Summer Snapshots

Pizza from Nicky's

Sophie in Mamaroneck

Katie's Birthday Brunch

Paintings in the Attic

Naomi in the Lower East Side

Gayle's Brilliant Idea

Hanne in the East Village

A Double Stalking in New Paltz

Crystal Renn

Poetry in Motion

In high school I was co-editor of a poetry magazine called Calliope. Even though it was full of typical teenage drama and we appreciated a certain type of angsty prose, I have really fond memories of it and there was a good structure in place for running the club. We met once a week at lunchtime in an English classroom (usually poorly attended), and once a week at night at my house (usually well-attended). At the meeting, we all read the poem to ourselves, then someone read it aloud. We discussed it, put it to a blind vote, and afterward gave the author a chance to reveal themselves and talk about the poem. At the end of the year, we printed a magazine.

Last week, I went with Rachel (Calliope Editor '05) to see Naomi (Calliope Editor '04) in a poetry collective reading/show at Lolita Bar on the Lower East Side. Not only was it great to see both of them and catch up, but it reminded me how much I like poetry and how I miss writing it. I did a little bit in college (especially when I lived with Aebra), but nothing since. Maybe I'll take it up again.

So here's to Naomi and her group, Intangible Collective, and dark bars and the desire to play with words again on my grandmother's typewriter.

Three generations of Calliope editors!

Museum of Chinese in America

I went recently to the Museum of Chinese in America (MOCA) on one of those perfect New York City days. It was beautiful outside, I walked downtown from Grand Central, and showed up to the museum only to find out it's free on Thursdays. Glory. It's a really fascinating place and I definitely recommend it, but since I've now worked in a few museums, I find myself looking at the space and presentation more critically. (Which is fun.)

The permanent exhibition is dense, which can be overwhelming, since lots of information is up on the wall and it can be tricky to figure out what to read first. There are also lots of interactive and hands-on components, which were great. One of my favorites was a replication of a 1903 Chinese-English phrase book that you could leaf through. Of course, the phrases were all work-related, since many Chinese came over to build railroads and do construction.

It was also eerie to see the propaganda used to denigrate Chinese immigrants, as it directly echoes the language used today against Latino immigrants. To quote the museum text:

When white labor began to organize for higher wages, American capitalists turned to Chinese workers to fill the need for human labor to open the frontier, fuel the industrial revolution, and support a new middle-class lifestyle. The Chinese were caught between big industry and labor. Many employers hired "heathen chinese" as strikebreakers.

Labor organizers used ideas of white supremacy to rally the working class. Prevented from joining labor unions, Chinese demands for better working conditions fell into obscurity. White workers branded the Chinese as the enemy, accusing them of stealing jobs and being unfit for citizenship.

In 1892, the Chinese Six Companies called on all 110,000 Chinese living in the U.S. to disobey the Geary Act, a new law that required every Chinese to carry an identification card - a practice with roots in slavery. It provided for the deportation of Chinese who were caught not carrying a certificate of residence, and it required the testimony of two whites to confirm a Chinese person's immigration status. It was the first federal law making race an explicit condition for the right to testify. Thousands protested, risking deportation and a year of hard labor.

In addition to general text and information, the interactive portions included ironing tools you could pick up (they're heavy!) chairs you could sit in that would activate an immigration interview, drawers to open, and a television set up in a kind of a mock living room space. The diversity of ways in which to receive information was refreshing.

My problem with the exhibition is that some parts of it seemed to be interactive for the sake of interaction, with no real rhyme or reason. You could open drawers to look at more information and photos, but I was never clear on why they were in drawers. I got the sense that the exhibit was meant to mimic someone's home, and the museum-goer is sort of rummaging through their history. Parts of that came through, and parts didn't. For instance, in one part of the exhibit, there was an old suitcase attached to the bottom of the table. Since the gallery had included so many little hands-on surprises, I opened the suitcase, only to find that it was full of cables and wires connecting to a screen. Oops.

That being said, I enjoyed the exhibit as a whole and it presented a story that I knew very little about. The prejudice and discrimination faced by the Chinese in this country is pretty horrifying, and continued until World War II, when we had a new enemy: the Japanese. Suddenly, America was singing a different tune.

