OMG – A full-on Monet.

One of my students is sort of an expert on French literature these days. Zola, Balzac, Flaubert. The whole thing  is rather impressive. She has been analyzing one particular scene in Madame Bovary for a while now, looking at how Flaubert uses the hotel room where Emma and Leon meet as a way to basically call Emma out on her affectations and pretensions. And pretty much insinuate that she is a stupid cow it appears.  We have had some laughs over the excerpt: “arrow-headed [curtain] rods,” “big balls [gleaming on the fender],” “big, pink” conch shells… And spent a good deal of time trying to come up with lots of synonyms for tawdry, cheap, and a general lack of sophistication, the premise being that the room in which Emma finds herself ensconced in the glory of romantic love is really just a cheap imitation of her ideals, and really rather poorly thrown together. I made my student laugh when I said I felt sorry for Emma because she reminded me of someone who goes to Vegas and says (in my best Britney drawl), “Oh my gaww! Lookit! It’s jus’ so beautiful! Lookit all how niiiiice it is!”

The room is described at once  as plain, frivolous, tranquil, passionate, delightful, intimate, faded, splendid. My student said thrown together. I said hodgepodge. She raised her eyebrow. I said, “It’s like a full-on Monet.” She said, “What?”

Emma Bovary has colored her expectations by her own illusions/delusions/desires (we are still debating whether or not Emma is stupid or delusional, or really, sort of typical in her fantasies – the debate seems to fall along an interesting age divide – she seems perfectly plausible to me as I compare her to a lot of people I know, not so to my seventeen year old counterpart who sees her an inept idiot.) Emma’s  perspective, based primarily on her adoration of what Geoffrey Wall calls sub-literary trash, seems so pathetically transparent when you look at it in the abstract. But she does not look at things in the abstract (due to inability or choice, I do not know) and so she colors entire chapters of her life with sweeping strokes of grandeur.

Emma sees connections, suggestions, and relationships between things that the audience, and certainly Flaubert, see as completely unrelated at best and in direct opposition to Emma’s reality at worst.

So, is this a lack of discernment or an astute ability to synthesize? This question has got me all perplexed.

Do I suffer from an inability to discern when, through the course of an hour lesson, I can call up images of Las Vegas, French literature, Alicia Silverstone in Clueless, impressionist art, Britney Spears, and the singular significance of a specifically placed comma? Or am I a master of synthesis? I can only hope that I am not contributing to the production of ’sub-literary trash’ (though I LOVE the label) but still I see such a need for abstract analogies sometimes that it makes me wonder. It is the age old quandary of the sum versus the total of the parts. I suppose one’s goal makes all the difference. For now, I think I am sticking with the hodgepodge effect. Realistically, I am not sure I could stop at this point.

Tai: Do you think she’s pretty?
Cher: No, she’s a full-on Monet.
Tai: What’s a monet?
Cher: It’s like a painting, see? From far away, it’s OK, but up close, it’s a big old mess. Let’s ask a guy. Christian, what do you think of Amber?
Christian: Hagsville.
Cher: See?

The Chance Encounter

Just like that, fall fell in Hong Kong yesterday. I have always liked the fall (in the seasonal sense as well as the biblical); I find the transition very rejuvenating. It seems like this is backwards because it’s the spring that is supposed to be all about rebirth and emergence (and resurrection for that matter, I suppose.) But for me, the fall has always heralded good things (beyond my birthday, of course.) Summer is my favorite time of the year in more general, sweeping terms, but fall offers something a little more devilish… cheeky… interesting… unexpected.

As a symbol of the fall, I like the equinox because balance is cool, and my birthday lands squarely on that perfectly balanced day. I like that you could go either way – day or night, good or bad, warm or cold, inside or outside, baseball or baseball. I like going back to school. New clothes, new school supplies and a whole truck load of new hopes and goals and aspirations. I like looking forward to being cozy and being hopeful about the ideal holiday season of Hollywood-esque perfection, which always remains elusive, through accident or intention:

Oh, and I like wearing sweaters. And scarves. And hats. I like the long light in the mornings and the afternoons and the brisk wind. I don’t even mind that it took a while longer (six weeks actually) than the first day of autumn for all these things to make their way to 22°20′ N, 114°11′ E.

