the physics of poetry

I've been pondering this idea of mass into energy into mass into energy for the last few weeks and looking to see where and how this idea plays itself out. I think I'm fascinated by it because I've always loved physics and growing up I used to watch this PBS show called, "Eureka!" which was only like 5 minutes long but condensed various physics theory in an amusing cartoon.

In feng shui terms, it's quite clear. You clear out your closet full of stuff you don't need (mass), you sell it at a garage sale (energy), to get stuff you really need and use (mass). Eventually, if the mass you've got is quality stuff, you'll also attract quality energy.

After the lecture/demo I did with Eileen at Mills, I wondered how this idea works in poetry. So here you are, a wanna be writer. You have energy but no mass. So what do you do, you go read a whole bunch of poets (either by hanging out at Barnes & Nobles or going to an MFA program). Essentially acquiring mass from this stack of books you're going through. Now, initially you grab onto everything cuz well you don't know quality from the junk pile, but that's ok, you've got mass. You finish reading all these books, and maybe you get rid of some of the ones you didn't really like or weren't really good. You keep the ones you like cuz they inspire you to write (energy) which turns into poems (mass). But this time it's your mass.

Subsequently, you go through this cycle of reading and writing, editing and refining (mass and energy mass and energy) until you've built up your poems (mass) to send them out (energy) unto the world to be published (mass). This now gets you book readings and lectures (energy) which you will hopefully turn into more mass or at least help you continue to refine your quality mass.

Now, this all seems very obvious. Read poems, write poems, send out poems, get poems published, do readings, write more, publish more, etc.

I'm thinking about this now because right now, I'm not doing much of any of this. Though, I am writing this blog on a regular basis, so that's gotta count for something. Part of the reason I'm not doing a whole lot of reading and writing of poems right now is well, I'm kind of busy with some other mass-energy-mass cycles elsewhere in my life. Quite a few big changes coming up in the next year or so and poetry is on the back burner right now, which saddens me a bit because a part of me would like to think poetry should always be on the front burner, but I'm not sure if that would work either.

But I think of mass and energy in terms of the process of creating poems because when I'm ready to get this moss covered rock moving I'm going to need a philosophy to get it unstuck. I'm going to have to get my mass in gear. Fortunately, I'm still hanging around a few readings here and there, still reading a few blogs where people are generating poetry on a regular basis, doing collaborations with folks who are generating poetry off of my movements, so in that sense, I'm not too far away from the flow of it all. That in the least is reassuring.

Of course, this mass-energy cycle of poetry is thoroughly interrelated with all the other mass-energy cycles revolving in my life (my relationships, my clutter, my career, etc), each with it's own ebb and flow. It just so happens I'm ebbing right now. Understanding that this is a cycle helps me get through this ebb.

If anything, poetry teaches one patience.

Hay naku! how I love when poetry begets poetry

Tamageneris wrote a responsorial hay(na)ku to Tatang's "Falujah, Iraq" hay(na)ku. How much does the soul of an American weigh?

Before Their Words Postponed

I was looking forward to closing out the Jon Sims Theater stint. But, perhaps it's for the better more time to play with the show.

Before Their Words -POSTPONED to May
Jon Sims Theater
Friday April 9
8p

Hopefully, those of you who were planning on going Friday can make it in May.

I wanna be like William Hung

(actually I don't, but I'll continue...)

Veronica brought up Emil Guillermo's column discussing the fame (and soon to be fall) of the William Hung phenomena.

Hung who became famous for being so bad on American Idol is riding out his 15 minutes for as long as it can go. I heard he got several thousand dollars to do the CD(s). He went from nobody Asian male engineering student to Good Morning America to having a fan site. Maybe 8 years ago when I was a student at Cal and these "opportunities" appeared, I might have done the same thing.

But I also agree with Emil, that there are serious issues regarding what America perceives as the "Asian Man" that allow for William's "fame." If white guys don't have soul, then Asian guys don't have soul, can't sing, and have a funny accent. Is William aware of what he's stepping into in the complex world of racial dynamics and perception in this country? Maybe, maybe not?

William's professor talks about how William just goes with it, doesn't seem to see the negativity in anything about his experience. And that, is an amazing skill. He doesn't seem to mind that people are laughing, he's just glad to be entertaining. Does he understand the historical context on why they might be so entertained? Don't know. Maybe we should ask Ling-Chi Wang (UC Berkeley Ethnic Studies) to see if William has taken any Asian American studies classes. I mean, I wish I could be so thick skinned as to be able to ignore the underlying current of it all.

I actually saw William Hung on campus while I was walking to work. I wanted to stop him, ask him about his experience. But I stopped and thought better. I simply let him be on his way like all the other students on campus.

