thoughts on pride, general queerio-ness, cheesy shit

After devising extensively detailed fabricated plans, S. & I headed out to San Francisco PRIDE this weekend (June 27-28) for the very first time. We had a great time, though I felt overwhelmed at times with so many things going on at once within such a small space. I wish we had hung around Dolores Park more, since I've never seen such a large congregation of dykes in my life... and for the first time in awhile, I felt truly boring. But it was a good sort of boring, if that makes any sense at all. Not like, wow I am dull and dreary, but sort of a feeling of complete acceptance to the point of normality, and therefore the mundane. You know, just another pair of uhauls.

Dyke March was beautiful and I felt, for lack of a better word, just really fucking PROUD and more confident in my queer identity. There was such a positive, celebratory energy in the air--with the music, the cheering, the bared tits, and loving couples surrounding me in every direction--I couldn't help but be overjoyed and grateful to be part of such an experience and appreciative toward those who made it happen.

And having S. standing there next to me, hand firmly clamped around my waist and kissing me on the cheek every five seconds made me appreciate how fortunate I am to have her, especially after everything we have been through. Which is why, in some ways, our Pride weekend was tamer, but more sentimental because we were celebrating the ability to be together and to do so without shame, albeit temporarily for a weekend.

strong cheese. like aged cheddar.

movies!

I have figured out a simple but effective way to throw my cat into a complete frenzy. I bellow "Oh" loudly for an extended period of time and her head cocks to the side, her pupils dilate to Little-Mermaid-proportions, ears flatten, and she skitters away under the bed. I'm probably sending her little brain into a seizure. I imagine the little workers in her head screaming "STIMULUS UNRECOGNIZED. SYSTEM FAILURE! SYSTEM FAILURE!" Anyway I really should stop being a sick bastard and leave her alone. But how I love them shits and giggles.

I've been watching quite a few movies lately, since there's not a lot to do in this area and not too many people to see. My mind likes to believe everyone is just really busy/not back yet, but perhaps it's just the failure of my social skills. and I'm a hermit. I watched Pixar's "Up" twice and cried both times, though the first time I cried at every major plot twist, prompting the person sitting next to me to lean away in fear of catching my oversensitive cooties. "The Proposal" was a chick flick movie, generic fluff to occupy my time. Most of the movie consisted of wide, panoramic nature shots of the Alaskan terrian and sort of screamed "HEY!!! DON'T YOU REALLY WANT TO VISIT ALASKA??? LOOK HOW AWESOME IT IS. AND WE HAVE PEOPLE LIKE RYAN REYNOLD WHO JUST STRIP RANDOMLY OUTSIDE!!"

"Fatal Attraction" scared me out of my wits, what other way to hone in the point of "CHEATING-IS-SO-BAD" than to make the mistress a psycho. poor bunny. :( "The Tracey Fragments" was innovative in its... literally-fragmented presentation of Tracey's life and memories. I really loved the parts where she fantasized and went back to old thoughts. I really felt like I was in her head. But the ending left me unssatisfied. "Conversation(s) with Other Women" depressed me to death but I enjoyed the witty banter, hopeless romanticism/harsh no-nonsense reality of it.

Am debating whether or not to start painting next piece. It's at that stage where I'm afraid that if I add color, I'll fuck it up but then the paint can't be erased because the wood will absorb it and it is THERE TO STAY. Hm. Well here goes nothing.

Found a lovely sublet apartment for the summer. Excited to go back so I can stop rotting my brains. Super-Mario is REALLY DIFFICULT and I think I am developing carpal tunnel.

should i stay or should i go!

post-trip natterings/ranting etc

GODFATHER REFERENCE
sometimes it's some kind of - work in progress
watercolor on wood

WOW IT'S REALLY LATE/EARLY!!!!

Just returned from a trip to Japan & Taiwan with the female members of my family. Am currently jetlagged (or as my dad likes to say, "FLIGHT JAGGED!!") and transferring hundreds of photos onto my computer. I don't know if I have enough memory for this... Japan was an amazing experience and I had a great time, even while being herded from place to place with militant expediency. Taiwan was good, bad, and ugly due to some unforeseen dramarama. Sweet Mary, how things go awry.

A lot of our trip consisted of travelling time on trains, taxis, and planes (Japan Airlines = good!), which lend themselves well to overthinking, negative rumination, and all sorts of introspective fun time for my neurotic mind. And I reached a lot of personal conclusions about myself in other spaces and the compartmentalization of my life, but pondered the difficult conflicts found at the intersection of "East meets West", gender roles, social norms, sexuality, --insert other social science topic. (probably also due to my reading materials: Inga Muscio's inspirational Cunt & Roland Barthes' Empire of Signs which I have a whole lot of problems with, but I digress).