In fact, I like all those things a little more because I live somewhere that is absent the drama of changing seasons, and fall only really means that the humidity has dropped below 40% and that you haven’t yet realized that your flat is without the requisite insulation to hold in the tepid jet stream produced by a heater not inclined to generate much in the way of thermal energy. No one here watches or even complains about the World Series, and since there is no Thanksgiving, once the sacrilege that is Halloween (only tolerated for the foreigners) has passed it is Christmas. You can already hear the music.

So a day like today, that is authentically autumnal is really fantastic – for its uniqueness alone. It is like the rare chance encounter. For a moment everything seems totally electric, possible and light. The moment passes, but you will be left wondering what it meant, if you will find it again, and if it might have been something that mattered most.

You never know.

What do you DO, anyhow?

Today I was walking through Central after, let’s see… an 8:30 yoga class, a 10:30 facial, a failed appointment with Island Revenue, a mildly less dissatisfying visit to pick up some artwork, and then an attempt to get some lunch before heading to the office. Before you judge, bear in mind that this is my morning off, and as a result I had the luxury of meandering.

You see things really differently when you meander.

There were so many people out – it being lunchtime and all – and while I was looking at them all pass by in their various stages of abstract busy-ness, I wondered what the hell they all do anyhow. I don’t mean “what do they do” in the Odd Todd way, like:

“You know I used to wonder about these poeple, who’d be, like, hanging out, like on a Tuesday afternoon, lookin’ like they got nothin’ to do and nowhere to go and being, like, what’s the deal?”

Because, they clearly have somewhere to go, or at least they have mastered the appearance of having somewhere to go… but I mean what do they DO?

I watched a bunch of suit-and-tie guys head into the Cheung Kong  Center – home of Goldman Sachs – and wondered what they would be doing once they got where they were going after their business lunch at some nearby eatery. It made me think of that part in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts is asking Richard Gere what he does. Like, does he build anything? Does he make anything? Yeah. No.

I am certainly not suggesting that these people do not do anything. I just cannot work out what it is.

And it is a more and more relevant question these days. I spend a good amount of time in Human Geography courses talking about the global (re)distribution of industry and how there are primary, secondary, tertiary, quarternary, and now in the minds of many, quinary, industries. And how the actual work and actual salary are indirectly proportional. The more education training you have, the less work you do and the more money you make. [Unless you teach, and then that is another story all together.] In some ways I understand that relationship. I mean after all, I teach, so really, it is not like I am producing or making anything in the vein of the secondary economic sector. And as has been duly noted, I am an advocate for education and its acknowledgment. But… I am not sure I am satisfied by that as a conclusive sentiment.

Doing Violence.

I am considering ceasing and desisting with meat consumption again. I say again because I went quite a while without eating meat. Well, to be honest I was still eating chicken and fish and eggs when I was in the mood, but until Ex #3’s mother served me beef stew on New Year’s Day 1996, fully aware that I didn’t eat meat, and said, “Oh it’s fine, the meat is in big pieces you can just pull it out,” I had not eaten red meat or the “other white meat” (intentionally) since about 1986. On that New Year’s Day I threw in the towel and took one for the team (a habit that would become the norm in that relationship.)

Now, sitting here in Asia, where frankly, if it moves, it is food and restaurants actually have signs saying things like, “We do NOT serve dog, cat, rat or snake… Come in!” I am considering giving it up again. And I actually mean the whole deal this time. [Okay, probably not eggs.] Why, you ask? When even Jules admits of Big Kahuna Burger: “Mmm-mmmm. That is a tasty burger…“?

Well. I think it sort of comes down to this idea of violence. Yeah, yeah, I know. Just hold on before you get all whatever you are getting. It goes a little deeper than that. Recently I was discussing the rationale behind eating meat with someone who just said, “It is a violent thing. You should not do violence to yourself. You should not do violence to others. It is the same with eating meat. It is doing violence.” And that made me go, “Hmmmmm.”

I am not into self flagellation or mutilation (save for piercing and tattoos) or cutting or anything like that. In fact, I tend to shy away from most types of violence, especially any that might involve me. I have never been in a physical fight – well, I hit my former step-mother once on my way to being relocated from my dad’s house, but she basically had it coming for years, and then this stranger tried to hit me at the DNA Lounge in the City back in 1994, for reasons unbeknownst to me, but she missed and just sort of got my forehead. [And then she got the boot because I was with the band.] So, that pretty much sums up my personal combat history. Not that I haven’t wanted to hit some people on occasion and come pretty close with Ex #2, #3 and #5. And not that I am unaware that verbal violence can be equally, um, violent.