I am in a generation that is obsessed with fame and recognition. We are the generation of the Real World and reality tv, where your business is everybody's business with the possibility of garnering instant fame and recognition. Reality TV is full of the "perfect" people, the pretty people who get the guy/gal and win the million dollars. William's claim to fame is by being horribly bad and people like to see horribly untalented as much as they want to watch pretty and perfect. We like to watch train wrecks over and over again. Maybe even in slow motion. That's possibly why his CD isn't selling. We don't want to hear him, we want to watch. We want to watch him go out there and be the American Idol train wreck who in the face of Simon Cowell seems oblivious to the obvious, that he doesn't fit any kind of standard that show has.

I'm not sure if William Hung is really innocent or he simply plays off the innocence. Yet, William is not the first on the show to do this, even the folks who have some talent leave the show saying, "I don't care what they say, I'm going to make my dreams come true." For all the reality tv, we're not much of a generation for reality checks. We like our semi-ficticious reality tv.

I watched him walk past me, to see if anyone stopped him to acknowledge his fame. No one did. I hope for William that he enjoys the ride he's on, but to not believe all the hype. I'm sure he's having the time of his life. But when it's over, and people don't care anymore I hope he can let go. It's one big high afterall, the attention, the fame. A big drug.

People's attention spans are so short. And when the next innocently untalented guy who goes for it all, comes along, people will forget who William Hung is. Just ask the Star Wars Kid. But I hope William Hung remembers who he is.

Wednesdays in Oakland

I took a walk around part of Lake Merritt to head to my father's office to pick up my taxes. I make my feeble attempt at filing them, then he, the CPA, checks for my errors. It's not like the IRS is going to complain if you've paid them too much tax. Also a new thing on California's tax forms is a line asking if you want to voluntarily pay for any California sales tax for purchases you made on the internet.

so here for you is my walk around the lake:

I pick up lunch at a speedy sandwiches shop as other business suit workers file out onto the streets. Nearly everyone has the same lunch hour. This is so much different from being on campus where the standard issue suit of the day is sweats and t-shirts.

I walk down 20th til it hits the Lake. The Lake now really looks like a Jewel of Oakland. Unlike before growing up when it was sludgy with algae and its odor moved like a fog that lingered through Oakland streets. They've since figured out how to manage it with a few extra fountains to keep the water moving.

Lake Merritt is manmade and connects with the bay waters. It is a mix of salt and fresh water. A small island on the other side is a refuge for migrating fowl. The trees on the island mimic the condo high rises that encircle the lake. There's a paved path around the lake, with various paths carved into the grass beside it for the fast lane runners who'd like to pass the baby buggies and the casual strollers.

I pass a clump of rotted pier stumps, green and barnacled that serve as a resting place for seagulls. A sign next to the gulls claims there is $50K of a goal amount of $100K. I think this is for a replacement pier. But then where will the seagulls perch? Early on, the Lake allowed for sport fishing, but banned it once the bird sanctuary was in place.

The lake is not deep near the shore. You can see clear to the muddy bottom. Water is only a few feet. I'm sure the mud is much deeper. Here the seagulls break for lunch. One gray speckled one dives its head to emerge with a mussel in its beak. The shore of the Lake is strewn with the remnant shells of former seagull meals. The pearl lined shells tread upon by hundreds of sneakers.

I follow the bell of a ice cream pushcart as it walks around the Lake, luring the hungry walkers and joggers, most of whom have set aside eating lunch during their hour. Perhaps they will hit Starbucks or pick up an energy drink at Longs before returning to their beige cubicles. Jackhammers tearing the streets, the urban "birdcall" of the crossing lights that beckon the seeing impaired to cross safely, with the squawks of seagulls and the honks of geese.

I near my father's office, an old boat house by the Cameron Stanford House on 14th. A row of trees that look ancient line the shore near his building. They are all in bloom with small white flowers that remind me of jasmine without the fragrance. Their trunks are striated and twisted like newly pulled taffy. If it weren't for the flowers, they'd look more like large driftwood.

I enter the office and ask the front desk for my father. She calls him up to announce my arrival and tells me I can go in. "That's Narciso's daughter. Isn't she cute?" she tells her coworkers as "That's Narciso's daughter?" echos behind me on the way to his office.

Growing up, visiting my parent's offices was like adventure in big people's world. I would see their office, look at the pictures they have lined on their desks along with the stacks of folders, papers, and reports full of numbers and ratios, debits and credits. We would then be brought to be shown to their coworkers who were happy to see a 3 dimensional version of our parent's desktop pictures, usually already a year or two behind our actual age. They would enjoy guessing our names based on what they knew. For me, they were complete strangers that knew oddly intimate details of my life.

My father's desk is large with a view of the mussel dining seagulls on the lake. As usual, it is stacked high with folders and reports. He retains one 8"x11" space for him to work next to the calculator. Unlike my desk, it's a very orderly chaos.

He shows me my corrections on the federal forms. Reminds me to make a copy for myself before sending it off. Then let's me know we'll be having Easter lunch on Sunday and to invite the SO. I walk back to my office, he prepares for a meeting. I'm not sure when he takes lunch.

