Yet another person comes out of the closet. This time it's the Democrat Governer of New Jersey, James McGreevey, who is resigning after admitting to an extra-marital affair with a man. As a Jersey girl, I was proud when earlier this year he signed the domestic partners law for gay and lesbian couples (although he had voiced his opposition to gay marriage in the past). His term has not been without problems (such as fund-raising scandals, and according to MSNBC, a likely sexual harrassment lawsuit), but I'm glad that he's being open and truthful about himself. It will be interesting to see what the reaction will be in the media. I hope that my fellow New Jerseyans won't turn against him simply because of his homosexuality...I hope that his coming out has some sort of positive impact on the visibility of gays in the media (particularly gay politicians), although unfortunately it seems like such a mess that I'm not sure that there will be any overt benefit.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Heather Matarazzo, of Welcome to the Dollhouse fame, has come out of the closet. Good for her. I absolutely adored her in that movie, and only wish the best for her in the future. It's nice to see young actors and actresses coming out with little fanfare...it gives me more hope for the future, when hopefully actors can be open about their sexuality (if they wish to be) without being punished for it. We need someone to carry on after Sir Ian McKellan passes, after all!
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
While working on my thesis I'm listening to BBC via NPR, and there was a segment about La fête des Menteurs (The festival of Liars) in the medieval French town of Moncrabeau. Different contestants compete with each other, and the one who spins the most convincing false story wins. Good God but I love the French. Why can't we have fun festivals like that in the states? American festivals, by and large, suck ass. They almost all center around crappy fried food and maybe a couple of rides. Even if there is a gimmick, like the Woolly Worm Festival in Banner Elk, NC, the gimmick isn't all that fun or interesting. We need more quirky little kickass festivals in different little towns across the country.
Monday, August 09, 2004
So over the weekend I finally saw a movie called The Harder They Come, a 1970's movie which is a favorite of my Dad's (no, it's not a porno...it's a film about Jamaicans and reggae and marijuana. ). From the groovy cover art and the bouncy reggae soundtrack, I was expecting a fun bow-wow-chicka-chicka-bow time, but no. It was actually very stark and political (it detailed the overwhelming poverty and police corruption of the country, and was strongly influential in getting the Jamaican Labor Party voted out of office). The movie is rather dated (the clothes are a scream), but there are some memorable scenes, and the soundtrack does kick major ass. (I love "Many Rivers to Cross," "You can get it if you really want it," and "Sitting here in Limbo"). What was most disturbing to me, however, is that I'm now thinking that my father might have been a pothead, since marijuana seems so entwined with reggae in this film, and since my Dad was such a huuuge fan of reggae back in the day. It may be pathetically simple-minded of me, but I can't think of my Dad that way, and now I'm trying to suppress! Gah. It's so very strange that I love learning about the complexity of people's lives--particularly the more seedy and debauched parts--except when it comes to my parents. With regards to their past drug use and sexual experiences, I would like to know as little as possible. Nothing at all would be best.
Bush continues to demonstrate his hypocrisy by stating that he opposes "legacy" admissions to college. How can he be anti-legacy when legacy has afforded him all the privileges he has enjoyed? It galls me that he could say that college admissions should be solely determined by merit when he knows that there's no way his ass would have gotten anywhere near Yale without Daddy's name. Born on 3rd base indeed. I'll never forget how disgusted I was while sitting in the middle of Old Campus at my college graduation, watching this guy smirking and reminding me that he "learned how to speak English at Yale." Very nice of you to make my degree seem like it wasn't worth shit, dipwad. Although people trash Hillary for being a stilted public speaker, she completely outdid Bush the previous day with a warm, funny, and inspirational speech that will always stick with me. W wasn't the least bit inspirational--he occasionally charmed by poking fun at his own stupidity, but that was it.
Bush continues to demonstrate his hypocrisy by stating that he opposes "legacy" admissions to college. How can he be anti-legacy when legacy has afforded him all the privileges he has enjoyed? It galls me that he could say that college admissions should be solely determined by merit when he knows that there's no way his ass would have gotten anywhere near Yale without Daddy's name. Born on 3rd base indeed. I'll never forget how disgusted I was while sitting in the middle of Old Campus at my college graduation, watching this guy smirking and reminding me that he "learned how to speak English at Yale." Very nice of you to make my degree seem like it wasn't worth shit, dipwad. Although people trash Hillary for being a stilted public speaker, she completely outdid Bush the previous day with a warm, funny, and inspirational speech that will always stick with me. W wasn't the least bit inspirational--he occasionally charmed by poking fun at his own stupidity, but that was it.
Man, I used to be relieved about missing the RNC by postponing my move to New York until the end of September...but after reading about all the imaginative protest rallies, I kind of wish I would be there after all. What I would give to check out the "Missile Dick Chicks—an a cappella singing group purporting to be from Crawford, Texas, who wear missile-shaped phalluses and sing songs like 'Shop! In the Name of War' " or the "Billionaires for Bush" who are performers in Republican drag.
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Wow, I got my first racist hate-mail ever. I post regularly on a messageboard mostly of womyn, and politics do come up once in a while. Although I didn't think I posted anything too incediary, I obviously pissed someone off, because she sent me this:
"Hi there you ugly gook! You are the most radical ridiculous gook that it's disgusting and quite disturbing. Why don't you go hang out on a boat in Korea or where ever the hell your from because you certainly don't belong here, you commie bitch. The arrogant attitude you have is just as ugly as you are. You are a nasty looking bitch with those ugly asian eyes. If you had an arsenal of makeup it still wouldn't help you. Instead of being a red diaper doper baby you might want to get a life instead of screaming the same, tiring party lines over and over again. You are too young, too dumb, and too ignorant to discuss politics. Especially when your native land is a bunch of communists."
Is it wrong of me to be incredibly amused by this?
"Hi there you ugly gook! You are the most radical ridiculous gook that it's disgusting and quite disturbing. Why don't you go hang out on a boat in Korea or where ever the hell your from because you certainly don't belong here, you commie bitch. The arrogant attitude you have is just as ugly as you are. You are a nasty looking bitch with those ugly asian eyes. If you had an arsenal of makeup it still wouldn't help you. Instead of being a red diaper doper baby you might want to get a life instead of screaming the same, tiring party lines over and over again. You are too young, too dumb, and too ignorant to discuss politics. Especially when your native land is a bunch of communists."
Is it wrong of me to be incredibly amused by this?
Friday, August 06, 2004
"Live your life fully and make sure it's your life at the end of it. Don't look back and think, "Oh, I lived my mom's life" or "I lived my agent's life" or "I lived my wife's life." It's never as crisp as the first realization, but it's pretty much woven into who I am now." --Mark Ruffalo on what he's learned from his brain tumor experience, from his Salon interview.
Monday, August 02, 2004
I've seen so many wonderful movies lately, which have all provoked much thought.
First: Control Room. It was so interesting to get a sense of how the Arab world viewed the war in Iraq, and how they reported it. I didn't realize that one of their reporters was killed in what looked to be a targeted attack...and that the press briefing which detailed Jessica Lynch's capture was a smokescreen for other information concerning the whereabouts of the American troops. The Al Jazeera reporters were also suspicious that the "Iraqis" who celebrated the U.S. Capture of Baghdad by toppling Saddam's statue were not true Iraqi's at all, but were Arab teenagers brought in by U.S. troops to provide pro-U.S. media images. I also didn't realize how the Israel/Palestine conflict was so present in the minds of most Arabs, and is inextricably linked to the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Pretty fascinating and worth seeing. The U.S. Marine press spokesman, Lt. Rushing, won my heart by being open-minded enough to try to see both the U.S. and Arab sides. According to salon.com, though, the Pentagon has refused to allow him to comment about the film, and he has since considered leaving the Marines. Watching Donald Rumsfield with his tight little smile as he called Al Jazeera a bunch of propaganda-using liers, and then made statements such as "Truth ultimately finds its way to people's eyes, ears and hearts"...well, I almost went into convulsions at his sheer hypocrisy. Jesus.
Second: Fahrenheit 9/11. So much has already been written about this movie, and I don't have anything new to add, really. Most of what Michael Moore says is true, but sometimes the truth is presented in exaggerated or slightly skewed fashion in order to maximize its effect. This was especially true of the 1st half, which draws connections between the Bushes, the Saudis, and Bin Laden. There were a couple of parts which were ridiculous, such as his implication that Iraq was a happy and peaceful country before we invaded (he shows clips of children laughing and playing in the street, and then bombs to signal the start of the war), but I don't think that those should discredit the whole movie. The second half, which gets to more of the human stories through interviews of people personally affected by the war, is awesome. In my opinion, the movie shouldn't be swallowed down by the viewers without a critical eye; it should be a starting point for discussion. Hopefully it will get people to educate themselves more about what's going on. Because there is a lot of scary stuff happening with this administration.