In the interest of brevity (I might have already failed at that), I'll stop now, but if you're interested in immigration, it's a worthwhile visit. And free on Thursdays! 太好了！

Diane Arbus Graffiti

Spotted somewhere on the Lower East Side

Original photo

I kind of really like it.

An Unfortunate Graph

Yes Means Yes

I did some work recently for Jaclyn Friedman, a woman I really look up to in the world of feminism, media, and writing. She just revamped her website, JaclynFriedman.com, and needed someone to transcribe interviews. Through the magic of Twitter, we were in touch, and she kindly credited me on the site and linked it to this blog.

I first heard of her when I signed up for the WAM! conference in Cambridge. It turned out to be awesome, even though I went by myself and therefore spent lots of time drinking Diet Coke and writing in my journal between sessions. At the conference, I bought her book, "Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape," which she signed for me, and since then, have followed her intermittently on various blogs. "Yes Means Yes" is a collection of essays: some didn't speak to me, some really changed my perspectives on society. The best essays echoed the purpose of the book: "...suppressing female sexual agency is a key element of rape culture, and therefore fostering genuine female sexual autonomy is necessary in fighting back against it."

Essentially it's about changing the conversation from "don't walk home alone in a short skirt" to placing responsibility on men & carving out a space for women to own their bodies and pursue their desires. The pieces come from women of all backgrounds, and I'm grateful that it pushed me to further explore writing by Heather Corrina, Kate Harding, Latoya Peterson, and Cristina Tzintzun.

And on a related note: in an age of shady maybe-deals between Verizon and Google, and a year of living in a country with censored internet, I am more appreciative than ever for the Web. Yes, it's a time-suck. Yes, I love Facebook. But honestly, it has opened up the world for me in ways I'm only now beginning to comprehend. I'm exposed to voices I never would have heard. I read heated debates as they unfold in real-time. I watch this British guy use sign language to share Lady Gaga songs, because sign language helps him with Tourette's and Asperger's. And now, I communicate with people I respect, who use the media to advance the cause of feminism. What a cool era to live in.

Give a damn.

While Sophie was home, we went with my mom to an exhibit at the Museum of the City of New York about John Lindsay, who was mayor of New York from 1966 to 1973. Before going, the only knowledge I had about the topic was an old button of my mom's from the 60's that said simply "Mayor Lindsay." It turns out he's a really fascinating character, and while people have mixed feelings about his time in office, he seems to have been someone possessing a great deal of integrity.


The exhibit was also interesting because I often forget about the New York of the 1960's and 70's. Post-Giuliani New York is pretty safe; some might even say sterile. Back then, at least according to my parents and the museum text and the movie "The Warriors," it was pretty dirty and dangerous. The city was experiencing rampant poverty, crime, drugs, and riots, as well as the growing pains of the civil rights movement. Everyone seemed to be angry, and for good reason.

In addition to the political issues Lindsay was dealing with, it was also interesting to see his commitment to consumer affairs and art and culture and film. Movie-making in New York really got its start around then.


It's a really dense, illuminating exhibit and I'd recommend it to anyone with an interest in New York City, urban planning, politics, or the 1960's and 70's. It also sparked a desire to read "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bronx is Burning," which I've heard from Ned and others is a great book. Anybody else see any museum exhibits lately they'd recommend? In my unemployed state, I'm always on the lookout for a good one.

It's Time to Reclaim America

Treasure Trove

Sophie and I went through a folder of all our old things and found some gems:


Now, I know I look impossibly adorable in this first-day-of-school photograph, but don't be fooled. I was a vigilant letter-writer and when I wasn't pleading with my parents to let me go to acting school, I was letting them know of my extreme disappointment in them. In my defense, I think I was going for the German spelling of "good." You know, for extra emphasis.

Grand Central Graffiti

Spotted on the wall at the train station. Buffalo Soldiers were the all-black troops that fought in the United States Army up until de-segregation in 1951.

This American Life: MOVIE EDITION.

