How to American

by Jimmy O. Yang

  During the mansion party scene, as Erlich tried to finagle his way into the fancy party, TJ improvised, “Ten minutes max, one cocktail or two, three max, he doesn’t eat,” pointing to Jian Yang. Alec Berg came over and threw me a line: “Say, ‘Yes, I’m hungry.’” I did it on the next take and it worked perfectly. Then Jian Yang turned around and screamed out into the crowd, to Erlich’s ultimate embarrassment, “Does anybody have an extra ticket, my investor cannot pay!” I went back to the receptionist. “Check again, please. E-R-I-C-A-R…” “That’s not at all how it’s spelled,” the receptionist responded. I spelled the name in every possibly wrong way in each take. I decided to pronounce Erlich as Eric, not so much because of Jian Yang’s accent but because Jian Yang doesn’t care to pronounce his name correctly. And TJ tried every way to usher Jian Yang out of the party as fast as he could. In one take he wrestled me, in another take he just screamed, “Jian Yang!!!” which became one of his signature curses.

  That night, Clay Tarver came up and told us Erlich and Jian Yang were like the modern-day Laurel and Hardy. As much as they might hate each other on the surface, there was a sense of comradery underneath, just like Laurel and Hardy. It was like familiarity breeds contempt, except it was more like contempt breeds familiarity. The underlying friendship was like a love story with a touch of Stockholm syndrome. That mansion scene has always been one of my favorite days on Silicon Valley. It will forever feel like the day Jian Yang and Erlich consummated.

  The hardest part about working with TJ was keeping a straight face. I cracked up many times during a take. Our goal was to always make each other and the crew laugh. If we could hear laughter from video village, we knew we did something right. As a stand-up, it helped to pretend there was an audience. It became a little game where TJ and I tried to crack each other up during takes. TJ always won.

  I once asked him:

  “How do you not crack up in the middle of a scene? What’s your secret?”

  He jokingly responded, “I just don’t find any of this funny. That’s my secret.”

  I finally broke him with a little skim milk chalice.

  Some of the best moments came alive in Silicon Valley because of Mike’s and Alec’s willingness to try things and play around with a scene. I learned to swing for the fences when it came to improvisation. That’s the great thing about TV and film: you only need one take that works. You can go for the home run every time, and you only have to hit one. And the greatest thing a director can say to an actor is “Let’s try it.” In season four, when Erlich and Jian Yang went to their investor Lori Bream’s baby shower, I found a tiny little skim milk chalice on the table next to the baby shower cake. I brought the tiny chalice over to Mike Judge and asked, “Can I try something with this?” Mike said, “Let’s try it.” On the next take, I entered the scene with the skim milk chalice and drank it in front of TJ. He finally broke and cracked up. In the next take, TJ brought the whole gag to life when he put his face in his hands in disbelief and said, “What are you drinking skim milk out of?” And I responded, “It’s half half.” Which is how my mom says half and half.

  The prank calls from Jian Yang to Erlich became unexpected fan favorites.

  “Eric Bachman, is your refrigerator running? This is Mike Hunt.”

  To be honest, I had my doubts about the prank calls when I first read them in the script. But when they got a great reaction at the table read, I realized I should never doubt the Four Amigos. The prank calls perfectly painted Jian Yang’s and Erlich’s love-hate annoying brother relationship. And it also perfectly described Jian Yang’s relationship with the English language. He had learned some canned jokes like “Is your refrigerator running?” and “Mike Hunt” from somewhere, but he just hadn’t quite got the hang of how to use them. This was like when I was fifteen and I tried to put together a shitty combination of rap lyrics based on the raps I’d heard on BET.

  “Eric Bachman, this is your mom, and you are not my baby.”

  “Eric Bachman, this is you as old man. I’m ugly and I’m dead, alone.”

  These prank calls became some of the most classic Jian Yang versus Erlich Bachman moments. I still get random Facebook messages from fans asking me to prank call their friends. Some have even offered me money, upwards of a whopping fifty bucks.