Third: Before Sunset. I saw Before Sunrise on video at a sleepover party in high school. All the other girls had fallen asleep by the time the movie was halfway through. I was the only one awake until the end, and I was enraptured by it, utterly caught in its spell. I dreamed of studying in Europe some day, and having conversations like those in the film.
While in college, I studied for a semester in Paris, and had my own Before Sunrise-like experience. I met a guy there (another American, actually) and we wandered all over Paris talking nonstop about philosophy and dreams and love from 7 pm straight until 6 am, well after the Metro started up again in the morning. We didn't have sex (he was nursing a broken heart, and the vibe between us was too ambiguous for me to act upon it), but we were just as deep and earnest and pretentious as Jesse and Celine. It was one of the most amazing conversations of my life, but for whatever reason, we never took our relationship much further than we did that night, even though we were both very moved by our exchange. When I was at the Charles de Gaulle airport about to board a plane back home, and still had some time left on my phone card, I rather dorkily called him and left a rambling message about how much that night meant to me, until the card ran out and cut me off mid-sentence. I haven't communicated with him in years, but I'll never forget him.
I just got home from seeing Before Sunset, and all the memories and feelings, long buried and forgotten, came flooding back, particularly since the setting of this film is in Paris, not Vienna (where the first film took place). I'm only 25 right now, but I still remember how young and full of dreams I used to be when I was in Paris. I related so much to the older Celine, because I feel like I've lost so much of myself since I was that earnest kid sharing my thoughts with a guy with whom I felt such a powerful, yet transitory, connection. While I'm not a huge fan of Ethan Hawke's (okay, I find him to be a pretentious asshat and was disgusted by how he treated his former wife Uma Thurman), he did a fine job in this film, and I can't hate him completely now. I love Julie Delpy, she's still exquisite, although I preferred her appearance when she had a little more baby fat. Her face is so open and mournful despite her cheerful neurotic chatter and ever-present smile. I think that she, Ethan, and Richard Linklater did a bang-up job with the script. It was so very believable--at least to me, who is prone to such sort of thought and conversation.
The Shakespeare Book Company (which I visited quite frequently--I remember the loft upstairs where visitors sleep, and the cats), the cafes, the gardens, the Seine, the bateau-mouche...God, but I miss Paris. What a gorgeous, gorgeous movie. I'm sure that it's not to everyone's taste, but for someone who is a whore for pretentious self-conscious conversation, as well as an unrepetent francophile, this movie was heaven on celluloid. I'm all giddy after seeing it, and just for now, all seems right with the world. At least until I start to ruminate about how I've lost much of my idealism and overwhelming zest for art and self-expression, and no longer have conversations very often that are intense and challenging and make me shiver with delight. It's a strange thing that I was so often at a loss to do much else with a profoundly intimate and life-altering conversation. I've had such exchanges with several people, but somehow failed to create something more lasting with them. Then again, it's easier to have those sorts of conversations with people whom you barely know, before you start to share the day-to-day banalities of life instead. God but I miss those conversations, and the people who facilitated those conversations. I can think of four men who were like conversational soul-mates--we seemed to just fall into an intense and beautiful way of verbally sharing everything that came to mind, frequently dipping into philosophy and dreams and stories and whatnot. But again, not much happened with them, other than a mutual appreciation. The other parts of ourselves, the parts other than our communicative selves, were not as compatible, or circumstances somehow got in the way. Is this sort of communication overrated though? Inevitably one runs out of things to talk about, right? Perhaps there is a "honeymoon" period when it comes to conversation, like there is with sex. I don't know.
Okay, now to deviate from movies, I've been thinking about plastic surgery recently, with the onslaught of plastic surgery programming. I used to be completely against it, then very supportive of it (although I would never do it personally unless I were horribly disfigured), and now I'm ambivalent. I still believe that if someone is so unusual looking that it interferes drastically with his or her social life (e.g. cleft palate or extreme deformity), then I'm all for it. But when it comes to tweaking things to look more conventionally attractive...I'm not so thrilled with the idea. Of course everyone has the right to do whatever they wish with their bodies, and if changing their looks makes them a lot happier then I can't oppose it. But I hate conformity and worry about a day when we'll all use genetic engineering or plastic surgery to look like what's considered "ideal" beauty, instead of embracing diversity of appearance. I like unusual-looking people.
By the way, cute pro-Kerry swag can be found here. I'm not sure I'll actually shell-out for a t-shirt, but some of them are awfully tempting.
First: Control Room. It was so interesting to get a sense of how the Arab world viewed the war in Iraq, and how they reported it. I didn't realize that one of their reporters was killed in what looked to be a targeted attack...and that the press briefing which detailed Jessica Lynch's capture was a smokescreen for other information concerning the whereabouts of the American troops. The Al Jazeera reporters were also suspicious that the "Iraqis" who celebrated the U.S. Capture of Baghdad by toppling Saddam's statue were not true Iraqi's at all, but were Arab teenagers brought in by U.S. troops to provide pro-U.S. media images. I also didn't realize how the Israel/Palestine conflict was so present in the minds of most Arabs, and is inextricably linked to the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Pretty fascinating and worth seeing. The U.S. Marine press spokesman, Lt. Rushing, won my heart by being open-minded enough to try to see both the U.S. and Arab sides. According to salon.com, though, the Pentagon has refused to allow him to comment about the film, and he has since considered leaving the Marines. Watching Donald Rumsfield with his tight little smile as he called Al Jazeera a bunch of propaganda-using liers, and then made statements such as "Truth ultimately finds its way to people's eyes, ears and hearts"...well, I almost went into convulsions at his sheer hypocrisy. Jesus.
Second: Fahrenheit 9/11. So much has already been written about this movie, and I don't have anything new to add, really. Most of what Michael Moore says is true, but sometimes the truth is presented in exaggerated or slightly skewed fashion in order to maximize its effect. This was especially true of the 1st half, which draws connections between the Bushes, the Saudis, and Bin Laden. There were a couple of parts which were ridiculous, such as his implication that Iraq was a happy and peaceful country before we invaded (he shows clips of children laughing and playing in the street, and then bombs to signal the start of the war), but I don't think that those should discredit the whole movie. The second half, which gets to more of the human stories through interviews of people personally affected by the war, is awesome. In my opinion, the movie shouldn't be swallowed down by the viewers without a critical eye; it should be a starting point for discussion. Hopefully it will get people to educate themselves more about what's going on. Because there is a lot of scary stuff happening with this administration.
Third: Before Sunset. I saw Before Sunrise on video at a sleepover party in high school. All the other girls had fallen asleep by the time the movie was halfway through. I was the only one awake until the end, and I was enraptured by it, utterly caught in its spell. I dreamed of studying in Europe some day, and having conversations like those in the film.
While in college, I studied for a semester in Paris, and had my own Before Sunrise-like experience. I met a guy there (another American, actually) and we wandered all over Paris talking nonstop about philosophy and dreams and love from 7 pm straight until 6 am, well after the Metro started up again in the morning. We didn't have sex (he was nursing a broken heart, and the vibe between us was too ambiguous for me to act upon it), but we were just as deep and earnest and pretentious as Jesse and Celine. It was one of the most amazing conversations of my life, but for whatever reason, we never took our relationship much further than we did that night, even though we were both very moved by our exchange. When I was at the Charles de Gaulle airport about to board a plane back home, and still had some time left on my phone card, I rather dorkily called him and left a rambling message about how much that night meant to me, until the card ran out and cut me off mid-sentence. I haven't communicated with him in years, but I'll never forget him.
I just got home from seeing Before Sunset, and all the memories and feelings, long buried and forgotten, came flooding back, particularly since the setting of this film is in Paris, not Vienna (where the first film took place). I'm only 25 right now, but I still remember how young and full of dreams I used to be when I was in Paris. I related so much to the older Celine, because I feel like I've lost so much of myself since I was that earnest kid sharing my thoughts with a guy with whom I felt such a powerful, yet transitory, connection. While I'm not a huge fan of Ethan Hawke's (okay, I find him to be a pretentious asshat and was disgusted by how he treated his former wife Uma Thurman), he did a fine job in this film, and I can't hate him completely now. I love Julie Delpy, she's still exquisite, although I preferred her appearance when she had a little more baby fat. Her face is so open and mournful despite her cheerful neurotic chatter and ever-present smile. I think that she, Ethan, and Richard Linklater did a bang-up job with the script. It was so very believable--at least to me, who is prone to such sort of thought and conversation.