When I was living in China, I only went to the movie theater twice. One time was to see "The Founding of a Republic," which was sort of interesting, and the other time was to see "Alice in Wonderland," which was sort of dreadful. Movies are expensive in China and, more importantly, they serve popcorn sweet. Sweet, sugary popcorn. I hope you understand how terrible that is.

So last night was my first foray back into the world of (American) movie-going. I went to see "Inception" by myself, only to be joined ten minutes later by my parents. #TAGALONGS! Just kidding. They're great. Things were going well so far, as demonstrated below:


Then there were a bunch of previews. Even better! I love previews. What I don't love are trailers that explain the entire movie and/or Zac Efron vehicles that use The National as background music. I don't need to be reminded of his weird face every time I listen to "So Far Around the Bend." Also, I really enjoyed the opening to "The Social Network," but even as an avid Facebook user and a big fan of both Andrew Garfield & Jesse Eisenberg, I think it'll be hard to make the life of Mark Zuckerberg even remotely interesting. So I remain skeptical.

Then the movie started. As expected, my mom walked out after twenty-five minutes. Maybe it was the fact that my dad was mocking it the entire time, but I just couldn't take this movie as seriously as it wanted me to. To paraphrase my brilliant friend Jordan, it's like they gave a first-year film student a $160 million dollar movie budget. Tae asked me what I didn't like about it, but since it was on Twitter, I had to respond in 140 characters or less, which was a good challenge.


To expand (just a bit), when you create a science fiction world, you also create a world of made-up logic. You ask the viewer to suspend their disbelief and join you in this world. But if you keep adding new rules to your creation, i.e. "Well, sure, you wake up when you die in the dream, but not if you're in a dream-within-a-dream!" and "Well, I'll give you a really powerful sedation so you don't wake up, but I've fixed the chemicals so it doesn't disrupt your inner ear balance!" and so on, eventually, the experience is cheapened.

I saw this movie because I heard good things about it and because I really enjoyed "The Dark Knight," which was clever and had some wicked humor in it. "Inception," on the other hand, just took itself Way. Too. Seriously. And lastly, while the hallway fighting sequence was really cool, and I would watch Joseph Gordon-Levitt do just about anything in a tailored suit and a snazzy tie, nothing about this movie actually felt like a dream. So far in my life, I've only encountered one film that accurately captures the feeling of a dream. Or, a nightmare.



(I still love going to the movies)

Public Service Announcement

I've been roaming around town lately like the cool, unemployed lady I am, and I've seen a couple interesting Safer Sex PSA's. I saw this one in bus stops on both Mamaroneck Ave and Palmer Ave:

And this one on Steinway Street in Queens:

Overall, I like them. Maybe I'm wrong, but most sex-related PSA's are a bit more ambiguous. These are pretty direct and simple: Birth control AND condoms. Together. Prevent pregnancy, STD's, and HIV. I like the first ad a lot because the teenagers look like real teenagers, and not 30-year-old actors on Dawson's Creek. The one thing I'll object to is the "Take Control" font. I think they could find something slightly funky without seeming like a 1996 advertisement for Limited Too. That tactic reminds me a bit of this:

Wedding Bells

This past weekend I went to (and participated in) my cousin Jen's wedding. It was really fun, even if I found being a bridesmaid a bit overwhelming. There was a ton of love in the air and you could just feel how much Jen and Odie adore one another. My sister sobbed throughout the whole thing, making me feel like a total robot - but I shed some tears during the parents' speeches. Something about the relationship between parents and children is what gets to me. That's why I always cry at the end of "Riding In Cars With Boys," my favorite cheesy Drew Barrymore movie.

In addition to seeing two lovely people start a life together, the nicest thing about the wedding was an opportunity to spend time with people that I normally don't get a chance to see: great aunts and uncles, second cousins, relatives from the other side of the family. Sometimes I forget how nice it is to feel connected to people for no reason other than blood and marriage. There's something permanent and unchangeable about it.

Jen and Oded

My dad looks at the chuppah my aunt made

BFF: My grandmother, Bern, and Jacob, the ring bearer

Bridesmaids

Zaluskis!

Retro: My grandmother & grandfather in 1949