nancylicious

2010 ‘BEST DOCUMENTARY’ OSCAR AWARD WINNER
THE COVE - Director Louie Psihoyos

At the Tokyo International Film Festival, where The Cove was reluctantly and controversially screened, Psihoyos was asked, “what scientific proof do you have that dolphins are intelligent?” He replied:

By whose standards? Yours? A butterfly’s? Dolphins have a bigger brain than yours, and you can’t do anything well that they can do. I’m sure they must feel pity for us in when we’re in their environment. They’ve managed to live on the earth for 50 million more years than us with bigger brains and without jeopardizing the whole planet like we have in just a few decades. I’m glad they don’t have the power to ask, “what good are humans?” because it’s scientific proof that we’re destroying the planet. Dolphins are the only wild animal to save the life of humans, and the only way we can save them now is to prove we’ve made their environment so toxic that they are poison and should not be eaten.” [Psihoyos turns to his Japanese interpreter] will that translate?

Dizzamn, Louie. Congratulations on all the awards but you could have at least started by saying SPOILER ALERT.

So, um, I guess this is my warning.

Confession: I’ve wanted to watch this movie since I started crushing on Dave ‘Rasta’ Rastovich, founder of Surfers for Cetaceans. Who is Dave? A vegan yogi pro free-surfer now better known as an environmentalist: in 2007, he led the a paddle-out protest of Taiji, Japan’s dolphin killings alongside actresses Isabel Lucas, Hayden Panettiere, and former wifey Hannah Mermaid (I’m not kidding on the last one). This was a moment documented in the Cove (though, after watching, largely delegated to the ‘Deleted Scenes’ Special Feature) as a part of their mission to expose and stop the annual slaughter of 23,000 dolphins.

The film was expertly layered. In the foreground, we have the urgent, immediate Ocean’s Eleven-esque plot of, “given all the political barricades, how is Louie going to catch the killings on film?” In the background, we have personal Ric O’Barry’s narrative from Flipper Dolphin Trainer to Animal Rights Activist and an inquiry into why Japan persists this practice and its consequences. What the team uncovers is government corruption, the human health hazard of mercury poisoning, and an industry making over 2 billion dollars a year on captured dolphins.

I will say I’m definitely in the “Choir” section of this movie’s preach. As such, while I enjoyed the film, I wasn’t shocked or wowed by the Japanese’s posturing in the International Whaling Commission nor ultimately their reasons for continuing the slaughter.  The one part of the movie that did stir within me a visceral reaction was their chapter on the unfit-for-consumption high levels of mercury in dolphin meat, the intentional mislabeling of it, and thankfully unsuccessful campaign for it to be included in children’s compulsory school lunches nationwide.  As such, I was immensely appreciate of the DVD’s “Mercury Rising” Special Feature where they talked to scientists who underwent a ‘Supersize Me’ diet of eating less than a cup of tuna a day and tracked how quickly their mercury levels rose.  As someone who eats fish and eggs as her primary animal protein, this frankly freaks me the fuck out.

Overall, a great documentary on-par with Food, Inc.   And yet, while The Cove absolutely has merit, I wouldn’t be surprised if it partly won because it’s easier to criticize another country’s politics, pollution, and food culture over taking that same log out of our own eye.

FACT: Today is International Women’s Day.
FACT: In Mandarin Chinese, 3/8 means ‘Bitch.’
FACT: This is how I remember that today is International Women’s Day.
image via

MARCH 6, 2010 - LITTLE SUMMER
image from (taken in Nosara!)

Confession: this little guy is what might keep me in Nosara over ‘Little Summer’.

As soon as I started mentally preparing myself to spend June through October in California, I began to think of all the wonderful things I’d be missing by skipping over Nosara’s veranillo. The first thing that came to mind was no! I’d be missing the halloween crabs!

I love the halloween crabs. They come out to spawn during rainy season. If you should you ever find yourself on a dirt path near the ocean during this time, the ground and foliage are covered with them. And as you walk past, they will quietly crawl out of your way, making you feel as though you are Moses, parting a sea of orange-red-purple crustaceans. It turns a simple stroll across town to living inside a Disney animated movie.

And with that first thought, I started compiling a list of all that I love of Little Summer: the regular afternoon showers, the cooler temperatures, the even less people, less crowded line-up. Getting caught in thunderstorms and improvising trashbags as raincoats. The champinones. I know that list seems small but my wants and needs are simple here. And truly, these are the things that give me claps of delight.

The only reason why I’d want to return to the States was to get my city culture fix. I am on my last disc of Lost, Season 5, after which I won’t know what to do. I miss art, indie cinema, a good variety of books (which I don’t have to plan months in advance), and world cuisine made my someone else’s better skilled hand.  I miss variety; I miss choice.  But I already will be home for a month - will that be enough to sate my desire?

My first fantasy was to be Sidney Fife for five months: living on Venice Beach, doing daily yoga, writing regularly, wearing hawai’ian prints and madras simultaneously, and walking a dog named Anwar Sadat.  But how long with that nourish me?  Sustain me?  Or is there something else I should altogether?  What happened to Europe?

Truly, tell me: if you just spent the last six months living in the beach / jungle, what would you do?

MARCH 4, 2010 - YOKED

The word ‘yoga’ originates from Sanskrit work ‘yuj’, meaning ‘to unite’.  It shares an etymology with the word ‘yoke.’  And according to urbandictionary.com, to be ‘yoked’ means ‘to be well built; having a high level of muscle definition; ripped; cut.’