The Shakespeare Book Company (which I visited quite frequently--I remember the loft upstairs where visitors sleep, and the cats), the cafes, the gardens, the Seine, the bateau-mouche...God, but I miss Paris. What a gorgeous, gorgeous movie. I'm sure that it's not to everyone's taste, but for someone who is a whore for pretentious self-conscious conversation, as well as an unrepetent francophile, this movie was heaven on celluloid. I'm all giddy after seeing it, and just for now, all seems right with the world. At least until I start to ruminate about how I've lost much of my idealism and overwhelming zest for art and self-expression, and no longer have conversations very often that are intense and challenging and make me shiver with delight. It's a strange thing that I was so often at a loss to do much else with a profoundly intimate and life-altering conversation. I've had such exchanges with several people, but somehow failed to create something more lasting with them. Then again, it's easier to have those sorts of conversations with people whom you barely know, before you start to share the day-to-day banalities of life instead. God but I miss those conversations, and the people who facilitated those conversations. I can think of four men who were like conversational soul-mates--we seemed to just fall into an intense and beautiful way of verbally sharing everything that came to mind, frequently dipping into philosophy and dreams and stories and whatnot. But again, not much happened with them, other than a mutual appreciation. The other parts of ourselves, the parts other than our communicative selves, were not as compatible, or circumstances somehow got in the way. Is this sort of communication overrated though? Inevitably one runs out of things to talk about, right? Perhaps there is a "honeymoon" period when it comes to conversation, like there is with sex. I don't know.
Okay, now to deviate from movies, I've been thinking about plastic surgery recently, with the onslaught of plastic surgery programming. I used to be completely against it, then very supportive of it (although I would never do it personally unless I were horribly disfigured), and now I'm ambivalent. I still believe that if someone is so unusual looking that it interferes drastically with his or her social life (e.g. cleft palate or extreme deformity), then I'm all for it. But when it comes to tweaking things to look more conventionally attractive...I'm not so thrilled with the idea. Of course everyone has the right to do whatever they wish with their bodies, and if changing their looks makes them a lot happier then I can't oppose it. But I hate conformity and worry about a day when we'll all use genetic engineering or plastic surgery to look like what's considered "ideal" beauty, instead of embracing diversity of appearance. I like unusual-looking people.
By the way, cute pro-Kerry swag can be found here. I'm not sure I'll actually shell-out for a t-shirt, but some of them are awfully tempting.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Man, my tendency to sabotage myself is astounding.
In any case, amazingly enough, I've finally been bitten in the ass by my tendency to never back up anything. I've been working frantically the past few days trying to finish a project, and when I logged into a school computer to open my file earlier tonight--poof. Gone. There was a bizarre earlier version of my file which had a different gibberish name, but the file which had all my lovely and painstakingly collected information had decided to pull a disappearing act.
I know, I know, I'm in my mid-twenties and have been through so much school and have written so many papers, this is inevitable, everyone else has his or her tragic computer snafu story to tell, so why am I acting like this is such a huge tragedy? Well, I just never had to deal with this before. Somehow I've survived almost ten years without backing up anything without suffering for it. With my file gone, I stared dumbly at the computer in complete shock for about twenty minutes. Oh, hello, sinking feeling. So nice to encounter you again. Bah. Well, at least I've surrendered to my failure, and have been spending the last few hours painting my fingernails (now burgundy) and watching The Amazing Race premiere (seriously, one of the best television shows of all time, and worth checking out even if you hate reality television, or just television...it's that good) and The Secret Lives of Swingers on VH1 (definitely not highly recommended as far as television goes...as liberal and free-thinking as I try to be, I was pretty skeeved out by the swinging middle-aged parents and their basketball-playing teenage son who probably watched his parents make out with other couples on this show later). Instead of chugging the diet soda and rubbing my bleary eyes as I worked on my project all fucking night long.
Driving eight hours to NY on 4-5 hours of sleep makes me feel so ill I don't even want to think about it. If Madonna sings "Cherish," though, the pure giddiness will cancel out the fatigue, though, I hope.
Songs of the evening (or morning?): Tracks 7&8 of the new Wilco album, "A Ghost is Born." I am so in love with those tracks. The rest of the album is pretty good, too (except for the migraine song, which Stephen just informed me about earlier tonight), but those two tracks in particular make my heart go pittery-pattery with happity happity. OK, when I start making up cutesy faux words, it means it's time to try to fall asleep again. Especially when my alarm is set to go off in about 4 hours.
In any case, amazingly enough, I've finally been bitten in the ass by my tendency to never back up anything. I've been working frantically the past few days trying to finish a project, and when I logged into a school computer to open my file earlier tonight--poof. Gone. There was a bizarre earlier version of my file which had a different gibberish name, but the file which had all my lovely and painstakingly collected information had decided to pull a disappearing act.
I know, I know, I'm in my mid-twenties and have been through so much school and have written so many papers, this is inevitable, everyone else has his or her tragic computer snafu story to tell, so why am I acting like this is such a huge tragedy? Well, I just never had to deal with this before. Somehow I've survived almost ten years without backing up anything without suffering for it. With my file gone, I stared dumbly at the computer in complete shock for about twenty minutes. Oh, hello, sinking feeling. So nice to encounter you again. Bah. Well, at least I've surrendered to my failure, and have been spending the last few hours painting my fingernails (now burgundy) and watching The Amazing Race premiere (seriously, one of the best television shows of all time, and worth checking out even if you hate reality television, or just television...it's that good) and The Secret Lives of Swingers on VH1 (definitely not highly recommended as far as television goes...as liberal and free-thinking as I try to be, I was pretty skeeved out by the swinging middle-aged parents and their basketball-playing teenage son who probably watched his parents make out with other couples on this show later). Instead of chugging the diet soda and rubbing my bleary eyes as I worked on my project all fucking night long.
Driving eight hours to NY on 4-5 hours of sleep makes me feel so ill I don't even want to think about it. If Madonna sings "Cherish," though, the pure giddiness will cancel out the fatigue, though, I hope.
Songs of the evening (or morning?): Tracks 7&8 of the new Wilco album, "A Ghost is Born." I am so in love with those tracks. The rest of the album is pretty good, too (except for the migraine song, which Stephen just informed me about earlier tonight), but those two tracks in particular make my heart go pittery-pattery with happity happity. OK, when I start making up cutesy faux words, it means it's time to try to fall asleep again. Especially when my alarm is set to go off in about 4 hours.
Friday, June 25, 2004
Well, I'm in a relationship. He loves me. Hmmm. And that's all I will say about that.
I haven't written anything, of any sort, in months, and it's strange how this blank space is so intimidating at the moment. I've had thoughts, of course, but just haven't had the impulse to transpose them to written form. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, given my history of compulsive writing. But enough neurotic ramblings (yes, even I tire of it).
A shout-out to Joe's political blog. He's one of my best friends, and obviously, a much, much better political writer and thinker than I could ever hope to be.
Despite not being his biggest fan (amongst college friends, I'm rather notorious for writing a letter in which I envisioned castrating him), I've been pretty impressed with Clinton's interviews for his autobiography, specifically on Larry King and on NPR's Fresh Air with Terry Gross. I had forgotten how incredibly smart he is, and how very human he is. I expected Slick Willie ambiguities and evasions to questions, but he's been very honest and thoughtful about his mistakes, and stated his opinions strongly and unequivocally. I was really glad that he mentioned that one of his biggest regrets was not taking action about the genocide in Rwanda, and that he seemed haunted by it. After seeing the terrific documentary "The Last Just Man" about the genocide, and reading and listening to interviews with General Romeo Dallaire, I was horrified that such an unspeakable tragedy could happen on his watch (although I know that hindsight is always 20/20). Despite not being much of a constitutional scholar myself (for shame, I know), I found his thoughts about the Constitution pretty fascinating. Perhaps it will give me the push I need to learn more about the cogs and wheels of our government. I also really enjoyed how he shared his knowledge about the personal demons of past presidents, particularly Lincoln's deep depression, of which I was completely unaware. While I don't agree with everything Clinton did as president, and I still am disgusted by the Monica Lewinsky scandal (although I found the Republicans' response to it, and the ridiculously expensive investigation, even more disgusting), I like him much more now. But then, maybe it's easier to appreciate the humanity of presidents after they've left office and are able to speak more frankly.