I walk back the same path and sit on a bench to eat lunch near the pierless pier stumps where the seagulls still perch. They like to people watch I think. Some walk the Lake in pairs maybe in threes sharing today's gossip, "oh, he told me that..." "sabi niya..." "oh hell no..." spill like runoff from the streets into the lake. While some change completely out of their "business" attire into formal workout clothes, others slip on the pair of walking shoes over thin socked feet and pantyhose. Women in dark bottom light top outfits. Men in a fairly standard issue brown khakis with light blue shirt. The neutral non-offensive wear of the modern working world. There are others who instead sit in shaded areas to have lunch, perhaps take a power nap using a copy of east bay express for their blanket.

I check my watch and head back. The noon hour almost up. The muddy bottom near the shore looks dead, but I spot a tiny fish jetting through along with a water glider only evidenced by the small ripple it makes pushing itself across the surface. A pair of geese flies across the water as if they are skipping rocks, so close the lake shadows their image underneath.

I pass by a small park, Snow Park. A small wooden sign marks this corner as Georgia's corner. I presume she must have liked the flowers planted there. A few fellows have brought out their putters to the small green there, imagine themselves to be Tiger on the 18th needing this birdie to win the green jacket at Masters.

The line to Starbucks is never ending. One last espresso shot before staring at computer screens and mining data. The streets and lunch spots empty as quickly as they filled.

I push four on the elevator button panel. The sound of geese, the sight of taffy stretched tree trunks still in my mind.

on weaving palms

The SO and I went back to my alma mater for Palm Sunday. I'd like to get married in that church. Though there's another Catholic church nearby that my family has attended for 20 years, going home, means going to St. Joseph's in Alameda. This is the place afterall my search for a spiritual journey began.

I also like Father Rich who heads the church and who was minister for the high school when I was there. I like him. We've run into each other once in a while. We even ran into each other in the Philippines. He hated the heat. He's a practical guy; really makes the bible stories relate to real people in their real lives. I still remember the story he told during our high school graduation about how he got coerced by a little kid to ring the doorbell of a house. The kid couldn't reach the doorbell. After ringing the bell for the kid, he asked the kid what we do next. The kid told him, "we run, Father!" And then there's the story of how his dad drives him nuts just like everyone else's dad.

I remember my music teacher had gotten his girlfriend pregnant which was all scandalous for a Catholic school. They followed church rules that say you should put the welfare of the child first and not force a wedding before the child is born. (Yes, the church actually encourages you to have a child out of wedlock.) Her due date was close. I was the only person in class who knew that he wasn't married and that he was expecting. The day of his son's birth, the class was hanging outside during class, Father Rich comes along and exclaims, "oh, I guess today is the big day! He's a new father!" The other students react saying they didn't even know he was married. I answer them and look at Father Rich conspiratorially, "Why, um, yes! You didn't know that?" He nodded in understanding.

I was fortunate to only hit Catholic school in high school. To learn these doctrines at a point when I could question and analyze and understand and accept what I wanted for myself as opposed to getting it from ground zero and learning a religion as something imposed by school. It makes me a less bitter Catholic I think.

While listening to the Passion, I wove the palm fronds. You have to get the ones that aren't split yet and not so dry. I was kind of half listening and half weaving. I always have to relearn how to weave the fronds, figure out which strand goes under and over. I thought about the feng shui of a church, one shaped like a cross where the prosperity area and relationship area are cut off which makes sense. How parishes are often poor financially, and the priests, well, they ain't getting married any time soon. This leaves us to concentrate on the fame and reputation of Jesus Christ hanging on the crucifix. I wondered what the Vatican is like. I'm sure the Vatican's prosperity area isn't cut off. That would explain how the Vatican is filthy rich, but the parishes and the mass of the masses stay poor.

I then thought of religious icons. How Christan icons always seem sad and in pain. Even Mary seems sullen. But Buddha always seems round and jolly, like Santa Claus. When this one restaurant we frequented changed owners they switched religious icons from buddha to santo nino. The restaurant subsequently became more sullen and not as happy and the food started to go down.

I'm not sure what Mohammed is supposed to look like, so I pondered physical positions of prayer. When Muslims pray sitting on their knees towards Mecca, the position is the yoga "child's pose." The position opens up the hips in particular, which is an area of great energy in the body. I've read about it in some meditation books. I found that idea fascinating. How their prayer position literally opens up the body and energy.

They were reading Luke's version of the Passion and stressed that there is little about any kind of violence inflicted on Jesus during this time unlike, ahem, some blockbuster movies out there. But I guess people want to see the violence. They want to imagine that Jesus really suffered and phsyical suffering is easiest to relate to. In a strange way it gives them perspective like, "oh you think YOU got it bad, that isn't anything compared to what happened to Jesus." The psychology of it, the need to pay for things in blood.