But the topic that grasped my mind that I obsessed about a lot was the language and how difficult it can be to bridge gaps when one only knows how to speak, knows the basics of communication, but lacks the sociocultural upbringing/exposure that is important to cultural understanding. I wanted to express myself so many times, to discuss my interest in LGBTIQQ issues, racial inequity, or how problematic I find traditional Taiwanese gender roles to be, but I was held back by two things:
a) lack of extensive vocabulary to even discuss those things. (Attempted conversation with astute-14-year-old cousin about politics [SO SRS!!!] and ended up calling economics "money stuff" and government institutions "things that are strong with power".)
b) social 'rules'/norms

b) is of most importance to me because I overstepped about 5000000 social rules of them during this trip and my disownment is now imminent. These rules are pervasive and are in every aspect of communication and social practice, and growing up Asian-American in a traditional Taiwanese household, I automatically respond to situations in a oh-so-very-Taiwanese fashion in specific environments. Yet outside of those spheres, I can express myself in different ways, my voice is heard. I'm not written off as some young, female-thing that is going to be married off and forgotten. But the very moment, the instant I am thrown back into these specific environments, where does that voice go? The insidious silence that I grew up with, the silence ripe with its taciturn, demoralizing lessons come back, and I bow my head in shame for even entertaining the possibility of behaving any differently.

Do not speak until spoken to. Hold your tongue even though you disagree because you are in no position to speak. Thank people excessively. Always say "Pai sei" and refuse gifts. Remember your place. You must get married to a man and produce spawn; preferably males k thnx! Obey your husband. Obey your mother-in-law. Don't talk back. Be modest. Don't sit like that.

So here's all this passive aggressive exchange, with no one saying what they mean and it often results in miscommunication or exploitation of those with less social capital. The prime example: the daughter in law. Because she "belongs" to her husband's family, she is not permitted any other luxuries. Her role is serve her new family. But what happens when there is abuse, mistreatment, clear human rights violations, actions of disrespect?

It becomes her fault.

WHICH IS BULL-FUCKING-SHIT.

Her husband's anger? She must have done something wrong. Bruises all over her body? She deserves it! All the drama in the household? She must be gossiping! You know how women gossip all day and don't do anything important! Ugly child? Oh, it's her genes... Child misbehaving? She's such a horrible mother! How can she NOT please everyone?

I just grow so angry at how vulnerable and victimized women become when these social constructs are perpetuated. Yet my prototypical behavior reinforces this. My bowed head, lowered gaze, mouth-shut self is doing nothing about it. But sometimes I reach a threshold and I can no longer tolerate the crap, so i speak out. But the moment I do, I am villified and seen as an ingrate. My protests are never seen as a defense against a problematic hierarchy, they are seen ONLY as violations. Because any voice raised is seen as disrespect against elders who supposedly know all and nothing they say can ever be disputed. So how can things ever change? Can it EVEN change? Perhaps, through education and rethinking gender roles and expectations. At the same time however, my privileged background and my liberal-twat opinions of the issue could be perceived as slightly imperialist-- my Western values imposed on another culture that I want to change. sounds familiar.

I am forced to compartmentalize. Conform and obey in one part of my life -- the good daughter. Question and outreach in another part -- the student.

So inconclusion: a conundrum. And I want to find answers to these questions and I want to change the way women are treated and to eradicate all this cunt-acrimony but I don't have the words. I don't have the right, because I am female. Baby-pumping machine.

DEFEATISM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE CAN NEVER WIN!!!!

please excuse this discomfort

-taken while visiting the UC Botanical Garden

Ever since I've returned to the South Bay I have become more aware of how media functions in altering individual perspectives in different spaces. I haven't been gone for an exorbitant amount of time, fairly average for the typical college student, though I can't say the same for my old high school peers who have seemingly been whisked away by their college towns and have been immersed themselves in radically new lives. It's great for them if they're willing to pay the price!

When I flipped on the television after the long drive home, I started to feel rather uneasy as the bright, multicolored images flashed across the screen. I hadn't watched television for about half a year. And so revisiting this machinery was at once familiar yet foreign, but within a matter of seconds the exoticism of it receded as the machine continued with its expedient authority over my attention. And I wondered... Isn't this the material I analyze? Aren't these segments of corporate funded expression what I heavily critique? And I guess it was somewhat of a reality check because I realized the overwhelmingly pervasive and incurable role of media within this modern day and age. It's a rather difficult "problem" to remedy, and without a doubt, a means of communication and proliferation of information that is deeply ingrained within American society.

I perused the trashy celebrity magazines, with the din of Tyra Banks' raucous voice filling the room. As I became surrounded by all this, it began difficult to shut it out because I became bothered by the information being espoused... "KELLY CLARKSON GAINS WEIGHT!" "DIET! DIET! DIET!" "HOW TO PLEASE YOUR MAN" "GIRL, DO YOU KNOW THAT MEN LIKE GIRLS WITH LONG HAIR BEST????"

all to bright and all too loud

My experiences from this year have done a phenomenal job in deconstructing my internalization of such propaganda. Yet I still felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, partially because I felt bad for the individuals who breathe and follow such media and treat it as law. This is a rather contentious statement, I know, and I am fully aware of the fact that I am imposing my own value-judgment on others--my personal values about womanhood, independence, beauty, cuntlove, etc.

