Phew! Just finished the book for the third time today.
It took a while to read, because I don't agree with everything Kingston says about Chinese-American culture. I get the impression that she is almost at times ashamed to be Chinese and prefers her American influences. She portrays the older generation as ignorant, loud, uncouth, and steeped in wild notions and remedies. It is true--there are many Chinese people whose lives revolve around superstition and the notion of ghosts, but Chinese people are far classier, higher-educated, and more dignified than how Kingston represents us.
The Chinese are very humble, perhaps too humble, and their ignorant American-born children take their humility for shame and often mock their elders and heritage. My mother's family is very Chinese, we love what we are, never losing sight of our rich culture, but I know many friends of family who are flippant towards their heritage.
Kingston and her siblings remind me of all these stupid little ABC (American-Born-Chinese) brats who though are aware of who they are and where they come from have no respect and pride for their 5,000 years of elaborate history.
I have no clue what Kingston means by American-feminism versus Chinese-feminism. She portrays the latter as almost bestial and unrefined and an embarrassment and desires to be feminine in the classical sense--like American women. Is she just kissing ass? Apologizing for her beauty that she mistakes as vile, because she lives in America and does American things, and wants desperately to wash herself of her Chinese blood?
My impression of Chinese-feminism is the essence of grace, class, gentle, refined speech, small, slow movements, dignity, and always thinking about serving others and being humble and bowing down. Chinese people are not like Brave Orchid who is an abomination. They do not push family against their will as Brave Orchid so stupidly does to her dearest sister, Moon Orchid. Chinese people have class and style (in the words of Amy Tan), and it's a shame that Kingston doesn't accurately portray that.
But there are things that strike a positive chord with me, things that I can relate to. I really enjoyed Kingston letting her imagination run wild with the vignette on Fa Mu Lan. I like the whole idea of Chinese-American women being strong avengers who don't always fall into the stereotypes of being meek and mild-mannered.
And it's true what Brave Orchid says at the bottom of page 203--the Chinese always say the opposite, meaning that though we are beautiful, we call ourselves ugly. With Western influences as of the last few decades, Chinese people are becoming arrogant and vain, but in the old tradition, Chinese people never drew attention to themselves and lived a very austere, abstemious lifestyle. They subsisted on very little, with the belief that less is more. And the old school humility mesmerizes me, because I, like all Chinese brats, could never be what my predecessors were. I am just like a vacuous, sometimes-shallow Valley girl.
I like The Joy Luck Club better, but am saddened that there are so few popular frames of reference for being a Chinese-American female. It makes me want to go out and write another book from another angle, a much more reverent perspective.
The best thing, however, is the woman warrior theme, the female avenger, the Chinese voice and fight. So often Chinese people are the target of overt racism, because the rest of America does not feel threatened by us, they see us as the perfect targets who decline to speak up and raise hell. Well, that's changing everyday, there's power brewing, pride overflowing, and soon we will show everybody not to mess with us. We fight just as hard and we often win.
Monday, April 26, 2010
John Heard, His Son, and Me at the UCLA Festival of Books
This past Saturday, I went with my family to the UCLA Book Fair and fortuitously met one of my long-time crushes, John Heard, who is just dazzling in Beaches.
He and his son are wonderful people.
He and his son are wonderful people.Wednesday, April 14, 2010
It's All About Me
When I first picked up The Jungle, I was disinterested. Then once I got past the wedding and Jurgis beginning his life with his family in the stockyards, I started zipping through the pages till I hit the part where Jurgis's struggles and life evolved into a plea for Socialism, and there was no more story, but rather an outcry for social change.
To be honest, I am not interested in politics and social change. I haven't yet made ammends with myself or my surroundings, how am I to effect change on a larger scale? What really draws me in is the humanity of things, the practical, the here and now, the very power that clothes and feeds me and gives me recreational pleasure.