But, every time I have acted with violence it has had some fairly real consequences. So… extrapolating from there, it makes me consider the karma, yes really, the karma… like, the karmic load I might have to bear for eating meat. True, if I punch someone in the head, the karmic result will likely be far more immediate than if I eat some tasty bacon [And if I choose to use my words over my fists I know exactly the kind of load I will bear - it is very heavy.] However, I don’t actually know what the karmic effect of eating that bacon might be. It could be building up somewhere aside from my arteries. Or not. But then, that is really the question behind all our actions… “What is it worth…?”

Circle Slash Phenomena.

Recently, my mom told me that one of the best pieces of advice she has received is the following: Do not create phenomena. After she mentioned this, I began to ponder then concept and the vast potential for its application.

Do.

Not.

Create.

Phenomena.

How counter to the entire human experience of this day and age. I started looking at all the things I do – and how many are honestly specifically designed to create phenomena (this exercise right here for example… and the entire online existence that so many have fully embraced… don’t even get me started on “reality” television.) Suddenly I started looking at what I was saying and doing in a different way. Like honestly considering my various motivating factors. It was kind of amazing.

Like, when I was all irritated at a certain individual in the Silly South and I was thinking of ways to needle him. Why? Why engage? Simply to create a need for interaction = phenomena.

Or when I was telling a certain story about someone who I should really feel sorry for rather than irritation about. Why? For the reaction = phenomena.

It becomes a very effective filter, forcing one to really understand if they are doing something for themselves, or for actual benefit, or if in fact it is really for the perceived “benefit” of others [= phenomena.]

• Talking loud on your cell phone around others (or that fake phone call thing people do…)
• Gossiping
• Creating reasons to call someone
• Micromanaging
• Overreacting
• Public social networking pages
• Blogging
• Over-sharing
• Bragging
• Manifesting a need for behavior
• Buying things you do not need
• Talking about buying things you do not need
• Judging
• Aiming for your 15 Minutes

That entire list is like one single episode of The Hills. How gross.

Describe The World You Come From. Are you kidding?

The University of California asks the following of all of their potential Freshman:

Describe the world you come from — for example, your family, community or school — and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.

I have been spending a lot of time contemplating this directive over the past few months as a great many of my students are applying to the University of California’s various campuses. Well, actually, only three of the campuses are Hong Kong Approved [meaning they have enough name brand appeal]: Berkeley, UCLA and UCSD (go me!) But a lot of students are applying to those three.

And so here they sit, seventeen and strung out on college applications: “The World They Come From.” How best to approach such a task? Can you answer the question with a single answer? Can anyone definitively say, “I am From X” anymore? The students I work with are (generally) multinational, multilingual, transoceanic, multiracial people. Few of them could say they have lived in one place for their entire lives. Where are they from? Is it where they were born? Where they started school? Where they finished school? The country from which they received their [first] passport? The country their dad is from? The place their grandparents are from? How about where their mom is from? A very smart man once told me, it is always a question of scale. [I ♥ geographers.]

And that is only the first step.

I gotta say, I am truly envious of these kids in some ways. This topic is one I have dreams of writing a dissertation about. Seriously. I find it fascinating.

2012: Doom for whom?

There is a video series I used to use in my 9th and 10th grade social studies classes produced by Time Life called Lost Civilizations that included an episode on the Maya called The Blood of Kings. These videos are awesome (if not especially deep…) and this particular one was a perennial favorite. My favorite part is when they discuss genital blood letting and the narrator suggests that perhaps our current political structure would have a little more integrity if the participants were faced with having to bleed out through their scrotum as a way to demonstrate dedication to the cause. This is not the part that resonates as much with the Freshman/Sophomore set: they are far more taken with the notion of the Mayan calendar and how after untold centuries its precise accuracy has slipped only by seconds and has predicted every celestial event with that same accuracy… and that the end of this cycle of life will occur on the Winter Solstice, December 21, 2012 (the video actually says the 23rd… Can we blame Rupert Murdoch?)

Gets ‘em every time.

And of course they are not the only ones. A cursory search on Google returns 929,000 hits specific to the prophecy (which does not even count the vastly larger number for just the year: 189,000,000.) And I am surrounded by people who really believe that we are heading for… for what? For something. Big. Depending on the school of thought – or basic philosophical stance of a glass-half-empty or glass-half-full – these predictions run from total apocalypse to some fantabulous paradigm shift and everything in between.

