I definitely experienced some nasty things out there, but I think part of it came from mutual ignorance,” Richard recalls. “I was being dumb and complaining that there weren’t any Asians instead of focusing on why I was there. I did hear my fair share of slurs that left a bad taste in my mouth, but in the end that kind of spurred me to change people’s thought processes rather than fight it.” O.A.R.’s music was a big equalizer in this regard. He adds, “People were definitely surprised when they found out I was Chinese, that I wasn’t a Caucasian rocker. But I like that surprise. Music is color blind.”

We take a short break as Richard has an unexpected visitor at his door, a young girl from the neighborhood offering a dog-walking service. “Do you own a dog, sir?” she asks.

“No, but I want one. Do you sell dogs, too?” he replies with a chuckle. I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. It’s cute. Richard’s real cool with her.

It’s funny because Dave and the others occasionally refer to Richard as the Stone Buddha because of his stern exterior and Zen-like calm. “He’s the rock, but if you peel back the layers, you’ll see that Richard is the most fun-loving, humorous, tongue-in-cheek guy, and he tends to bring that out in the rest of the guys. He brings style to the group,” says Dave.

Listening to Richard chatting with the girl affirms the band’s reputation as down-to-earth and humble. O.A.R. is popular among music fans because of a long history of hands-on dialogue with their fan base. Since the beginning, Richard and the rest of the band made the effort to respond to emails and message boards from fans. When social networking took off, they embraced it. Personally, I’d be terrified of disturbed stalkers tracking me down, wanting to smell my socks and such, but I applaud their dedicated and open adoption of Myspace, Facebook and Twitter. They even ran an interactive Twitter campaign asking fans to collaborate with them on the lyrics to a new song for their next album. The resulting song, “Light Switch Sky,” is probably the only song created from fan submissions and is likely the first professional song born purely from tweets.

When Richard returns, I ask what they do for fun. He admits to being a workaholic, even sneaking in songwriting and emails while watching TV with his wife. How Asian of him, I joke. After some prodding, he reveals an unspoken but time-honored tradition of bands pranking each other on the last stop of a concert tour. “There are classics like the ol’ baby powder on the snare drum so a giant cloud goes up with the first beat. We put so much on that we’ve had drummers cough and fall off their seats. Taping down keyboards so a single key makes all the keys go down with an awful sound. Easy wins like vodka in water bottles,” says Richard, as we’re both laughing. “We pranked our buddy Robert Randolph once during a song where he likes to bring up girls from the audience. But instead of hot chicks, we sent our grungy, bad-ass crew up in tutus and shirts off, smelly and hairy, doing ballet steps and freaking him.”

We end the interview on that high note. A few days later, as I’m reviewing the interview tapes, I’m still chuckling over the jokes (some of which I regrettably can’t publish). My man-crush hasn’t waned. It’s not a starstruck kind of man-crush, but rather admiration for a cool guy who just happens to be a talented rockstar. O.A.R. just released their four-disc live CD, Rain or Shine, and will be in Los Angeles in March to record their new album. I’m planning on giving Sueann a call around then, see if she wants to go out again … she can chaperone my man-date with Richard.