I suppose I think on a smaller scale, the "me" rather than the 6 billion people worldwide or the 300 million Americans. I can't relate to things too big for one person, I can only relate to the particular.
What really drew me into The Jungle was Jurgis's pathetic lot in life. It was almost a reassurance that I don't have it as bad as some, and if there is hope for a miserable hapless person as Jurgis, there is hope for me, because the story ended on a positive note, one I wasn't expecting, but a good reminder that if you stay strong, you will come to some good.
I just can't imagine a life of hard work and no fun, of horrible food and starvation, of stench and horror, of poverty and abuse. I am terribly pampered compared to these poor people. I think I shall read Hugo's Les Miserables this summer. I like profiting from others' sad stories, I'm a predator like the rest. I cannot deny myself of my animalism.
I too am contributing to the disparities in society. This past Monday, a classmate said that if we were all to live equally, we would live as the poor people in the Appalacians live. How horrible! I could never live below the life I'm living now. Am I to blame for that?--to be shown a life of comfort and then have that stripped from me so that the world can live equally and frugally with no hope of having a better life? Are we to blame for our consumerism?
I shop at WalMart though I have been warned. Why? Because I get stuff cheaper there. Do we ever put the general populace or affected populace before ourselves? Honestly, if you can go to a place that sells things cheaper than elsewhere and in some far distant part of your mind, you know you are profiting from another's labor, are you willing to put down your shopping basket and ban yourself from that store, while really, WalMart will continue to prosper with or without your business? Same with Forever 21, same with so many other places. If you were really the kind of person that put others before you all the time, you wouldn't be here, you wouldn't be alive, because the whole schemata of survival is to protect yourself first and foremost, so don't take the high road by saying you don't want to shop here or there because you care about people. You don't--you truly don't care about everybody. Since you care for yourself and your family, there is no way you can care for the rest of the world--there is not the time or energy or reserves and there is never the passion or zeal of humanitarianism in you unless you are some budding saint. And even saints cannot affect or help or tend to the entire world and be loving and responsible for everyone.
I don't believe in helping the world. I believe in helping ourselves. If each and everyone of us could get our shit together, then the world would thrive in harmony. We can only be responsible for ourselves. So to me, I like to read texts on a personal level, because the only thing I recognize in art or science is myself, how I can deal with the next the day and the day after, and the day that is my last.
Of course, I don't mean Stop the Philanthropy! What I mean is that we must recognize that by helping others in whatever small, big, or indirect way, we are really serving ourselves, our karma, our sanity, our equilibrium, our rest, our good night's sleep. But always, donations are beautiful, because they give both ways. What I'm saying, however, is that survival is based not on tending to others but on tending to ourselves.
To be honest, I am not interested in politics and social change. I haven't yet made ammends with myself or my surroundings, how am I to effect change on a larger scale? What really draws me in is the humanity of things, the practical, the here and now, the very power that clothes and feeds me and gives me recreational pleasure.
I suppose I think on a smaller scale, the "me" rather than the 6 billion people worldwide or the 300 million Americans. I can't relate to things too big for one person, I can only relate to the particular.
What really drew me into The Jungle was Jurgis's pathetic lot in life. It was almost a reassurance that I don't have it as bad as some, and if there is hope for a miserable hapless person as Jurgis, there is hope for me, because the story ended on a positive note, one I wasn't expecting, but a good reminder that if you stay strong, you will come to some good.
I just can't imagine a life of hard work and no fun, of horrible food and starvation, of stench and horror, of poverty and abuse. I am terribly pampered compared to these poor people. I think I shall read Hugo's Les Miserables this summer. I like profiting from others' sad stories, I'm a predator like the rest. I cannot deny myself of my animalism.
I too am contributing to the disparities in society. This past Monday, a classmate said that if we were all to live equally, we would live as the poor people in the Appalacians live. How horrible! I could never live below the life I'm living now. Am I to blame for that?--to be shown a life of comfort and then have that stripped from me so that the world can live equally and frugally with no hope of having a better life? Are we to blame for our consumerism?