I like listening to people talk about it, especially those who suffer from M.A.S. (of both genders) as they go on and on about how THIS is going to happen and then THIS is going to happen, but THAT is definitely NOT going to happen, but you must be ready for THIS. It is fascinating. I think the Maya were likely pretty spot-on about this whole deal. I mean, they were pretty spot-on about most stuff, and that is likely why one day they seemed to have just vanished into the jungle. They probably felt like it was just getting too tedious to try to deal with all the mediocrity. Or at least that is my theory. There are lots of other theories but they are mostly just further conjecture. Some easy data is here and some more here for you to make up your own reason. But, whatever the reason, the fact remains that their calendar has become a legendary artifact.

And so, 2012. What of it really? It will be a leap year, a US Presidential election year, an Olympic year… among other less notable things, like I will have another birthday, the Oakland A’s will probably still suck (but I will still love them), people will likely still be watching terrible reality television programs.

Unless….

We become the terrible reality television program.

Devotion.

A silly beginner, basic apprentice aggression
In the absence of a master, trying to make up my own lesson

Who knew I would wait,
I would wait such a long time…

~ Astronautalis, Oceanwalk

I have been known to mock devotion a little bit. Okay, I have been known to mock a ton of shit, but I have really taken it to the devotees. It has just struck me as so… simple, I guess. Like a way to not have to think about things for yourself while you stroke some big old dogma lying on the rug.

And so, of course, here we go with the whole bit about learning lessons [really just a euphemism for the reverse-I-told-you-so].

Recently I have begun to understand how people could become so devoted. Not hopelessly devoted, (like I have often joked), nor necessarily devotional, (that, too, is an area around which I find it hard to mask my mirth, as it were.) But more like, totally committed and receptive to the guidance that is being presented to you. In whatever form this takes.

This surprises me.

Who knew I would wait, I would wait such a long time.

I am inspired by this person. I look forward to hearing what this individual has to say. I feel good to be in their presence. I am calmed by the knowledge that this human being is present in my life. I listen to this person. But more than that I hear what he is saying.

And, of course, I did not realize that this would happen. I sort of tried to avoid it. Ironically, my method of avoiding was to adopt the consciousness I just disparaged above… I wanted to be dedicated to something and not really have to think about it… not to have to learn. But in the new context within which I have found myself, thinking and learning are required, pleasantly demanded, you might even say. And the idea of a “Master” has always been completely and totally annoying to me in pretty much every way I could manifest the concept. [I do not like being 'told' as it were.] So, I am wondering if I got tricked a little bit here, because I totally did not see this one coming. He is clearly a master. But he is not like any master I could have imagined. I am not sure he is “my” master either, I think he just sort of exists in his own little parallel universe of calm, cool and collected. [When I joked that I wanted to take him home and just keep him in a drawer or something just to have him there, my cousin said, 'Yeah, and if you had a 2'x2'x2' drawer he could fit easily into it.'] But in all seriousness, he has some very interesting things to say… more to the point, things to demonstrate. And I am fascinated.

It is strange and cool and reassuring. I certainly subscribe to the idea that learning in infinite, but I am rarely so conscious of the learning I do. [My lessons usually kick me pretty square in the ass. Effective, yes. Not so gentle on the psyche though.]

Conscious receptiveness is totally bitchin’. I guess this means I was ready.

Bring it.

“Where do you stay?” A small question on semantics & photography

I am not a linguist, though I confess to an unusual interest in lexis and etymology. In my line of work I have often had to consult independent sources (read = UrbanDictionary.com) or even directly ask people what exactly they mean when dealt phrases like, “That’s sick!” or “I’m f’na go.” [The first, a total gimme for you, yes, sick = sooooo cool. The second, slightly more advanced, and I only actually worked it out after getting a lesson from Nakisha "Pepsi" Green back at the Double Rock projects where she 'stayed' in 1994, "I am fixing to go," or "I am leaving."]

Working with adolescents is a constant reminder of how totally lame you really are once you pass the age of probably 25. There is simply no way to keep up with the morphing vernacular. That aside, I have noted some strange consistencies from working in San Francisco’s Excelsior district back in the day, to the wilds of Reno-Tahoe-Sparks and the mania of Asia. Not many mind you, but a few. The first is a prevailing interest in footwear. The second is the way that ESL and “non-standard” English (though I hate that term, since technically, as a Californian I am way non-standard…) speakers ask me where I live: they consistently ask where I stay.