SigOth wanted to see a western last night, and we checked out a wacky Paul Newman western called The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean. It's unlike anything I've ever seen...kind of a series of strange hallucinations taking place in the Wild West. The Sesame Street-esque scene of Judge Roy Bean and his obsequious Mexican girlfriend bathing a bear (yep) in a river, with an impossibly cheezy folksy song playing in the background, in the midst of a series of hangings and gunfights, was almost too much for me. But anyway, what struck me was the use of a very Caucasian/white actress, Victoria Principal (on the left), to play the Mexican girlfriend character of Maria Elena. There are a bunch of other examples of Caucasian or white actors who play non-white characters...There was that evil mulatto character from D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation who threatened the virginal Southern belle by asking her for a kiss, prompting her to jump off a cliff to escape him and preserve her purity...the actor was obviously Caucasian, with some shoe polish or some nonsense smeared unevenly over his face. There was the white actress (Luise Rainer) who played the dutiful Chinese wife O-Lan in the film adaptation of Pearl Buck's The Good Earth, and actually won a Best Actress Oscar in 1937. And probably a zillion more examples exist in movies I haven't yet seen. In any case, this no longer appears to be accepted practice, at least in a blatant way. There are still some inexact character/actor ethnicity matches, such as Lucy Liu, a Chinese-American actress, playing Japanese characters, Jennifer Lopez playing an Italian-American in that crappy wedding planner movie, or Lou Diamond Phillips playing everything non-white under the sun. I'm not sure if I feel strongly about matching character/actor ethnicities. It could be troublesome particularly for actors of minority ethnicities to be limited to only playing characters who share their specific ethnicities, because obviously non-white roles aren't exactly abundant in Hollywood. I could see why actors of minority races would raise a fuss if a Caucasian actor were cast in non-Caucasian roles, because non-Caucasian actors have a hard enough time finding roles to play...and I imagine that many directors care about "authenticiy," whatever that means. As a biracial person though who often passes for other races without even being aware of it, I don't see race as existing in rigid, discrete categories, and sometimes there are examples of race drag (there must be a better term) which can be really interesting. One particularly striking example in recent memory was the black actor Jeffrey Wright's performance as the Latino badguy in the recently remade Shaft movie with Samuel L. Jackson. It was such a strange and unpredictable and charismatic performance. I don't recall if anyone raised a fuss back then about a black guy lightening his skin with cosmetics and playing a Latino character, but it did make me think about how good acting could transcend the biological race of the actor. After all, with actors and actresses changing their body weights and hair color and facial hair and faces with prosthetic noses, can they also not change their skin color and ethnic background, or is that taboo, if it's done in a respectful manner (not like the mocking blackface of old)? But then, to go back to the Victoria Principal in The Life and times of Judge Roy Bean, her performance was very much a stereotype: meek, submissive, halting poor English (as opposed to Jeffrey Wright's performance, which transcended stereotype in my opinion). And perhaps I'm overly sensitive, but I fear that she was chosen to portray the character because of her Caucasian facial features, which were consistent with conventional standards of beauty at the time (although they attempted to make her look more "ethnic" by giving her a tan, black hair, and heavy eyebrows). Would audiences have believed that Paul Newman willingly fucked her if she didn't have a slender nose and high cheekbones but instead had a genuine ethnically Latina face?
Geez, this sounds like a Bitch magazine article. Apologies.
I haven't written anything, of any sort, in months, and it's strange how this blank space is so intimidating at the moment. I've had thoughts, of course, but just haven't had the impulse to transpose them to written form. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, given my history of compulsive writing. But enough neurotic ramblings (yes, even I tire of it).
A shout-out to Joe's political blog. He's one of my best friends, and obviously, a much, much better political writer and thinker than I could ever hope to be.
Despite not being his biggest fan (amongst college friends, I'm rather notorious for writing a letter in which I envisioned castrating him), I've been pretty impressed with Clinton's interviews for his autobiography, specifically on Larry King and on NPR's Fresh Air with Terry Gross. I had forgotten how incredibly smart he is, and how very human he is. I expected Slick Willie ambiguities and evasions to questions, but he's been very honest and thoughtful about his mistakes, and stated his opinions strongly and unequivocally. I was really glad that he mentioned that one of his biggest regrets was not taking action about the genocide in Rwanda, and that he seemed haunted by it. After seeing the terrific documentary "The Last Just Man" about the genocide, and reading and listening to interviews with General Romeo Dallaire, I was horrified that such an unspeakable tragedy could happen on his watch (although I know that hindsight is always 20/20). Despite not being much of a constitutional scholar myself (for shame, I know), I found his thoughts about the Constitution pretty fascinating. Perhaps it will give me the push I need to learn more about the cogs and wheels of our government. I also really enjoyed how he shared his knowledge about the personal demons of past presidents, particularly Lincoln's deep depression, of which I was completely unaware. While I don't agree with everything Clinton did as president, and I still am disgusted by the Monica Lewinsky scandal (although I found the Republicans' response to it, and the ridiculously expensive investigation, even more disgusting), I like him much more now. But then, maybe it's easier to appreciate the humanity of presidents after they've left office and are able to speak more frankly.
SigOth wanted to see a western last night, and we checked out a wacky Paul Newman western called The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean. It's unlike anything I've ever seen...kind of a series of strange hallucinations taking place in the Wild West. The Sesame Street-esque scene of Judge Roy Bean and his obsequious Mexican girlfriend bathing a bear (yep) in a river, with an impossibly cheezy folksy song playing in the background, in the midst of a series of hangings and gunfights, was almost too much for me. But anyway, what struck me was the use of a very Caucasian/white actress, Victoria Principal (on the left), to play the Mexican girlfriend character of Maria Elena. There are a bunch of other examples of Caucasian or white actors who play non-white characters...There was that evil mulatto character from D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation who threatened the virginal Southern belle by asking her for a kiss, prompting her to jump off a cliff to escape him and preserve her purity...the actor was obviously Caucasian, with some shoe polish or some nonsense smeared unevenly over his face. There was the white actress (Luise Rainer) who played the dutiful Chinese wife O-Lan in the film adaptation of Pearl Buck's The Good Earth, and actually won a Best Actress Oscar in 1937. And probably a zillion more examples exist in movies I haven't yet seen. In any case, this no longer appears to be accepted practice, at least in a blatant way. There are still some inexact character/actor ethnicity matches, such as Lucy Liu, a Chinese-American actress, playing Japanese characters, Jennifer Lopez playing an Italian-American in that crappy wedding planner movie, or Lou Diamond Phillips playing everything non-white under the sun. I'm not sure if I feel strongly about matching character/actor ethnicities. It could be troublesome particularly for actors of minority ethnicities to be limited to only playing characters who share their specific ethnicities, because obviously non-white roles aren't exactly abundant in Hollywood. I could see why actors of minority races would raise a fuss if a Caucasian actor were cast in non-Caucasian roles, because non-Caucasian actors have a hard enough time finding roles to play...and I imagine that many directors care about "authenticiy," whatever that means. As a biracial person though who often passes for other races without even being aware of it, I don't see race as existing in rigid, discrete categories, and sometimes there are examples of race drag (there must be a better term) which can be really interesting. One particularly striking example in recent memory was the black actor Jeffrey Wright's performance as the Latino badguy in the recently remade Shaft movie with Samuel L. Jackson. It was such a strange and unpredictable and charismatic performance. I don't recall if anyone raised a fuss back then about a black guy lightening his skin with cosmetics and playing a Latino character, but it did make me think about how good acting could transcend the biological race of the actor. After all, with actors and actresses changing their body weights and hair color and facial hair and faces with prosthetic noses, can they also not change their skin color and ethnic background, or is that taboo, if it's done in a respectful manner (not like the mocking blackface of old)? But then, to go back to the Victoria Principal in The Life and times of Judge Roy Bean, her performance was very much a stereotype: meek, submissive, halting poor English (as opposed to Jeffrey Wright's performance, which transcended stereotype in my opinion). And perhaps I'm overly sensitive, but I fear that she was chosen to portray the character because of her Caucasian facial features, which were consistent with conventional standards of beauty at the time (although they attempted to make her look more "ethnic" by giving her a tan, black hair, and heavy eyebrows). Would audiences have believed that Paul Newman willingly fucked her if she didn't have a slender nose and high cheekbones but instead had a genuine ethnically Latina face?
Geez, this sounds like a Bitch magazine article. Apologies.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
Mark Simpson describing Morrissey on stage: "If the yelps and yowls and the desperate, ecstatic falsettos on tracks such as "This Charming Man," "Barbarism Begins at Home" or "Maladjusted" hint powerfully at an orgasmic release, onstage they turn into a form of musical pole dancing -- a protruding, curling fleshy tongue, a salacious smile, a sadistic whipping of his mike cable, a coquettish swing of those magnificently inhibited hips, a tempting spasm of his shiftless body, a golden sparkly shirt torn from his back and flung into an audience which, as one, pounces on it and renders it to the tiniest, dampest, most fragrant fragments, while the curious love-object himself lies on the stage writhing around in ecstasy-agony or on his back, legs akimbo airborne or draped over a monitor in an obliging gesture towards his audience."
Jesus. And I thought I wrote long, convoluted sentences. But all is forgiven for the phrase "a coquettish swing of those magnificently inhibited hips."