  One night, I got an unexpected phone call from TJ in real life. It was midnight and I was already half asleep. I rolled over to my nightstand and picked up my phone.

  “Hey, what’s up, TJ?”

  “Hey, Jimmy, you got a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  This sounded serious; I was hoping he wasn’t about to confess to a murder.

  “You’re the first one I’m calling about this.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not coming back next season.”

  Is TJ prank calling me in real life to get back at me for all the times I prank called him on the show? I surely hoped so.

  “I’m quitting the show,” TJ said.

  This was for real. It felt like my best friend had just told me he was moving away to a different country. My heart sank. This meant Erlich’s and Jian Yang’s last scene on season four was our last scene ever.

  TJ explained, “It was a hard decision, but I have to focus on my movie career. I have to take a chance.”

  “What about just coming back for a few episodes?” I knew his mind was already made up, but I’d regret it if I didn’t ask him to stay.

  “It’s hard. It was a hard decision. But I’m doing it. You’re the one I’m going to miss the most on the show.”

  “Thanks, TJ.” I respected his decision as a friend and a colleague. There wouldn’t have been a Jian Yang without Erlich.

  This was me and TJ’s very last take together on Silicon Valley. The end of the dynamic duo: Erlich and Jian Yang, Laurel and Hardy, Karl Malone and John Stockton.

  If stand-up was my bachelor’s degree in comedy, Silicon Valley was my PhD. I didn’t just go to work; I went to school: Christopher Evan Welch’s masterful table read, TJ’s dazzling improvisations, the Four Amigos’ brilliance, everyone’s excellence in acting, costume design, camera work, props and everything else behind the scenes from the crew. It was the best education anyone could ever get in comedy. I would pay to be on a show like this. (My agent suggested I don’t say this, so I can continue to get paid to be on the show.) Silicon Valley was my career-defining big break. And I was able to share my immigrant experiences through Jian Yang’s character. From being a lost college graduate at Mike Judge’s commencement speech to working with him on Silicon Valley was an American dream come true.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HOW TO

  HOLLYWOOD

  I was suddenly thrown into a fantasy world. It was the HBO Golden Globes after-party at the Beverly Hilton. Silicon Valley had been nominated for Best Comedy Series and I was invited to the party along with my fellow castmates. The party was decked out in the Game of Thrones fire and ice theme with a massive HBO logo projected on the side of the Beverly Hilton. There was an open bar with top-shelf liquor, all the food a man could eat and all the who’s who of Hollywood gathered inside of one swanky party.

  My first stop was the posh buffet line; there were rib-eye steak and three different kinds of fish. This buffet was beyond Guam’s wildest dreams. I was determined to stuff myself stupid to make up for all the times I ate at HomeTown Buffet. A man leaned in behind me to get a closer look at the salmon. I was about to tell him to back off my precious buffet fantasy, and then I turned around and realized it was Bryan Cranston. “Hey, just checking out what they have here,” That caught me so off guard that I practically screamed at him and shoved my plate of salmon in his face. “The salmon looks good! You want some?” He kindly smiled at my mini mental breakdown and turned around to say hi to his friend. “Hey, Patrick!” I looked up; it was Sir Patrick Stewart. I looked over to the bar and I saw Mike Judge, so I moseyed over to say what’s up. As I got closer, I saw that he was busy chatting with Marilyn Manson, and Da
ve Grohl from the Foo Fighters and Nirvana. So I back-peddled away with my overloaded plate of high-end meats. Then I saw Harrison Ford casually having a conversation with Jon Hamm, who was holding a shiny Golden Globe statue that he’d just won that night. I was so starstruck I almost rolled into a Short Round impression: “Watch out, Mister Jones!” I was hyperventilating. I walked towards the bathrooms for a breather, and there was Jennifer Aniston strolling out of the women’s room. Holy shit! I stopped and stared at her as my brain kept telling me: Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare. But my body was frozen. I’m pretty sure I was experiencing a stroke at that moment. I felt like I was high on LSD, having the trip of a lifetime. This can’t be real life. Six months ago, I was driving drunk assholes in an Uber; now I am eating free salmon next to Harrison Ford? My imposter syndrome kicked into full swing. I felt like I snuck into this party. How did I end up here? I don’t deserve this! These are gods amongst men and I am just a dude who used to pay five dollars to do five minutes at an open mic. I was looking over my shoulder, waiting for a security guard to escort me out.

