“every cell in my body is designed expressly for travel.” —
TRUTH. In less than 24 hours, Rachel will be here drinking Cuba Libres with me (if I have anything to say about it!) This meeting has been almost a year in the making.
Ronen is with us in spirit, of course. Our matchmaker of the creative minds.
[video]
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
“‘And I have a lot of self-esteem, which is amazing, because I’m probably somebody who wouldn’t necessarily have a lot of self esteem, as I am considered a minority. And if you are a woman; if you are a person of color; if you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender; if you are a person of size; if you are person of intelligence; if you are a person of integrity, then YOU are considered a minority in this world. And it’s going to be really hard to find messages of self-love and support anywhere, especially women’s and gay men’s culture. It’s all about how you have to look a certain way, or else you’re worthless. You know, when you look in the mirror and think, “Ugh, I’m so ugly, I’m so fat, I’m so old.” Don’t you know that’s not your authentic self? That is billions upon billions of dollars of advertising: magazines, movies, billboards, all geared to make you feel shitty about yourself, so that you will take your hard-earned money, and spend it at the mall on some turn-around creme that doesn’t turn around shit. If you don’t have self-esteem, you will hesitate before you do anything in your life. You will hesitate to go for the job you want to go for. You will hesitate to ask for a raise. You will hesitate to call yourself an American. You will hesitate to report a rape. You will hesitate to defend yourself when you are discriminated against because of your race, your sexuality, your size, your gender. You will hesitate to vote. You will hesitate to dream. For us to have self-esteem is truly an act of revolution, and our revolution is long overdue. I urge you all today, especially today in these times of terrorism and chaos, to love yourselves without reservation and to love each other without restraint. Unless you’re into leather, then by all means, use restraints. Thank you.’” — Margaret Cho (via : via : via : 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.