Jesus. And I thought I wrote long, convoluted sentences. But all is forgiven for the phrase "a coquettish swing of those magnificently inhibited hips."
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
I went to DC this past weekend to attend the March for Women's Lives. It was rather chaotic and a bit lacking in humor (although I will give big props to the chicks who constructed a gigantic red plush uterus with Fallopian tubes and ovaries, which they held above their heads with sticks), but inspiring all the same. I dragged a college friend along, and we ended up missing most of the speeches, although we did march the entire way. It was really nice to see a lot of young womyn passionate about feminist issues and reproductive freedom, although I felt just a little bit like an imposter. I self-identified as pro-life as recently as three years ago, and although I'm now technically pro-choice, it still makes me shudder to read a sign like "I love abortion." I did not join in the chants. When the pro-choicers on the march encountered the pro-lifers along the sidelines with their photos of mutilated fetuses and religious symbols, there was an exchange of angry shouts and hurled insults, with neither side emerging as the victor, really. I wish that people could acknowledge the complexity of the issue and have rational discussions about the topic in an open public forum like this one, but instead we seem to be driven to extremes of thought. If pro-lifers want to prevent abortions, they should be active in promoting the availability of contraception and sex education, so that unwanted pregnancies could be avoided. But then, of course, most of pro-lifers are driven by religious ideology which looks down upon those things anyway. *sigh*
I realized while talking to my college friend that most of my current stories are about lost potential, and regret when thinking back on one's life. Hmmm.
Weirdly enough, he also explained to me that he has never yelled at anyone in his entire life. He has never even raised his voice. Or gotten angry. When someone hurts him, he only gets sad, and then quietly withdraws. I was flabbergasted that such a thing could be possible, but apparently this was normal for him, considering his upbringing. He explained that he would not know what to do, or how to react, if someone yelled at him. And that he is turned off by "volatility" when considering a romance with someone. I'm quite a controlled person too, and usually reign in overt displays of emotion...but I like being with someone who sparks the emotion contained within me, who pushes me to lose control. I think this is probably associated with my idealization of the Romantics. I just love crazy indulgent swoony melodrama. I love when voices are raised and tears are spilled and hands are thrown about in the air. It's life, you know? We're not automatons, we're freaky childish destructive creatures who barely know what to do with the feelings that kick us from the inside, ready to be born, to see light, to make themselves known to the world. Stoicism, and maturity, are overrated. But then, that's the adolescent in me talking.
I realized while talking to my college friend that most of my current stories are about lost potential, and regret when thinking back on one's life. Hmmm.
Weirdly enough, he also explained to me that he has never yelled at anyone in his entire life. He has never even raised his voice. Or gotten angry. When someone hurts him, he only gets sad, and then quietly withdraws. I was flabbergasted that such a thing could be possible, but apparently this was normal for him, considering his upbringing. He explained that he would not know what to do, or how to react, if someone yelled at him. And that he is turned off by "volatility" when considering a romance with someone. I'm quite a controlled person too, and usually reign in overt displays of emotion...but I like being with someone who sparks the emotion contained within me, who pushes me to lose control. I think this is probably associated with my idealization of the Romantics. I just love crazy indulgent swoony melodrama. I love when voices are raised and tears are spilled and hands are thrown about in the air. It's life, you know? We're not automatons, we're freaky childish destructive creatures who barely know what to do with the feelings that kick us from the inside, ready to be born, to see light, to make themselves known to the world. Stoicism, and maturity, are overrated. But then, that's the adolescent in me talking.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Damn insomnia.
Bush was just dreadful tonight. So confused and incompetent and sad. How does this guy function day to day when he can barely string together a sentence? I don't know how the Republican talking heads can claim that his performance was strong while keeping a straight face.
I'm not usually one with a strong lust for material goods...I tend to be much more interested in experiences (travel, music, art, conversation) than in pretty shiny things. Hence my lack of familiarity with all sorts of electronics (I didn't get a DVD player until this year, and had no idea what an iPod was until Aroop very patiently explained it to me), and my general indifference to jewelry. (Well, except for my high school graduation gift, which is one of the coolest pieces I've ever seen, a Native American work of art. It's a ring with a moon maiden head made of bone and a silver mask which clips over the face. I never wear it, because I'm too terrified I'll fuck it up, but I lurve it). In any case, I have been bitten by the fashion bug, and while roaming through quirky online boutiques I found these ballet slippers. Not just any ballet slippers, but ballet slippers with quotes from songs by The Smiths and David Bowie and others. I can't think of anything more impractical than $90 ballet slippers with suede soles and hand-painted song lyrics (surely if I were more crafty I could come up with a much cheaper version myself), but I desperately want these stupid things with an all-consuming passion not experienced since my nine-year-old self saw a commercial for the Danse doll from Jem and the Holograms. Turquoise ballet slippers emblazoned with an awkwardly painted bird and "Sweetness I was only joking." Could there be anything more grand? *sigh* Must...return...to...liberation...from...desire...for...material...things...
Bush was just dreadful tonight. So confused and incompetent and sad. How does this guy function day to day when he can barely string together a sentence? I don't know how the Republican talking heads can claim that his performance was strong while keeping a straight face.
I'm not usually one with a strong lust for material goods...I tend to be much more interested in experiences (travel, music, art, conversation) than in pretty shiny things. Hence my lack of familiarity with all sorts of electronics (I didn't get a DVD player until this year, and had no idea what an iPod was until Aroop very patiently explained it to me), and my general indifference to jewelry. (Well, except for my high school graduation gift, which is one of the coolest pieces I've ever seen, a Native American work of art. It's a ring with a moon maiden head made of bone and a silver mask which clips over the face. I never wear it, because I'm too terrified I'll fuck it up, but I lurve it). In any case, I have been bitten by the fashion bug, and while roaming through quirky online boutiques I found these ballet slippers. Not just any ballet slippers, but ballet slippers with quotes from songs by The Smiths and David Bowie and others. I can't think of anything more impractical than $90 ballet slippers with suede soles and hand-painted song lyrics (surely if I were more crafty I could come up with a much cheaper version myself), but I desperately want these stupid things with an all-consuming passion not experienced since my nine-year-old self saw a commercial for the Danse doll from Jem and the Holograms. Turquoise ballet slippers emblazoned with an awkwardly painted bird and "Sweetness I was only joking." Could there be anything more grand? *sigh* Must...return...to...liberation...from...desire...for...material...things...
Friday, April 09, 2004
I have just spent the past hour telling a man dressed as a chicken to riverdance, macarena, skip, moon me, model, kiss the pillow, do the worm, sing, cry, and sleep. I never realized how appealing it is to have someone obey your every command, especially someone resembling a chicken. Must figure out and purge this formerly unperceived dangerous part of my personality. Well, maybe after I get him to masturbate...and do a backflip...and shadowbox...
Sunday, April 04, 2004
I've been spying on people again, which suggests a resensitization to my environment...perhaps because spring is here, and I've been escaping my head occasionally to notice the warm sunlight and brightly colored pansies and aggressively cheerful birds. I've been compulsively writing in my little notebook (a birthday gift from my friend Martin) about other people in cafe's, in stores, and so on. There was a strange wommon in a cafe yesterday who was very demanding about her ice cream sundaes. She rather bitchily insisted on more and more whipped cream until she was finally satistfied (while I impatiently waited in line behind her). She seemed to be in her mid-30's, but her hair (a pageboy with bangs) or her outfit (white sneakers, high-waisted baggy jeans, red turtleneck, and long leather jacket) may have prematurely aged her. I imagined that she had ordered the sundaes for her whiny spoiled monsters of children, but to my surprise she was joined by an absolutely beautiful young man who looked like Jared Leto playing Jordan Catalano of the TV show My So-Called Life, but with dark brown hair which dripped down the nape of his neck to brush his shoulders. He appeared to be in his early 20's. They sat down and dug into their sundaes. Instead of reading papers about cardiac enzymes, I tried to decipher snippets of their conversation to figure out their relationship. They spoke as equals, although they didn't appear to know each other extremely well. They knew many people in common, and kept mentioning what Nicole or Brad or James did the other day. The wommon used "like" frequently, which made her seem much younger than her appearance suggested. I'm not sure if it was a date, or a friendly meeting at a cafe. I eventually lost interest in their excruciating boring conversation (there's only so much I can take of "Well, Nicole got really wasted the other night, and she called Brad, and then they...") and moved on to spy on a scruffy cute guy, then proceeded to miserably fail at an attempt to hit on him. Heh.
I look back at my writing during my anatomy class, when I was overwhelmed by the sight and smell and feel of cadavers and their innards, and am struck by its almost hallucinatory (is that a word?) quality, the visceral punch of the images. When I was reading Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson, his images reminded me of the images in my writing during that time...I wish I could get that quality back. My writing has been too cerebral as of late. Not enough poetry there.