Is there a point to this rambling? A reality check I suppose. I talked to S about this, and she relayed to me a message scrawled on the dank bathroom stall doors of Dwinelle Hall like scripture: "Don't get caught in the Berkeley bubble." (Unfortunately, I've never stumbled across this fine piece of advice as most of my stall reading material consists of break-up woes and rants about the travesty of male existence.) And it makes so much sense... because I get so accustomed to the cuntlove, the safe space, the self love, acceptance, pride, joy, the openness I am able to exercise, the birkenstocks, dreadlocks, the "happy, happy, happy", that when I waddle on home, the atmosphere (comparatively) is almost too much to handle.

I still believe in change and the reconstruction of imagined American ideals through time, but we've such a long way to go. Just have to think in smaller steps, more feasible terms... Revolutions don't happen over night.

AND IN OTHER NEWS......
'Star Trek' was fucking amazing. (I think I flailed around a bit too much when Leonard Nimoy appeared on screen.) Most movies with time travel business end up rather convoluted, but I thought the storyline was communicated quite well.

Though I will say, (in a similar food-for-thought mode) I am curious as to why the alien races within the Star Trek realm are rarely blonde/blue-eyed. The diversity of the human crew has improved considerably beyond old tokenism practices, and I'm fairly certain that the development of such alien characters had no malicious intent, but it's just an observation. Vulcans/Romulans--black hair, brown/black eyes. (though not in this version as they all decided to go with the skinhead, grungy hitman look). Klingons are usually darker skinned. In one of my classes, the TA discussed how theatre makes political statements about values. I think it's reasonable to consider and evaluate the intersection of race and fictional cultural values of characters projected by the modern cinema. Kirk's risky behavior and his blonde, blue-eyed face implicitly creates standards/values of an all-American hero. Another example relating to values of beauty is found in Diane Kruger's portrayal of Helen in the 2004 version of Troy. Homer never specifically described Helen's features, but how is it that she embodies an Aryan ideal when logically she probably had dark hair? Another example would be portraysl of Jesus. Why the blue-eyed white man? Shouldn't he theoretically appear more like the contemporary idea of "Middle-Eastern"? Hmm. Anyway. There are probably more alien species in Star Trek that I am unaware of... but I'll save that 'research' for another day.

LOOK AT THE TIME! yeah but seriously, what a baller movie. i'd watch that again

pre-summer MELODRAMATIC musings

'Untitled'
--because i'm creative like that.
the gold looks better in person i swear!!!
-pencil, watercolor, acrylic paint, marker-
--

Moving out of places always makes me sad. There's something about the process that is extremely humbling in that every item within this space becomes trivialized once it's shoved into a cardboard box. The postcards and little ticket stubs I tacked on my wall simply become loose pieces of paper, three-dimensional art projects hogging up my floorspace with their obtuse presence shatter into a million little pieces, and assignments that supposedly quantify knowledge flutter away into the recycling chute.

But it's more than just the small trinkets I collected along the way, it's also how they remind me of who I used to be and the experiences I have had throughout the year. It's rather strange to think about how radically different I used to be one year ago. The people I talked to and shared my stories with, the experiences of displacement and unreality, the lovers in my bed -- the culmination of my reaction to them, to their bodies and words, sculpt me and whittle me down just so, altering and creating this semblance here before the world. I want to thank these people for being part of my life, but some of them leave as quietly as they came without so much as a goodbye. And part of me keeps turning back to trace back visages and to revisit experiences, but somewhere along the way, I crossed some sort of threshold and those bitter wounds I clenched tightly to my heart no longer provide substantial leverage to stake my claim in this world.

There is beauty in loss, but more beauty in the grace of forgiveness. Not only toward others, but also toward oneself because every choice made is one that is all-too-human. You're not a villain, a monster, a degenerate, or some morally corrupt person. You're just someone trying to figure things out.

ANYWAY. I'm going to miss this place.

MOVIE TIME

Imogen Heap - Hide & Seek
Where are we? What the hell is going on? The dust has only just begun to fall Crop circles in the carpet Sinking feeling Spin me around again and rub my eyes This can't be happening When busy streets a mess with people Would stop to hold their heads heavy Hide and seek Trains and sewing machines All those years They were here first Oily marks appear on walls Where pleasure moments hung before The takeover, the sweeping insensitivity Of this still life Hide and seek Trains and sewing machines Blood and tears They were here first

Mm what'cha say? Mm, that you only meant well Well of course you did Mm what'cha say? Mm that it's all for the best Of course it isMm what'cha say? Mm that it's just what we need You decided this? Mm what'cha say? Mm what did you say?

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
Mid-sweet-talk newspaper word cutouts (paper word cutouts)
Speak no feeling; no, I don't believe you
You don't care a bit
You don't care a bit


--



grumble grumble must study. things have been ok, but being on a semestre system puts me in a funk. started listening to this song again, makes me feel sad/happy. duality. i like to take macro shots of flowers. *insert lesbian joke* actually i just got back from a meeting where we played some games, and one of them was to name as many fruits/vegetables that begin with 'c' and i almost blurted out 'cunt' but then went with cantaloupe instead. AHHHH MORE CAFFEINE.