A friend of mine doesn't go to church, but his wife, mother-in-law and kids do. He can't get himself to join any group anymore really. He is bothered by the way people preach "the one and only truth" and say that they are the only ones who know what that "truth" is. He can't join groups anymore because he feels like in order to stay in that group, he must believe in the same way that they do.

I compare that to me. I'm always joining or forming groups. But I've never felt like I had to believe what they believe in the way that they believe it. And if I did, I left the group. But somehow, I find that space, just under inside the perimeter of the group, that area where I can belong, but not really. I've always been the floater, even growing up. I floated between jocks and nerds much of my life. Being neither, being both. Everyone has a bit of the truth. Even I can't say I have the one and only truth, but I have the truth that works for me right now. And tomorrow maybe it will change, and next week, it will be completely different.

Even my friends now are like this. We float in and out of each other's lives, but always remembering the one truth of our friendship. It allows us an open door. Like my high school teacher who literally had the front door and the buddy door in this old place she lived in. She didn't rarely opened the front door to anyone, but if the light is on, the buddy door was always open.

I managed to weave through three palm fronds during the reading of the passion then my fingers got sticky from the sap. I'm thinking about attending mass more regularly. It's partially a requirement I think to being married in the church. But it's not about requirements. I'm just feeling like I should just be home more often.

One way to have a Good Friday

This is the final show that we're doing for the Jon Sims stint. There's a possibility we do it again in June. Perhaps in NYC later this year. And I'll let you know now that we changed the show since the last time, so it's a whole new experience. That's probably one of the best things out of this experience of one show a month, it's given us a chance to tweak and experiment, which for most shows you don't get the chance to do.

before their words

Come experience Maiana’s beautiful poetry, Michelle’s & Rona’s dazzling martial arts & Neddy’s soothing guitar melodies!

After 3 months of hard work, this is the last show at Jon Sims - Friday, April 9 @ 8p!  $sliding scale, call for reservations at 415.554.0402

Jon Sims Center For The Arts, 1519 Mission Street (between 11th Street and South Van Ness), South of Market (check website for directions) Maiana’s chapbooks will also be available for sale at the show.

As part of the Jon Sims Center’s Artist In Residence program, the work-in-progress will be followed by a post-performance discussion and feedback with the audience, and reception with the artists.

‘before their words’ (a work in progress), by Maiana Minahal, is a collaborative, interdisciplinary, multimedia poetry performance that combines subversive, poetic narrative with pre-colonial Philippine cultural traditions and art forms. Utilizing indigenous Philippine dance (Singkil), martial arts (Kali), and music, the larger poetic narrative unfolds as the (queer) re-telling of the Philippine folktale of Sondayo, the village woman who battles the wind goddess to re-claim her stolen husband. Featuring Michelle Bautista, Nedjula Baguio, and Rona Fernandez.
 
Maiana Minahal is a queer Filipina American poet and teacher, born in Manila, raised in Los Angeles, and currently living in San Francisco. She studied with June Jordan's Poetry for the People program, is a recipient of an Artist Award Grant from the Serpent Source Foundation, and is one of the founding members of the Queer Pin@y Kreatibo collective. She has most recently been published in the anthologies ‘Going Home to a Landscape’ and ‘Screaming Monkeys.’  Maiana's first chapbook, ‘closer,’ and her first book, ‘Sitting Inside Wonder,’ both came out last year.

Michelle Bautista is a SF Bay Area native and an instructor in the Filipino martial art of Kali as well as a published poet.  Her work can be found in "Babaylan", "Eros Pinoy", and most recently "Going Home to a Landscape" (Calyx, 2003).

Nedjula Baguio graduated with a BA in music from San Francisco State in 2002. She currently volunteers for the prison advocacy group TIP, Transgender In Prison. She lives and works in San Francisco and spends her free time causing trouble for "the man".

Rona Fernandez can recently be found doing yoga poses and Pilates at the Richmond district Y, crafting fiction in random cafes, taking long walks in Golden Gate Park and generally living it up in San Francisco and Oakland (and a few other places here and there). She is also a student of the Kamatuuran School of Kali under Gura Michelle Bautista and Tuhan Joseph T. Arriola.

driving to sf

My cousin wanted to go to the Bindlestiff Alley, where Bindlestiff Studios have temporarily moved while their former building gets demolished and rebuilt, but she couldn't find anyone who was going. I was going to a retirement party of the guy who ran the lab the SO had been in in grad school. But more on that in a bit.

I tell my cousin to contact a friend of mine who will probably go. He says it's cool. Now, what to tell her parents.

Since her 18th birthday, she's been growing up along with her parents. She lives out in the burbs. Before, if she was visiting me over in Oakland, her parents would tell her to drive to the BART station then take BART to my place. Thing is, the BART station she parked at was only 10 minutes away from my place and slightly more dangerous. So, the last time she came to my place, I convinced her to just drive the whole way and park at my place since my neighborhood was safer, which she did. And though she was scared, she realized that didn't hurt one bit.