I shop at WalMart though I have been warned. Why? Because I get stuff cheaper there. Do we ever put the general populace or affected populace before ourselves? Honestly, if you can go to a place that sells things cheaper than elsewhere and in some far distant part of your mind, you know you are profiting from another's labor, are you willing to put down your shopping basket and ban yourself from that store, while really, WalMart will continue to prosper with or without your business? Same with Forever 21, same with so many other places. If you were really the kind of person that put others before you all the time, you wouldn't be here, you wouldn't be alive, because the whole schemata of survival is to protect yourself first and foremost, so don't take the high road by saying you don't want to shop here or there because you care about people. You don't--you truly don't care about everybody. Since you care for yourself and your family, there is no way you can care for the rest of the world--there is not the time or energy or reserves and there is never the passion or zeal of humanitarianism in you unless you are some budding saint. And even saints cannot affect or help or tend to the entire world and be loving and responsible for everyone.
I don't believe in helping the world. I believe in helping ourselves. If each and everyone of us could get our shit together, then the world would thrive in harmony. We can only be responsible for ourselves. So to me, I like to read texts on a personal level, because the only thing I recognize in art or science is myself, how I can deal with the next the day and the day after, and the day that is my last.
Of course, I don't mean Stop the Philanthropy! What I mean is that we must recognize that by helping others in whatever small, big, or indirect way, we are really serving ourselves, our karma, our sanity, our equilibrium, our rest, our good night's sleep. But always, donations are beautiful, because they give both ways. What I'm saying, however, is that survival is based not on tending to others but on tending to ourselves.
Gavin Newsom and Me
I met the mayor of San Francisco over the Spring break during a visit to the Capitol. Just thought I share. FYI, he's the most irresistibly gorgeous man I have ever had the fortune of seeing before my very eyes (my mother shares the sentiment).
"Power" by Audre Lorde
The difference between poetry and rhetoric
is being
ready to kill
yourself
instead of your children.
I am trapped on a desert of raw gunshot wounds
and a dead child dragging his shattered black
face off the edge of my sleep
blood from his punctured cheeks and shoulders
churns at the imagined taste while
my mouth splits into dry lips
without loyalty or reason
thirsting for the wetness of his blood
as it sinks into the whiteness
of the desert where I am lost
without imagery or magic
trying to make power out of hatred and destruction
trying to heal my dying son with kisses
only the sun will bleach his bones quicker.
The policeman who shot down a 10-year-old in Queens
stood over the boy with his cop shoes in childish blood
and a voice said "Die you little motherfucker" and
there are tapes to prove that. At his trial
this policeman and in his own defense
"I didn’t notice the size or nothing else
only the color." and
there are tapes to prove that, too.
Today that 37-year-old white man with 13 years of police forcing
has been set free
by 11 white men who said they were satisfied
justice had been done
and one black woman who said
"They convinced me" meaning
they had dragged her 4’10" black woman’s frame
over the hot coals of four centuries of white male approval
until she let go the first real power she ever had
and lined her own womb with cement
to make a graveyard for our children.
I have not been able to touch the destruction within me.
But unless I learn to use
the difference between poetry and rhetoric
my power too will run corrupt as poisonous mold
or lie limp and useless as an unconnected wire
and one day I will take my teenaged plug
and connect it to the nearest socket
raping an 85-year-old white woman
who is somebody’s mother
and as I beat her senseless and set a torch to her bed
a greek chorus will be singing in ¾ time
"Poor thing. She never hurt a soul. What beasts they are."
Tiff's response:
Black or white, whatever color, in whatever society, during whatever era, we are full of hyprocisy. Just look at this poem where hate begets hate. To be human is to be a hypocrite. Is it right to condemn others or the system for transgressions we individually are guilty of? Is it right to feel right when we are so unfailingly wrong? And why must we feel better and superior than the other when we ourselves are nobodies, literally beasts of prey? Isn't humility best--who's to judge? Can we be our own judge or the judge of others or does that lead straight to hypocrisy? Is there anything wrong with hyprocrisy if there is nothing wrong with being human? And does anything really matter on earth when we are condemned to unbearable suffering, death, injustice, obscurity, and oblivion?