As I've been trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life and how to find myself and all that jazz, I remembered Conan O'Brien's commencement speech to the Harvard Class of 2000. It's amazing. As good a job as Hillary Clinton did with her speech at my Yale commencement, Conan's kicks the ass of hers. I remember being so profoundly moved when I first read it. While my interest in his talk show has waned in the last few years (especially since he now makes a shitty gay joke almost every time I happen to catch him, although he is very friendly and sweet to his gay guests), I still think he's a wonderful person. I still remember him at a Master's Tea at Yale, when he spoke for two hours and had all of us laughing hysterically, tears streaming down our cheeks, the entire time. He was so incredibly nice. He offered to stay longer "because [he] had nothing better to do" but the Master ultimately had to interrupt him and end the tea.
Dave Eggers at another Master's Tea, on the other hand? Complete asshole. Although perhaps he can be forgiven since he had gotten almost no sleep the night before (or so he claimed). I was all trembling with excitement about meeting him and sharing how much I loved reading his book A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius during my semester abroad in Paris (its quintessential early 90's American-ness helped me with homesickness), but he blew me off and had no interest in hearing what I had to say. He did draw a little picture of a hammer in my journal, though, with the phrase "This hammer has seen it all." Which I kind of liked. Although I preferred the little baby chick he drew in another girl's book. I don't recall what phrase he included with that drawing.
I look back at my writing during my anatomy class, when I was overwhelmed by the sight and smell and feel of cadavers and their innards, and am struck by its almost hallucinatory (is that a word?) quality, the visceral punch of the images. When I was reading Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson, his images reminded me of the images in my writing during that time...I wish I could get that quality back. My writing has been too cerebral as of late. Not enough poetry there.
As I've been trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life and how to find myself and all that jazz, I remembered Conan O'Brien's commencement speech to the Harvard Class of 2000. It's amazing. As good a job as Hillary Clinton did with her speech at my Yale commencement, Conan's kicks the ass of hers. I remember being so profoundly moved when I first read it. While my interest in his talk show has waned in the last few years (especially since he now makes a shitty gay joke almost every time I happen to catch him, although he is very friendly and sweet to his gay guests), I still think he's a wonderful person. I still remember him at a Master's Tea at Yale, when he spoke for two hours and had all of us laughing hysterically, tears streaming down our cheeks, the entire time. He was so incredibly nice. He offered to stay longer "because [he] had nothing better to do" but the Master ultimately had to interrupt him and end the tea.
Dave Eggers at another Master's Tea, on the other hand? Complete asshole. Although perhaps he can be forgiven since he had gotten almost no sleep the night before (or so he claimed). I was all trembling with excitement about meeting him and sharing how much I loved reading his book A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius during my semester abroad in Paris (its quintessential early 90's American-ness helped me with homesickness), but he blew me off and had no interest in hearing what I had to say. He did draw a little picture of a hammer in my journal, though, with the phrase "This hammer has seen it all." Which I kind of liked. Although I preferred the little baby chick he drew in another girl's book. I don't recall what phrase he included with that drawing.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Marry me, Brian Joubert. I love you for your quadruple/triple toe combination, your shiny black costume with green numbers all over it, your long program set to the Matrix soundtrack, your dodge-the-bullet-a-la-Keanu move just before your straight line footwork, and your blunt desire to be world champion. Oh, and you're French. I don't know about having your babies, but I'll cook you Korean food once a month, when you have a day off between competitions. Now that's love, at least it is from me.
Oh, I also love Richard Clarke. His testimony yesterday was kickass. Oh, the drama, when the entire room fell silent for what felt like an eternity after he flat-out said that Bush's war in Iraq undermined the war on terror. The pissing contest between him and that Thompson guy, with Thompson ultimately slinking away with "well I'm from the midwest so I don't know anything," was highly entertaining. And he finally apologized for 9/11, although of course those words should have come out of the mouths of others. Hopefully people won't fall for the Bush administration's desperate scrambling to undermine Clarke's credibility.
Oh, I also love Richard Clarke. His testimony yesterday was kickass. Oh, the drama, when the entire room fell silent for what felt like an eternity after he flat-out said that Bush's war in Iraq undermined the war on terror. The pissing contest between him and that Thompson guy, with Thompson ultimately slinking away with "well I'm from the midwest so I don't know anything," was highly entertaining. And he finally apologized for 9/11, although of course those words should have come out of the mouths of others. Hopefully people won't fall for the Bush administration's desperate scrambling to undermine Clarke's credibility.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Oh, and I finally picked up Loudain Wainwright III's album, The Last Man on Earth, and I love it to pieces. Most of the songs are about death, his mother's death in particular, which is of course up my alley. I like his wry sense of humor. It's a little strange to notice all the cross-references in his and his son's (Rufus Wainwright's) albums. I can't help but think about each in relation to the other. I do wonder, though, if he stands by his claim in the song "The Last Man on Earth" that he doesn't "give a damn which idiot runs this country" after what has happened in the last few years (I think the album was recorded back in 2000 or early 2001, before 9/11).
I'm reading the book Terrorism and Tyranny by James Bovard, which is primarily about the Bush administration's response to 9/11, particularly its curtailing of civil liberties via the Patriot Act. The first few chapters discuss the first war on terrorism during the Reagan administration and how subsequent administrations failed to act responsibly towards the threats of bin Laden and Al Qaida, leading up to the W. Bush administration's willful ignorance and lack of action before September 11th. It's been good to recap the events leading up to 9/11, especially since the 9/11 commission hearings took place today and will continue tomorrow. Although the Clinton administration certainly had their fuckups (its handling of the first WTC bombing, its failure to procure bin Laden after Sudan offered to capture him, the useless bombing of an abandoned Sudanese pharmaceutical factory), at least Richard Clarke appeared to realize the magnitude of the Al-Qaida terrorist threat at the time that the Bush administration took over, although he and George Tenet were apparently ignored by Dr.Rice and the rest of Bush's administration. Ugh. This is probably old news, but I missed a lot of these details the first time around (due to the stress of newly starting medical school, I guess), and am pretty horrified as I read about them now. Not to mention how ridiculously scary and unconstitutional the Patriot Act is, and how proposals for amendments were promptly shot down, and how it was rushed for approval before most of the signers even had a chance to read it.
I'm reading the book Terrorism and Tyranny by James Bovard, which is primarily about the Bush administration's response to 9/11, particularly its curtailing of civil liberties via the Patriot Act. The first few chapters discuss the first war on terrorism during the Reagan administration and how subsequent administrations failed to act responsibly towards the threats of bin Laden and Al Qaida, leading up to the W. Bush administration's willful ignorance and lack of action before September 11th. It's been good to recap the events leading up to 9/11, especially since the 9/11 commission hearings took place today and will continue tomorrow. Although the Clinton administration certainly had their fuckups (its handling of the first WTC bombing, its failure to procure bin Laden after Sudan offered to capture him, the useless bombing of an abandoned Sudanese pharmaceutical factory), at least Richard Clarke appeared to realize the magnitude of the Al-Qaida terrorist threat at the time that the Bush administration took over, although he and George Tenet were apparently ignored by Dr.Rice and the rest of Bush's administration. Ugh. This is probably old news, but I missed a lot of these details the first time around (due to the stress of newly starting medical school, I guess), and am pretty horrified as I read about them now. Not to mention how ridiculously scary and unconstitutional the Patriot Act is, and how proposals for amendments were promptly shot down, and how it was rushed for approval before most of the signers even had a chance to read it.
God, it's been a long time. I've been kind of avoiding thinking about a lot of things, hence the lack of posts. But hopefully I can change that soon.
I participated in the Medical Student Faculty Show as a singer and a writer. It was called "Gray's," as in "Gray's Anatomy," and was based on the musical Grease (although the conflict is between a goody-two-shoes internist and a gunner surgeon instead of a "good girl" and "bad boy"). I wrote an Attending Rounds scene, a Third Year party scene, and a Match Day scene, all in the span of five hours (from 3 AM to 8 AM on a Monday morning). The latter two scenes had only a few lines before the songs ("You're the One that I Want" and "We Go Together" respectively, both from Grease). Anyway, here's the Attending Rounds scene. It's obviously a spoof of the show American Idol. I came up with the idea of this scene, and I think it actually does capture the competitive nature of attending rounds for the medical students, and also how arbitrary the responses from the attendings can be. I channeled some of the hate directed towards me from surgery attendings into the Dr.Simon character. I think the first and the last songs are written decently...the middle song, "Harder to Breathe," is insanely awkward and I wish I put more time into it, but the singer actually handled it with aplomb.