Her parents still don't want her driving all the way to San Francisco. Oakland is far enough, but San Francisco is this big scary other world. I remember when I was her age, my parents felt the same way. My father wanted me to park in downtown Oakland and take Bart into Berkeley for school, which added 30 minutes to my commute. What I soon realized is that by the time I came back from Berkeley, downtown Oakland was a ghost town and considerably more dangerous to walk through than a busy night street in Berkeley. From then on, I drove straight to Berkeley. It was ironic, the thing that my parent's thought was safe and familiar ended up being the more dangerous option.

Now, here is my cousin, going to an event in the city essentially by herself. Before one of the older cousins would join her or at least one of her friends. But this time she goes with one of my friends. She spends the evening agonizing what to tell her parents. Would they freak out that she's going with a guy alone and no girl friends? My friend tells her to tell her parents that if anything happens to her, Michelle will undoubtedly kick his ass. (Sometimes it pays to have a reputation of a woman who collects swords.)

I'm hoping the fact that he is one of my friend's buys her some credibility. I have that affect on parents. "Oh, it's Michelle's friend?" or "Oh, you're going with Michelle? OK whatever." For some reason my reputation holds the ultimate in responsibility cards. Um, I guess they didn't read my blog about my trip to the Philippines. good. good. yeeeah.

OK, so the plan is the drive to my place, park here and have my friend pick her up here then head to the City. Fine. Next thing I know, I get a call. "Ate, I took the wrong exit, I'm on the bay bridge on the way to San Francisco. What exit do I take?" I give her directions to the place and tell her to make sure to get parking on a nice well lit street. Bindlestiff is not the greatest of neighborhoods, especially if you're from the burbs and not used to this city life.

As I turn off the phone I think, "good for her!" she's made a bold move. My father didn't like the idea of me driving to the city either. He hated driving in the city: narrow streets, MUNI, bicyclists, one way signs that never seem to go your way.

I remember driving to the city for the first time. Actually, I had one of my friends drive my car just to see how it was done. He was from the City. I remember his girlfriend being so mad that he was driving my car so nicely, when he drives her car like a maniac.

After watching him drive that one time, I decided to try it myself. I don't remember where I went exactly. It was probably an event or something. I remember being on high alert, concentrating on keeping the car in my lane, worried about whether I could get over in the correct lane with the speeding cars. Though the City had been just a bridge away, we didn't have that many relatives there so there weren't too many reasons to go and if we did go, we might go take the train in. It was exciting and scary! Kept thinking what my dad would say if he saw me driving here. Wondered if he would get mad. Crossing back over to the east bay I felt triumphant and a sense of freedom from the monsters that my father said were on the other side of the bridge. Eventually, I would drive across the bridge more and more often till it wasn't that big of a deal.

My parents would eventually also find out that I was driving across the bridge and somewhere concluded that since I successfully came back alive so many times that any time the family was going to the city, I would be driving in order to get there at least 30 minutes faster than if my father drove. Thus became my ever evolving role as the family "dryber," especially when my sister went off to college. Take my grandparents grocery shopping, my mom to a party, pick my brother from school. Being a "dryber" got me a cool gig once being Joey and Jesse Ayala's chauffer for a week. In one sense, my new found freedom got me more responsibility, but so goes the way of freedom.

So here I am, blogging, staying up, waiting for my cousin to come back from the city. It's a bit too far to drive back to the burbs tonight, so she'll take a pit stop here, before going home tomorrow.

My role as a "good ate" is to teach my younger cousins how to make choices. And to make choices that don't necessarily coincide with their parent's wishes. Their parents would consider it "rebelling." My brother asked me once, how did I get this relationship with our parents. How I can just go off and go places despite their advise not to. Looking back, I realized it wasn't so much the big decisions (like when I went to the Philippines for the first time without my family) but these small ones like driving a little farther down the road, that really added up.

I came to realize that each time I drove further down the road, it broke down some of the fears my parents had for me. These things I had imagined as dangerous because they said so, no longer were. I came to understand danger as risk. While danger connotes an eminent thing that will happen, risk was more like something might happen. Each time I "survived" a drive back from SF, made them less fearful of the world.

I realize too that my parents give the advise they give because they've been down some of these roads before and are only telling us what they have seen. And I should be aware that if I go down that road too, that I might see the same exact things. Yet, what I came to learn is that I may not necessarily have the same exact experience. I cherish the advise my parents are able to give me now, because I know that there will be a day when they won't be there to give that advise. In the end, advise is what it is. In the end, you choose whether to take this exit or drive further down.

clutzy me

Today has got to be one of my more uncoordinated days. Bought a cup of soup for lunch, spilled it on my hand and the ground, saved enough of it to still have lunch. I don't know what I was cursing more: the embarassment, or the stinging heat on my hand. (but karmic thank you to the woman who asked if I was alright.) Then this afternoon, spilled a cup of water on my pants and floor, while looking at my co-worker's new cell phone. Good thing I'm not teaching or doing kali today. Perhaps its because I've done a total of nearly a week of serious concentrating.