  Being a series regular on a hit television show was beyond my wildest dreams. My very first acting coach, Caryn West, told us to write down the biggest goals we had and put them away in a box. Then we’d revisit it every six months to see if we could cross off any of these goals. With Silicon Valley, I was finally able to cross out a few of them.

  Become a series regular on a TV show

  Stop driving Uber

  Get my own apartment

  It felt great to accomplish something so unbelievable, but I didn’t feel any different. I might be at the same buffet line as Bryan Cranston, but I still felt like the guy who was rejected by the agent at the apartment rental office. I was still the same guy with the same problems. My parents’ attitudes hadn’t changed. My friend asked my dad during dinner once:

  “Isn’t it great that Jimmy is on a TV show? He’s doing so well.”

  “Yes, he’s doing good. But I still wish he was a scientist,” my dad unapologetically said right in front of my face.

  “Why?” Jeremy pushed for more answers when I would have quit while I was just slightly behind.

  “Scientist is always more respectable than an artist,” my dad explained in a matter-of-fact way, as if that was the universal truth. I guess it is the truth in Chinese culture, which is the only universe he knows.

  The first time I showed my mom a scene from Silicon Valley, she said:

  “Jimmy, how many times do I have to tell you, don’t hunch your back.”

  “Mom, this is acting, I’m playing a character.”

  “Can you play a character that stands up straight? You look weak.” I gave up trying to explain myself. Nothing has changed.

  I used to think being on TV meant I’d be living like the stars on MTV’s Cribs in a mansion with three Ferraris, a pet tiger in the backyard and models lining up in front of my house waiting to date me. Nope. I still drive a Prius, I still use Tinder and I still dwell in a one-bedroom apartment, which is already a massive upgrade from living with Tarrell with Guam in my closet. I get recognized once in a while at the local bowling alley and I get a free beer if I’m lucky. Fans often come up to me and ask, “Are you Jian Yang?” I don’t mind being called Jian Yang, but I have noticed there’s always a hesitation when they ask me that question. Because if I wasn’t the guy who played Jian Yang and I was just some random Asian guy, they would look super racist. I’m sure there were other Asians who were asked that question, and they had to respond, “Not all Asian people look alike, you asshole.”

  Then some people are shocked when they find out I sound nothing like Jian Yang:

  “Oh my God, we love Silicon Valley! We didn’t even know you speak English in real life. We thought that was your real accent!”

  I bet nobody ever said to Johnny Depp, “We love Pirates of the Caribbean! We thought you were a pirate in real life!”

  The majority of people who watch Silicon Valley are dudes. Ninety-five percent of girls who have come up to me always say:

  “Oh my God! My boyfriend is a huge fan of Silicon Valley! Can I take a picture with you? It’ll make him so happy!”

  Sure, I’ll make your boyfriend’s day.

  Meanwhile, I was still trying to find myself a girlfriend on Tinder. It’s pretty awkward to be a quasi-celebrity on Tinder. Some girls don’t believe it’s really me. I mean, who the hell would use my picture as their fake profile picture? That’s counterproductive. The girls who do believe it’s me would always message me Jian Yang quotes from Silicon Valley. Most of their messages start with:

  “I eat the fish!”

  I used to think, It’s a clear sign that she’s into me if she’s a fan of the show. I used to reply with some small talk like, “What’s your favorite sushi restaurant?” Or another line from the show like, “What about garbage?” Yes, it was super lame. And I’ve since learned to not engage with someone who matched with me only because I’m on TV.