ATTENDING ROUNDS SCENE
This is a spoof of American Idol. There are three “judges,” who are attending physicians, seated at a table. There is the mean one with the British accent, “Simon,” who is a typical asshole surgeon type. There is the sweet nice one, “Paula,” who is the fluffy psychiatrist type. And there is “Randy” who is some internal medicine whatever guy (I’m thinking endocrinologist but it really doesn’t matter) who says “dawg” repeatedly. Meanwhile, the medical students, take stage one by one to “audition” with their patient presentations. There’s student #1, student #2,(who may be already established supporting characters) and Sandy. There is also the host-type character who interviews the students and asks them how they think they did.
HOST: Welcome to Medicine Attending Rounds! We have three medical student contestants who will perform their patient presentations, and we have our three esteemed judges, Dr. Simon, Dr.Paula, and Dr.Randy, who will choose our new Medical Student Idol. First up, Ladies and gentlemen, Student #1!
Music cues: “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles.
STUDENT #1:
Here come the runs, Here come the runs,
and it’s not right
Diarrhea, that’s this poor patient’s chief complaint
Diarrhea, it seems like years since it’s been clear
Here come the runs, here come the runs
Diarrhea, it could be caused by Norwalk virus,
Rotavirus, or it could be C.difficile.
Salmonella, Giardia,
And it’s not right
Runs, runs, runs, here they come…
Runs, runs, runs, here they come…
For assessment, well it’s clear that it’s diarrhea
Next the plan is, we rehydrate and culture her
Here come the runs, here come the runs
And it’s not right
Applause, or lack thereof. Student #1 nervously awaits the judges’ remarks.
PAULA: Student #1, I love how you put your heart into your performance. I could see that you were trying really hard to do well. You need to work on your pitch and phrasing, but you have a lot of potential. Good job. Thumbs up.
RANDY: You did your thing, dawg, and I respect that. It was a’ight. Just a’ight.
SIMON: I don’t know what planet you two are from. That was dreadful. Simply dreadful. You should hire a lawyer and sue the people who advised you to pursue this profession. And this institution should be ashamed of accepting your money to do labor for them. After all the presentations I’ve witnessed, I can safely say that you’re the worst medical student in America.
HOST: Aw, man! That’s pretty harsh, Dr. Simon. Do you have anything to say, Student #1?
STUDENT #1 (groveling): Dr. Simon, you are absolutely right and I’m horrible, but I can do better. Please still consider giving me honors! I’ll do anything! Anything!
SIMON: My failing you would be a gift to the medical profession. You simply don’t have what it takes.
STUDENT #1 is dragged off the stage by the HOST.
HOST: Okay, now for Medical Student #2!
Music starts: Maroon 5’s “Harder to Breathe”
STUDENT #2:
So this patient’s chief complaint is sudden dyspnea
He’s got HIV and CD4 of twenty-uh,
He’s had night sweats, fever, chills, headache, and hacking cough.
And he’s also noncompliant with his meds and stuff
So at the ED his O2 sat dropped to eighty-four,
And he was given two liters by nasal cannula
His O2 sat rose and then next he had some cultures drawn
He was admitted but his symptoms are not close to gone
Rash allergy to septra and noncompliant with meds
Which are dapsone and azithromycin, while on lung exam
He’s tachypnic and got decreased breath sounds in his bases you see
His chest x-ray shows bibasilar ‘terstitial opacities
He’s got pneumocystis p and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe
So for our plan we’ve got him on 2L Oyxgen
And for his PCP we’re giving him some primaquine
We also ruled him out for pulmonary embolism.
And he’ll get steroids for hypoxia and optimism.
Mr. B, he’s got HIV, and he’s noncompliant with meds
CD4 count is low and so he’s at pretty significant risk
His symptoms as well as his chest x-ray suggest PCP
He’s got pneumocystis p and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe
He’s got pneumocystis p and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe
Student #2 has tons of attitude, and smugly awaits the judges' comments.
PAULA: Medical student #2, I could see your spirit dancing as you were presenting that patient. You’ve really got that extra factor to be a great physician some day. Good job! Thumbs up.
RANDY: STUDENT 2, STUDENT 2, STUDENT 2. You’re the man, dawg. That was tight. Yeah!
SIMON: (dramatic pause) Well, it was just all right. I’ve heard better. You have strange facial expressions while presenting which I found rather distracting. I think I would have liked your presentation better if I kept my eyes closed.
HOST: Do you have anything to say to that?
STUDENT #2: Well, I just did my thing my own way, and some people won’t like it, but I don’t care what other people think. Dr.Simon has his opinion, and I have mine.
SIMON: And I was going to give you a passing grade! Never mind, I will fail you instead!
Student #2 gives a "whatever" face and flounces offstage.
HOST: And now for our third and final contestant, Sandy!
Music starts: Peggy Lee’s “Fever”
SANDY:
Fever is the chief complaint here, and swollen lymph nodes under the jaw
With the fever comes blurry vision, chills, also anorexia
He’s got a fever – but no skin rash, no bleeding or bruising in sight
Fever - in the morning, fever all through the night.
PMH does not give a clue here, and sex affairs he can’t recall,
Allergies? None to speak of, he’s taking no meds at all
He’s got a fever – Pulse 90’s, temperature is 39
Fever - in the morning, fever all through the night.
Leukoplakia on his tongue there, and some focal LUQ pain
Cervical lymph nodes are swollen, also tender to the touch,
This may be from a sort of infection, or maybe something autoimmune.
Could also be a type of cancer. A biopsy is scheduled soon.
He’s got a fever – we’ll do some cultures, for viruses and rickettsiae.
Fever - in the morning, fever all through the night.
Applause.
RANDY: Sandy, Sandy, Sandy. Yo, that was off the hook! You need to teach a class, show all these other students how to get this done. You’re definitely getting Honors, dawg!
PAULA: I have tears in my eyes; that was just wonderful. You hit all the notes on that presentation perfectly. You’re going to be a star physician, Sandy! Honors to you!
SIMON: That was perfect. There is no question in my mind that you have won this competition. You’re the only student today who was worth my attention. I give you Honors as well.
HOST: Congratulations! It looks like you’re our new Honors Student! What do you have to say to that, Sandy?
SANDY: I…I…I was great! I didn’t hold back, I kicked ass with my presentation, I’m getting Honors, and…*gasp* I like being a gunner! Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Danny…oh Danny, I understand now why you’ve been so aggressive about school. If only we could work things out…
End scene.
I participated in the Medical Student Faculty Show as a singer and a writer. It was called "Gray's," as in "Gray's Anatomy," and was based on the musical Grease (although the conflict is between a goody-two-shoes internist and a gunner surgeon instead of a "good girl" and "bad boy"). I wrote an Attending Rounds scene, a Third Year party scene, and a Match Day scene, all in the span of five hours (from 3 AM to 8 AM on a Monday morning). The latter two scenes had only a few lines before the songs ("You're the One that I Want" and "We Go Together" respectively, both from Grease). Anyway, here's the Attending Rounds scene. It's obviously a spoof of the show American Idol. I came up with the idea of this scene, and I think it actually does capture the competitive nature of attending rounds for the medical students, and also how arbitrary the responses from the attendings can be. I channeled some of the hate directed towards me from surgery attendings into the Dr.Simon character. I think the first and the last songs are written decently...the middle song, "Harder to Breathe," is insanely awkward and I wish I put more time into it, but the singer actually handled it with aplomb.
ATTENDING ROUNDS SCENE
This is a spoof of American Idol. There are three “judges,” who are attending physicians, seated at a table. There is the mean one with the British accent, “Simon,” who is a typical asshole surgeon type. There is the sweet nice one, “Paula,” who is the fluffy psychiatrist type. And there is “Randy” who is some internal medicine whatever guy (I’m thinking endocrinologist but it really doesn’t matter) who says “dawg” repeatedly. Meanwhile, the medical students, take stage one by one to “audition” with their patient presentations. There’s student #1, student #2,(who may be already established supporting characters) and Sandy. There is also the host-type character who interviews the students and asks them how they think they did.
HOST: Welcome to Medicine Attending Rounds! We have three medical student contestants who will perform their patient presentations, and we have our three esteemed judges, Dr. Simon, Dr.Paula, and Dr.Randy, who will choose our new Medical Student Idol. First up, Ladies and gentlemen, Student #1!
Music cues: “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles.
STUDENT #1:
Here come the runs, Here come the runs,
and it’s not right
Diarrhea, that’s this poor patient’s chief complaint
Diarrhea, it seems like years since it’s been clear
Here come the runs, here come the runs
Diarrhea, it could be caused by Norwalk virus,
Rotavirus, or it could be C.difficile.