Last Friday was poker night, which though entertaining takes a lot of focus to get through. I held my own and got back what I put in, but not without blowing a few gaskets in my head keeping track of the probable odds in people's hands. The mental fatigue is the hardest thing about poker. When you get tired you make bad decisions like staying in the pot too long knowing you only have a pair of twos.

Saturday was a feng shui workshop. Feng shui is the study and art of room decor or placement. If you see the air in your home as energy, it's about studying how the energy flows in a room and being able to transform stagnant energy with active quality energy. Since then, been thinking about the duality of things, the idea of mass into energy into mass again, and how good things contain a seed of bad and bad things contain a seed of good. Again, more headiness.

Sunday was the money group. More numbers. More analysis and thinking about how to save, where to spend, and how to save more. Kind of like the mass to energy to mass again idea.

Monday, Tuesday, Thursday all days I teach Kali. But Monday included judging for the Growing up Asian American essay contest at the Asian Pacific Fund. The topic was Friendship. Winners will be announced at the end of the month. This was a delightful time, but contributed a few brain cells weighing the merits between the finalists. Their writing and insight blew me away!

Wednesday was rehearsal for Before Their Words. Check out Maiana's piece on Babaylan Speaks April edition. Our final show at Jon Sims is Friday April 9. Going to try to integrate two beings during the Sondayo vs the Wind Goddess scene. Lots of really good discussion on how one beats the wind goddess and what does winning mean and how does a mortal win. Trying to figure out how to visually show the story and emotion.

So, today, I spent much of the day trying to finish up my taxes so my dad can go over them on Sunday. But my brain was well gone before then. Tonight is kulintang. So, I'll just have to ride on the music. It's so easy to get carried away in the beats and rhythms of the brass gongs. Perhaps then my brain can rest.

It was a good busy week. Unlike bad busy weeks which are overwhelming. This one I managed to ride along well. I haven't written any poems lately. But this week felt like a poem. So many ideas and concepts to filter through that I'm sure will find its way to my writing. Topics I've wanted to write about appeared. Right now, it just feels numb, like there's a log jam to the entrance of my brain.

Looking forward to weaving Palm fronds on Sunday. I don't go to church often, but I like Palm Sunday. I like folding the leaves into a zig-zag pattern, back and forth around the stiff center cord. It's the only think I know how to fold. Others will make crosses and other designs. I'm not sure if anyone is paying attention to the sermon, they're all in their own meditative folding worlds.

moving in the movement

Over the years I've met quite a few Filipino activists who have been activists for over 20 years now. They tell me all sorts of stories, about the different organizations and the splits in the left. It's a complicated storyline with various characters, intrigue, and even an old sage of a man with a fiery spirit.

They tell me about how back in the day these people who used to be in opposite leftist groups used to plot and undermine each other during that movement that covered much of the Marcos era. It's funny they say, "I didn't even know these people, yet they were the enemy and I hated them." But now, many of them get along and have worked together in recent movements.

In these conversations I often sit and watch and listen, trying to figure out the pieces of the puzzle. Sometimes, they try not to name names to protect those I may also know as to not taint the minds of the younger generation. I don't know if I'll ever understand it fully. Even now, over 25 years later, many who were a part of these movements still hold resentments towards each other. Some have not told their children how they were a part of history.

My generation only hears bits and pieces. They are like my parents in this way. They think it best at times not to tell the next generation the problems of the past. Some were excellent archivists and have volumes of material from that era. They talk about donating it some day to some library, then think perhaps not now. There are still a few boxes to perhaps censor lest they incriminate anyone.

We see these people all over the community now. They're professors, directors of community organizations, lawyers, doctors, writers, artists, nurses, etc. I was having lunch with one of them today. He too has his collection from the past.

He says there are people who still carry a lot of resentment from those days. I tell him I wonder how that comes to play in their health and well being. He'd like to call a reunion of another group during that time, just to bring some closure for people. He immediately received an email saying, "no! no! no! not ever!"

I enjoy listening to all these people's stories. I wonder how this history influences my generation. I tell my friend, what you should do is donate it to a library, but with instructions that certain material not be released until some far date in the future when most of the said parties should be long gone. He ponders that suggestion. It's not that they don't want people to know what happened, they want to protect people who perhaps would like to keep their past in the past.

As we leave, I tell him, you will all be in my fictional novel some day. It all makes for a great book: mad dictator, culty left organization, conspiracy theories, and oh yes, the old sage with a spirit of fire.