  I once took this Tinder girl out to a dinner date. She was a very attractive girl from Orange County who had mentioned she was a big fan of Silicon Valley. My naïveté led me to believe that I was in for the win. We chitchatted about life and she asked me a few questions about working on Silicon Valley. She seemed like a sweet girl who was genuinely curious about my career. I swiped my credit card and threw down a 30 percent tip like I was a series regular on Everybody Loves Raymond. Then I smoothly asked her:

  “Do you want to grab a drink after this?”

  She said. “Let’s go back to your place.”

  Wow, being on a TV show IS some kind of magical aphrodisiac.

  When we hopped into my 2006 Prius, I felt like I needed to explain why I wasn’t driving a Ferrari: “This thing gets like fifty miles a gallon.” I wanted her to think that maybe I could totally afford a Ferrari but I chose to drive a Prius because I’m a hero who cares about the environment. I took the more roundabout scenic route in the neighborhood where we passed by fancy multimillion-dollar mansions before we finally arrived at my shabby apartment. The old metal garage gate at my apartment complex swung open and I turned the radio up to cover up the rusty creak. “I love this song!” I yelled over the newest Ariana Grande single. When we got to my place, I asked her:

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  And she said. “Let’s go to your bedroom.”

  Holy shit! This being on TV thing is really fucking awesome!

  She followed me into my room. Then she said:

  “Can I look in your closet?”

  Okay, maybe celebrities are supposed to have sex in the closet, I’m down to try something new.

  So I showed her to my closet. It was filled with unimpressive clothes from Ross, but at least there wasn’t a dude named Guam sleeping in there. She didn’t say a word and started to shuffle through the clothes. I wasn’t sure where this was going anymore. So I joked:

  “Are you looking for a new outfit?”

  She turned around and we locked eyes. This was my moment. I leaned in for the kiss. And she pushed me away like Emmitt Smith viciously stiff-arming a linebacker.

  “Woah! I think you got the wrong idea,” she said.

  Wrong idea?! You invited yourself back to my place. Then into my bedroom! What idea was I supposed to have?!

  I was completely stumped. Then she said:

  “I just wanted to see how you lived and what you have in your closet. But maybe I should go.”

  What is that supposed to mean? See how I lived and what I have in my closet? What kind of sick shit is that? What is this, an episode of MTV Cribs?!

  I was beyond confused. I guess she literally just wanted to see what I had in my closet? Maybe she was an aspiring costume designer? Maybe my car and apartment weren’t baller enough for her? Or maybe she was just a crazy person. She left and I never went out with a Silicon Valley fan from Tinder again.

  Like most people in this world, I thought achieving my goals would solve
all my life’s problems. It didn’t change much at all. There’s satisfaction in achievement, but the excitement is in the chase. Looking back, some of the happiest times of my life were working at the Comedy Palace for minimum wage, folding envelopes with Tarrell and Guam. Even though none of us had any money, we had a great time just hanging out. I was so poor I would go into the kitchen and sneak out leftover prime rib with a side of beef barley soup. Once a fortnight, the comedians went to Denny’s after the shows; that was our special treat. I had to save up to get a ten-dollar Moons Over My Hammy at Denny’s, but that ham sandwich meant something to me. I earned it by doing what I loved and it tasted just as good as the salmon at the Golden Globes party. One night after the Comedy Palace shows, Tarrell, Guam, our comedian friend Jason Lawhead and I were chopping it up over a grand slam breakfast at two in the morning.

  I said to my boys, “I think the new waitress likes me, she was giving me some signals. She—”

  “Jimmy,” Jason interrupted, “her boyfriend drives a Bentley, you were stealing soup in the kitchen.” We all folded over laughing.

  We are so busy chasing our goals, sometimes we forget about the thrill of the chase. We only realize the goal wasn’t the prize when we get there. It was cool to be in the same room with Sir Pat Stew and Jen Ann, but I honestly had more fun at Denny’s than the Golden Globes party. Maybe Charles Dickens and UCSD chancellor Fox did have a point after all: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.”