“Where do you stay in Hong Kong?”

I am clear what is meant by this question, and I even know how to respond, which guarantees the following rejoinder: “You stay on Lamma?!” I have no idea how the initial question becomes translated this way, nor do I really care. In fact,  what I have been contemplating with regard to this semantic distinction is the nature of the difference between “stay” and “live”. Let’s compare:

stay:
–verb (used without object)
1. to spend some time in a place, in a situation, with a person or group, etc.
2. to pause or wait, as for a moment, before proceeding or continuing;

live:
–verb (used without object)
1. to pass life in a specified manner;
2. to escape destruction or remain afloat;

That sort of sums up my take on the semantic situation. I had been contemplating the impermanence or flexibility inherent in ’stay’ in comparison to the need-based feeling I get from ‘live’ – as in I need that to live. [Leave it to Dictionary.com to allow me the variety in definitions to prove just the point I wanted.]

Live. Stay. Live. Stay. Live. Stay. (a)Live.

When my favorite yogi was astonished to learn that I stayed on Lamma, all the time, I got to thinking about just that. Do I ’stay’ on Lamma or do I ‘live’ on Lamma? I have to say, it is sometimes hard to tell. I am not sure it matters, really. A combination is surely the best. At that moment I totally wanted to take a picture of him, not just for his amusing and incredulous smile, but because I wanted to share this part of my life with my family and friends who don’t get to see it. [Of course, that would have been super awkward, so I exercised a little restraint.] But then that got me thinking about the way I see the places I find myself vis a vis my camera.

When I travel, I take heaps of photos. Absolutely. Heaps. But when I went home [that tricky conundrum - "home," an entirely separate semantics lesson for another time] this summer… I took hardly any. Okay, well, that is a slight understatement, but it is true that in five days in Japan I took more than twice as many photos as I did in five weeks at home. [And rest assured that has nothing to do with some corollary re: aesthetics.] The thing was, I was living – not staying – while I was at home. For real, living like, to have life; to continue in existence, operation, or memory; to maintain or support one’s existence. No documentation was required. Right now, I am staying in Hong Kong… like I stayed in Japan and will soon stay in Vietnam and Bali and Burma: I will pause or wait, as for a moment, before proceeding or continuing.

Everyday when I take out my camera to continue on the adventure that is my Project 365 blog, I look around and try to see things that represent my life here… things I see that, just maybe, someone else missed. I am documenting my life here in a certain way, but I am not living in a specified manner (yeah, escaping destruction for the most part…) I am pausing before I continue.

I stay in Hong Kong, on Lamma, and I know I will stay many other places as I work my way back to the States.

And this, quite clearly, is living.

Perfection.

I am, and have always been, obsessed with perfection. As a little, little kid I would throw away art or projects when I made the smallest of mistakes and start again… or sometimes just say the original endeavor was too stupid to be bothered with in the first place and leave it. I believed that mantra that “practice makes perfect…” I was completely won over by Nadia Comaneci and every unhealthy thing embodied by her “perfect 10’s”. Making mistakes became more and more painful as they became horrible admissions of imperfection. It made trying new things difficult, in case I wasn’t “perfect.” It made me more and more judgmental. Obviously, this behavior breeds neuroses at best and… well, I am not sure what in the worst case scenario…. but I know it is not good.

The most ironic part of it is that, as a career perfectionist (you can find out if you are one here, I scored only 57 – I must be improving!) I am fully aware that I am not perfect (though less willing to let go of the idea that I cannot be) and am the most caught up in maintaining some ridiculous image of perfection. What a nut job, right? [This list sort of sums up my dilemma - and it is a list! The joy!] My efforts to portray (in my mind) some sort of perfect persona (not to be confused with perfect personality) have driven me to the brink of exhaustion, rage, and in some cases pure mania: insisting on getting the perfect thing for someone’s gift, having the perfect food for the party, being perfectly available, the perfect professional, the perfect student… it is all crazy and I am clear that it is all in my own head and that I am not perfect even in my best manifestations of the mantra… But still, I have managed to drive myself absolutely crazy for years living in this illusive reality that IF I try hard enough, I will be able to present myself as perfect.

What a freaking chore.