Another slice of pi

Another link to Pi, is the movie Pi directed by Darren Aronofsky. I liked the film a lot. It's about this guy who is not obsessed with Pi, but in finding an equation that will predict the stock market. He is obsessed by this pursuit as well as some other folks, including Hasidic Jews who believe that his formula will also unlock the words of god, as a kind of numerology based code and another mysterious group who have their own mischievious plans. A geeky funny moment is when he upgrades his computer with some all powerful stolen processor chip, but computer geeks will recognize it as some cheap Pentium 1 chip. The movie is a bit of a thriller as you ponder where this powerful information will fall and whether it is worthwhile to discover such things at all.

When it came out in 1998, I actually wasn't planning on seeing it. But a college friend said that his brother, Matthew Libatique, was the Director of Photography. He's also done "Requiem for a Dream," "Josie and the Pussycats," and "Phonebooth."

the nameless be named

The nameless poet at Tamageneris is now named (Malaya T'shai) and is blowing me away! Check out the 3/27 hay(na)ku that incorporates the lyrics to "God Bless, America" with various other lines.

I am the number that is infinite

Chatty claims we often get the same answer on these quizzes. Though she may be the boundless infinity, I am the number with the inifinite string...pi!

In high school, there was a Pi festival, about as nerdy as you could possibly get with piE eating contests and a contest to see who could memorize pi to the longest string. For those of you who don't know, pi is the ratio of the circumference of a circle (the length of the line that creates the circle) and its diameter (the line that goes across the circle). For all circles, this ratio is the value of pi which is roughly 3.1415926..... This string is actually infinite (as far as we know) and thousands of mathematicians around the world are trying to count out pi for as far along the decimal chain as it can go! And let me tell you, if one of these folks ever finds that pi stops, the mathematical world as we know it might fall flat on its face. It's one of those things that if ever found, would send mathematician's heads spinning.

Unlike numbers like one half (0.5) or even one third (.333333333) which either end or go one forever with one number, pi does not. It's like the trail of birdcrumbs that people are following just to see if the road ends, thus as of this point leading them onto the road of infinity. As I recall, there was one girl at school who was particularly obsessed with memorizing pi, she correctly spoke pi to 300 digits. Talk about someone ready for med school!

There's something quite poetic about pi. How comparing two parts of a circle leads to a number with an infinite end, no precise, exact number to speak of, only an approximation. In that way, poetry does not have a precise end, though we may all start on the same blank sheet.

I am p Everyone loves pi _

what number are you?

this quiz by orsa

The Eagles are coming!

I got this press release over email:

PHILIPPINE EAGLE FOUNDATION
EXPERIMENTAL RELEASE PROJECT

LOGISTICAL DETAILS

Where and when will all these happen?

On March 30, Kabayan will be transported via helicopter from the
Philippine Eagle Center in Malagos, Davao City, arriving at Site B of
the PNOC Geothermal Reserve in Kidapawan City, Cotabato by 8 o'clock
in the morning. The bird will be immediately transferred to the hack
box upon arrival at the site. A short program and reception follows
after.

On April 22, a short program shall be held at 8 o'clock in the
morning before the hack box will be opened at 9am. Guests may take
their time to observe the bird at their convenience until the
reception at 11 o'clock.

Hack site conditions.

The hack site is approximately 75 steps through the forest from the
roadside. Rugged footwear and rain jackets are recommended. Site B
is approximately 1200 meters (3900 ft.) above sea level (the peak of
Mt. Apo is about 3000 m or 9842 ft.) with cool to cold temperatures.

The observation area is 10 meters away from the hack box. Everyone
is asked to stay behind the camouflaged blinds during observation.
The blinds run a length of 10 meters and will allow only up to 15
observers at a time. Peep holes measuring approximately 5 x 8 inches
will be cut into the blinds.

Members of guests' entourage are requested to stay at the Program
Hall. Please note that PEF's field biologists will also be at the
observation area to take notes on the bird's progress. Minimal noise
is requested so as not to startle the bird.

How to get there?

The PNOC reserve is at Barangay Ilomavis, Kidapawan City, Cotabato
and is approximately four hours' drive from Davao City. The road
from Davao to Kidapawan is generally smooth, while the section from
Kidapawan to PNOC is mostly gravel and is at a 45º incline in some
parts.

A helipad is available at Genatilan town (coordinates N 06º 59.44, E
125º 13.703), and is only about 30 minutes away from the PNOC
entrance gate.

Transportation from Davao City to the release site and vise versa
will be made available at scheduled intervals. Reservation is
required.

Access

The PNOC is a restricted access facility. Everyone is required to
forward the names and vehicle information (Make and Model, Color,
Plate Number) of their party to the PEF for processing of access
passes.