Salmonella, Giardia,
And it’s not right
Runs, runs, runs, here they come…
Runs, runs, runs, here they come…
For assessment, well it’s clear that it’s diarrhea
Next the plan is, we rehydrate and culture her
Here come the runs, here come the runs
And it’s not right
Applause, or lack thereof. Student #1 nervously awaits the judges’ remarks.
PAULA: Student #1, I love how you put your heart into your performance. I could see that you were trying really hard to do well. You need to work on your pitch and phrasing, but you have a lot of potential. Good job. Thumbs up.
RANDY: You did your thing, dawg, and I respect that. It was a’ight. Just a’ight.
SIMON: I don’t know what planet you two are from. That was dreadful. Simply dreadful. You should hire a lawyer and sue the people who advised you to pursue this profession. And this institution should be ashamed of accepting your money to do labor for them. After all the presentations I’ve witnessed, I can safely say that you’re the worst medical student in America.
HOST: Aw, man! That’s pretty harsh, Dr. Simon. Do you have anything to say, Student #1?
STUDENT #1 (groveling): Dr. Simon, you are absolutely right and I’m horrible, but I can do better. Please still consider giving me honors! I’ll do anything! Anything!
SIMON: My failing you would be a gift to the medical profession. You simply don’t have what it takes.
STUDENT #1 is dragged off the stage by the HOST.
HOST: Okay, now for Medical Student #2!
Music starts: Maroon 5’s “Harder to Breathe”
STUDENT #2:
So this patient’s chief complaint is sudden dyspnea
He’s got HIV and CD4 of twenty-uh,
He’s had night sweats, fever, chills, headache, and hacking cough.
And he’s also noncompliant with his meds and stuff
So at the ED his O2 sat dropped to eighty-four,
And he was given two liters by nasal cannula
His O2 sat rose and then next he had some cultures drawn
He was admitted but his symptoms are not close to gone
Rash allergy to septra and noncompliant with meds
Which are dapsone and azithromycin, while on lung exam
He’s tachypnic and got decreased breath sounds in his bases you see
His chest x-ray shows bibasilar ‘terstitial opacities
He’s got pneumocystis p and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe
So for our plan we’ve got him on 2L Oyxgen
And for his PCP we’re giving him some primaquine
We also ruled him out for pulmonary embolism.
And he’ll get steroids for hypoxia and optimism.
Mr. B, he’s got HIV, and he’s noncompliant with meds
CD4 count is low and so he’s at pretty significant risk
His symptoms as well as his chest x-ray suggest PCP
He’s got pneumocystis p and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe
He’s got pneumocystis p and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe
Student #2 has tons of attitude, and smugly awaits the judges' comments.
PAULA: Medical student #2, I could see your spirit dancing as you were presenting that patient. You’ve really got that extra factor to be a great physician some day. Good job! Thumbs up.
RANDY: STUDENT 2, STUDENT 2, STUDENT 2. You’re the man, dawg. That was tight. Yeah!
SIMON: (dramatic pause) Well, it was just all right. I’ve heard better. You have strange facial expressions while presenting which I found rather distracting. I think I would have liked your presentation better if I kept my eyes closed.
HOST: Do you have anything to say to that?
STUDENT #2: Well, I just did my thing my own way, and some people won’t like it, but I don’t care what other people think. Dr.Simon has his opinion, and I have mine.
SIMON: And I was going to give you a passing grade! Never mind, I will fail you instead!
Student #2 gives a "whatever" face and flounces offstage.
HOST: And now for our third and final contestant, Sandy!
Music starts: Peggy Lee’s “Fever”
SANDY:
Fever is the chief complaint here, and swollen lymph nodes under the jaw
With the fever comes blurry vision, chills, also anorexia
He’s got a fever – but no skin rash, no bleeding or bruising in sight
Fever - in the morning, fever all through the night.
PMH does not give a clue here, and sex affairs he can’t recall,
Allergies? None to speak of, he’s taking no meds at all
He’s got a fever – Pulse 90’s, temperature is 39
Fever - in the morning, fever all through the night.
Leukoplakia on his tongue there, and some focal LUQ pain
Cervical lymph nodes are swollen, also tender to the touch,
This may be from a sort of infection, or maybe something autoimmune.
Could also be a type of cancer. A biopsy is scheduled soon.
He’s got a fever – we’ll do some cultures, for viruses and rickettsiae.
Fever - in the morning, fever all through the night.
Applause.
RANDY: Sandy, Sandy, Sandy. Yo, that was off the hook! You need to teach a class, show all these other students how to get this done. You’re definitely getting Honors, dawg!
PAULA: I have tears in my eyes; that was just wonderful. You hit all the notes on that presentation perfectly. You’re going to be a star physician, Sandy! Honors to you!
SIMON: That was perfect. There is no question in my mind that you have won this competition. You’re the only student today who was worth my attention. I give you Honors as well.
HOST: Congratulations! It looks like you’re our new Honors Student! What do you have to say to that, Sandy?
SANDY: I…I…I was great! I didn’t hold back, I kicked ass with my presentation, I’m getting Honors, and…*gasp* I like being a gunner! Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Danny…oh Danny, I understand now why you’ve been so aggressive about school. If only we could work things out…
End scene.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Every year my father sends me a box of Li-Lac Chocolates for Valentine's Day. They're homemade chocolates from a little place in Greenwich Village; the champagne truffles are especially celebrated. He usually sends me a truffle assortment, because I am a truffle whore. Anyway, each year I get the box, and I always forget which truffles correspond to which flavors. So, for future reference: Milk chocolate with dark chocolate stripes = champagne truffle, and dark chocolate with white stripes = caramel truffle. My favorites, and the ones I always want to save for last. Good Lord, but they're divine.
Out of curiosity, I rented the first Six Feet Under DVD and watched the pilot and the next couple episodes. I had never seen the show before, due to my lack of HBO (and absence of friends who forced the show upon me, as Dave did with Sex and the City). Although I found some of the script a bit stilted and stage-y, I found myself really identifying with a lot of the characters. Just being in the hospital and constantly confronting the immediacy of death makes one more aware of mortality. And then, of course, there was all the stuff I went through during my pediatrics and surgery rotations which made me acutely aware of my own mortality. Although I've largely learned to push away and distract myself from thinking about death, the fear is still there. And there's also a kind of desperation to do all that I wish to do right now, in case my time is soon up. But my inability to accomplish all that I wish to do (or even a small fraction of what I wish to do) frustrates the hell out of me and sometimes makes me want to curl into the fetal position and dream away my life (I've never taken drugs, but maybe those would help?).
Anyway, back to the show. I hated the fake commercials in the first episode with a fiery passion, but thankfully, they don't seem to be a recurring element in the episodes. Peter Krause--damn but he's gorgeous. I loved Rachel Griffiths in past film roles, so she's welcome here. I love, love, love Lauren Ambrose. She's so natural on screen. I'm impressed with Frances Conroy as the mother, although the sudden outbursts are becoming repetitive and tiring (more the fault of the screenwriter than of the actress). I identify with David (Michael C.Hall) the most, of course. Well, I think that I'm probably a strange mix between David and Nate. But I feel David's pain most strongly--his feeling of entrapment because he's unable to let himself be happy. Urgh.
Out of curiosity, I rented the first Six Feet Under DVD and watched the pilot and the next couple episodes. I had never seen the show before, due to my lack of HBO (and absence of friends who forced the show upon me, as Dave did with Sex and the City). Although I found some of the script a bit stilted and stage-y, I found myself really identifying with a lot of the characters. Just being in the hospital and constantly confronting the immediacy of death makes one more aware of mortality. And then, of course, there was all the stuff I went through during my pediatrics and surgery rotations which made me acutely aware of my own mortality. Although I've largely learned to push away and distract myself from thinking about death, the fear is still there. And there's also a kind of desperation to do all that I wish to do right now, in case my time is soon up. But my inability to accomplish all that I wish to do (or even a small fraction of what I wish to do) frustrates the hell out of me and sometimes makes me want to curl into the fetal position and dream away my life (I've never taken drugs, but maybe those would help?).
Anyway, back to the show. I hated the fake commercials in the first episode with a fiery passion, but thankfully, they don't seem to be a recurring element in the episodes. Peter Krause--damn but he's gorgeous. I loved Rachel Griffiths in past film roles, so she's welcome here. I love, love, love Lauren Ambrose. She's so natural on screen. I'm impressed with Frances Conroy as the mother, although the sudden outbursts are becoming repetitive and tiring (more the fault of the screenwriter than of the actress). I identify with David (Michael C.Hall) the most, of course. Well, I think that I'm probably a strange mix between David and Nate. But I feel David's pain most strongly--his feeling of entrapment because he's unable to let himself be happy. Urgh.
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