In my opinion, the jungle is not around us, but rather within each of us. And there's no way to tame what has a mind of its own, a mind that outwits the intelligence and power of our mental faculties, a mind that is a separate beast from our consciousness, but tears at every dimension of our condition, and makes this jungle a veritable hell.
is being
ready to kill
yourself
instead of your children.
I am trapped on a desert of raw gunshot wounds
and a dead child dragging his shattered black
face off the edge of my sleep
blood from his punctured cheeks and shoulders
churns at the imagined taste while
my mouth splits into dry lips
without loyalty or reason
thirsting for the wetness of his blood
as it sinks into the whiteness
of the desert where I am lost
without imagery or magic
trying to make power out of hatred and destruction
trying to heal my dying son with kisses
only the sun will bleach his bones quicker.
The policeman who shot down a 10-year-old in Queens
stood over the boy with his cop shoes in childish blood
and a voice said "Die you little motherfucker" and
there are tapes to prove that. At his trial
this policeman and in his own defense
"I didn’t notice the size or nothing else
only the color." and
there are tapes to prove that, too.
Today that 37-year-old white man with 13 years of police forcing
has been set free
by 11 white men who said they were satisfied
justice had been done
and one black woman who said
"They convinced me" meaning
they had dragged her 4’10" black woman’s frame
over the hot coals of four centuries of white male approval
until she let go the first real power she ever had
and lined her own womb with cement
to make a graveyard for our children.
I have not been able to touch the destruction within me.
But unless I learn to use
the difference between poetry and rhetoric
my power too will run corrupt as poisonous mold
or lie limp and useless as an unconnected wire
and one day I will take my teenaged plug
and connect it to the nearest socket
raping an 85-year-old white woman
who is somebody’s mother
and as I beat her senseless and set a torch to her bed
a greek chorus will be singing in ¾ time
"Poor thing. She never hurt a soul. What beasts they are."
Tiff's response:
Black or white, whatever color, in whatever society, during whatever era, we are full of hyprocisy. Just look at this poem where hate begets hate. To be human is to be a hypocrite. Is it right to condemn others or the system for transgressions we individually are guilty of? Is it right to feel right when we are so unfailingly wrong? And why must we feel better and superior than the other when we ourselves are nobodies, literally beasts of prey? Isn't humility best--who's to judge? Can we be our own judge or the judge of others or does that lead straight to hypocrisy? Is there anything wrong with hyprocrisy if there is nothing wrong with being human? And does anything really matter on earth when we are condemned to unbearable suffering, death, injustice, obscurity, and oblivion?
In my opinion, the jungle is not around us, but rather within each of us. And there's no way to tame what has a mind of its own, a mind that outwits the intelligence and power of our mental faculties, a mind that is a separate beast from our consciousness, but tears at every dimension of our condition, and makes this jungle a veritable hell.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
COWS!!!
This is an e-mail sent to me by my father's bridge-player friend. It made me laugh. Hope it sheds some light on class systems, politics, and undoubtedly--cows!
DEMOCRAT
You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. You feel guilty for being successful. You push for higher taxes so the government can provide cows for everyone.
REPUBLICAN
You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. So?
SOCIALIST
You have two cows. The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor. You form a cow-operative to tell him how to manage his cow.
COMMUNIST
You have two cows. The government seizes both and provides you with milk. You wait in line for hours to get it. It is expensive and sour.
CAPITALISM, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows. You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.
BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows. Under the new farm program, the government pays you to shoot one, milk the other, and then pour the milk down the drain.
AMERICAN CORPORATION
You have two cows. You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one. You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses. Your stock goes up.