This can be no simple coincidence.

And last night - after almost two weeks of enjoying my body in a passive, yin state receiving countless massages - I decided, enough! let’s get my yang on.

Yoginis: you can call it kundalini energy, you can call it activating my pranamaya kosha.  Call it whatever you want, but I want to get yoked.  How awesome is that word?  yoked, Yoked, Yoked.

Genuinely excited for Project Bounce-a-Dime-Off-My-Ass.  There may be boxing.  There may be breakdancing.  There may be hula hooping.  There will be no rules.  The world is my bench press.

My body wants to high-five my mind right now.

Picture taken 5 years ago

GPOYW - ‘BEDHEAD’ EDITION

I grew it myself.

THE HELP - KATHRYN SOCKETT

I picked up this book on Kristin’s recommendation.  I didn’t skim it; I didn’t even read the book jacket.  I just picked it up last minute at Barnes & Noble and that was that.  I opened it last Monday, hoping that it would be a good way for me to wind down for early nights in bed.

After reading the first chapter - as narrated by a southern black maid in the 1960s named Aibileen - I winced.  In first person, her chapters were heavily peppered with phrases like Law have mercy but something’s gone have to be done. I looked at the back book flap with concern.  The white young female author’s face peered up at me.  Is this fo’real? I thought.  Is she writing from the perspective of the mammy archetype?  Is it just me or is this the literary equivalent of putting on blackface?  I felt embarrassed for the author for thinking this was a good idea.  Except, by the end of the novel, it was.

‘The Help’ is a novel told through the first person perspectives of three women in Jackson, Mississippi: two black maids - i.e., the help - and a single white woman named Eugenia ‘Skeeter’ Phelan who appears destined for spinsterhood.  Having recently graduated from Ole Miss, Skeeter returns home to the Mean Girls equivalent of Southern suburban living.  She finds herself at heads with former friend Regina George Miss Hilly, who is tactless and outspokenly pro-segregation.  Through a series of events, Skeeter finds herself composing a book of interviews with the maids of Jackson, invoking sympathy for the disempowered black underclass and exposing the hypocrisy of its white “domestic” housewives.  And yet - will there be, if any, consequences of this expose?

I enjoyed the way this novel deftly touched on feminism, racism, classism, and well, humanism.  Despite my best attempts to put the book down and go to sleep, I found myself wanting to get through one more chapter … and then another.  If I were to use one word to describe this novel it would be plot-driven.  Not one of my top 5 novels, but definitely a good book club read.  After reading this, you want to - or at least I do! - discuss the characters with girlfriends.  Do we love/hate Minny Jackson?  Miss Celia?   etc.

PRANASSAGE: IN PROGRESS REVIEW

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.

Pranassage has given me a different appreciation of my body.  As a woman, the first sense with which I apprehend my body is sight.  How has my body changed since yesterday?  Does my waistline look smaller, my stomach tighter?  Do I look bloated? And what’s up with this zit?  Will it ever go away? Yoga gave me one form of insight into my body: I marvel at how it supports me, how strong it can be.  It’s so much stronger and often times more intelligent than my mind gives credit.  Pranassage has now given me to appreciate my body as a receiver and giver of touch, one of the underhyped five senses.

i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will

I discovered I love giving bodywork.  I love seeing a body at rest before me, moving subtle up and down, its breaths even and calm.  I love knowing that I am going to take them on an adventure and we aren’t even going to leave the room.  You’re going to get worked, I think, and you will love it.  I eagerly anticipate walking the heels of my hands up and down their limbs, rhythmically pressing my full weight into their hands and forearms.  Finding my way to their neck, shoulders, feet.  Pranassage allows me to appreciate my body as something that gives someone else sensual pleasure.

again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh … . And eyes big love-crumbs,

I think a lot of people - especially men, though I could be wrong here - cannot distinguish sensual from sexual touch.  I have many guy / exboyfriends who associate massages with the ‘happy ending’ variety, and have declined bodywork altogether.  Perhaps they fear their body will betray them, they too sensitive or the touch too close.  One finally saw my therapist after falling down a flight of stairs and walking out of balance for a week.  He only let her massage his legs.

Out of 33 students in our class, only 6 are men.  That’s less than 20 percent.  I’m grateful I got to work extensively with 2 of them during our time together.  I was so happy when I received them as my partner.  They were both bigger than me.  I couldn’t wait until our practice, when I would ask them to place their full body weight on me so I could feel my bones.  I couldn’t wait for their strong confident touch, their hands to push my back and rake my ribs.  And I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to give.

To be honest, I am probably on the heavier side of my weight range right now (though I don’t own a scale or a full-length mirror here).  And guess what - strangely, I don’t care! This weight, my height - 5’ 7” - and my muscles are to my advantage in Pranassage.  There is more of me to offer resistance against clients, more of me to support them, enclose them, make them feel safe.  No one is going to sit on me and worry that I will break.  And someone actually called my stomach toned last week!

Never have I been happier not to be a skinny fat waif.  Skinny fat waifs can’t work you like I can.

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

I will be receiving my first client outside of class tomorrow morning.  Wish me luck!

image from (note: this is a hot stone massage, not pranassage)

poem by e.e. cummings