FRENCH CORPORATION
You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows. You go to lunch and drink wine. Life is good.
JAPANESE CORPORATION
You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains. Most are at the top of their class at cow school.
GERMAN CORPORATION
You have two cows. You engineer them so they are all blonde, drink lots of beer, give excellent-quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour. Unfortunately, they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.
ITALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows but you don't know where they are. You break for lunch. Life is good.
RUSSIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows. You drink some vodka.You count them and learn you have five cows. You drink some more vodka. You count them again and learn you have 42 cows. The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.
TALIBAN CORPORATION
You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which is two. You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature's private parts. You get a $40 million grant from the U.S. government to find alternatives to milk production but use the money to buy weapons.
IRAQI CORPORATION
You have two cows. They go into hiding. They send radio-tapes of their mooing.
POLISH CORPORATION
You have two bulls. Employees are regularly maimed and killed attempting to milk them.
BELGIAN CORPORATION
You have one cow. The cow is schizophrenic. Sometimes the cow thinks he's French, other times he's Flemish. The Flemish cow won't share with the French cow. The French cow wants control of the Flemish cow's milk. The cow asks permission to be cut in half. The cow dies happy.
FLORIDA CORPORATION
You have a black cow and a brown cow. Everyone votes for the best-looking one. Some of the people who actually like the brown one best accidentally vote for the black one. Some people vote for both. Some people vote for neither. Some people can't figure out how to vote at all. Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state tell you which one you think is the best-looking cow.
CALIFORNIA CORPORATION
You have millions of cows. They make real California cheese. Only five speak English. Most are illegal. Arnold likes the ones with the big udders.
Estelle
DEMOCRAT
You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. You feel guilty for being successful. You push for higher taxes so the government can provide cows for everyone.
REPUBLICAN
You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. So?
SOCIALIST
You have two cows. The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor. You form a cow-operative to tell him how to manage his cow.
COMMUNIST
You have two cows. The government seizes both and provides you with milk. You wait in line for hours to get it. It is expensive and sour.
CAPITALISM, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows. You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.
BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows. Under the new farm program, the government pays you to shoot one, milk the other, and then pour the milk down the drain.
AMERICAN CORPORATION
You have two cows. You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one. You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses. Your stock goes up.
FRENCH CORPORATION
You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows. You go to lunch and drink wine. Life is good.
JAPANESE CORPORATION
You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains. Most are at the top of their class at cow school.
GERMAN CORPORATION
You have two cows. You engineer them so they are all blonde, drink lots of beer, give excellent-quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour. Unfortunately, they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.
ITALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows but you don't know where they are. You break for lunch. Life is good.
RUSSIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows. You drink some vodka.You count them and learn you have five cows. You drink some more vodka. You count them again and learn you have 42 cows. The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.
TALIBAN CORPORATION
You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which is two. You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature's private parts. You get a $40 million grant from the U.S. government to find alternatives to milk production but use the money to buy weapons.
IRAQI CORPORATION
You have two cows. They go into hiding. They send radio-tapes of their mooing.
POLISH CORPORATION
You have two bulls. Employees are regularly maimed and killed attempting to milk them.
BELGIAN CORPORATION
You have one cow. The cow is schizophrenic. Sometimes the cow thinks he's French, other times he's Flemish. The Flemish cow won't share with the French cow. The French cow wants control of the Flemish cow's milk. The cow asks permission to be cut in half. The cow dies happy.
FLORIDA CORPORATION
You have a black cow and a brown cow. Everyone votes for the best-looking one. Some of the people who actually like the brown one best accidentally vote for the black one. Some people vote for both. Some people vote for neither. Some people can't figure out how to vote at all. Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state tell you which one you think is the best-looking cow.
CALIFORNIA CORPORATION
You have millions of cows. They make real California cheese. Only five speak English. Most are illegal. Arnold likes the ones with the big udders.
Estelle
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