Philippine Eagle Foundation
VAL Learning Village, Ruby St.
Marfori Heights, Davao City

Tel + 63 82 2243021
Fax + 63 82 2243022

Save paper, email us at phileagl@info.com.ph
www.philippineeagle.org


====

This is a very exciting new development! I was lucky enough to go to the Philippine Eagle Sanctuary in Davao when I went in 2000. In the visitor's lounge you watch a video on what they do in the sanctuary. How handlers put on hand puppets to become the baby eagle's surrogate parents. Then while Joey Ayala's "Agila" plays you watch video of large eagles soaring in the air. The tragic part really is that the video is not of the Philippine eagle, it's the Canadian eagle, its not so tall cousin. The Philippine eagle is the tallest eagle in the world, standing at nearly 4 feet with a tremendous wingspan. It's also been called the monkey-eating eagle.

There were three eagles in residence at the time, two males, one female. The males cages were small, barely room to spread their wings out and certainly not enough room to fly. The female eagle had the larger cage, but only large enough to beat her wings once to reach the next perch. The size of the cages varied to the amount the corporate sponsor was able to contribute. This cage sponsored by Exxon, another by Philippine Bank. Their mother who was one of the first eagles stood taxidermied in a plastic enclosure inside the visitor's center. It was heartbreaking.

Being a large predator, they need expansive range and territory to survive. As the forests dwindle, there is not enough forest to sustain a population of eagles. Too bad the eagle can't adapt to urban life like some eagles and falcons in the Mission in SF that eat pigeons.

From the stories I've heard, the eagles used to fly everywhere. My parents remember a hurt one that took refuge under a house in the province.

I remember in the 80s when they started gathering California condor eggs to raise and then set free, and now some of them are raising chicks on their own.

As the top of the food chain, the eagles are one of the first indicators that the pyramid is falling. The Philippines is one of the most biodiverse places in the world with hundreds if not thousands of animal and insect species known to only exist amidst the 7,000 islands. This makes the release of a Philippine eagle into the wild that much more inspiring.

As I write this there's a sense of pride, of nationalism, of faith in humanity that maybe we're doing something right for this world for once.

Hay(na)ku! isa-dalawa-tatlo is addicting!

A new hay(na)ku devoted site...tamageneris!!! The author has been looking for a creative outlet for a while and found inspiration from the various hay(na)ku sites. Hey, even if you think you're more of a puwet than a poet, you can write a hay(na)ku!

Tamageneris' title is partially inspired by the Star Trek: Next Generation episode where Picard makes first contact with a species who speaks only in metaphoric reference to their various myths. One of the absolutely BEST episodes of the Next Generation series!

YES! YES! YES! more poetry in the world!

I am Caine

Picked up "Kung Fu: Season 1" on DVD. OK, though I wish they had put an actual Asian in the roll of Kwai Chang Caine, they did put in as many Asians as they could in that series. Watching the background interviews, they said that though they went through just about every Asian actor in Hollywood, there was no one they thought could do the part. Hell, even Bruce Lee barged into the producer's office hoping to score the role only to be rejected because, "they couldn't understand his English." I think it was more that they didn't think America was ready for an Asian male lead actor. Even today the major networks haven't put one on.

When they chose David Carradine, the Asian American community protested and demanded an Asian replace Carradine. What they got was request number 2, the show needed to get an Asian/Asian American historian and various other Asian expert consultants on the set. ABC didn't want to "offend" the Asian community. (which is perhaps why 20 years later they get an "Asian consultant" for Margaret Cho's "All American Girl," so Margaret would be a "real Asian," someone should tell ABC being Asian is not a formula.)

My all-time favorite characters were Master Kan (Philip Ahn) and Master Po (Keye Luke). Master Kan, the head of the monestary, always keeping a watchful eye on students, waiting for them to be able to take the pebble from his hand and Master Po, the blind master, who always called Caine, "young grasshopper."

And who didn't try to reenact the "walk the rice paper" and the "scorching pot" scenes? We tried to learn to step so no one could hear us, but our parents had ears like Master Po.

Kung Fu, prior to then, was not really known outside of Chinatown like many of the other martial arts. Though in the SF Bay Area, the Capital of Martial Arts, folks were slowly bringing the teachings outside neighborhood lines. So, these words like Tao, and Kung Fu, and chi weren't in most people's vocabularies.

The pilot episode centers around a railroad camp that Caine comes to work at. In one sense, I liked how the actors weren't forced to use some fake Asian accent to make their portrayal more "authentic," like Pat Morita did in Happy Days. The Asian characters discuss how they know they are being treated "less than human" and the harsh conditions of the camp for very little money.

"Kung Fu" did not have a regular writing crew. They picked up stories from wherever, but wrote all the temple scenes because they had the Asian consultants to write that.

Speaking of non-Asians playing Asians. I had watched "Hawaii 5-0." In this episode, Carlo Montalban played a Japanese man who had assumed someone else's identity during World War II because he had jumped ship on a Japanese submarine. I enter the show watching Steve McGarrett interviewing Montalban's character about his past. He talks about coming to the islands as a young man to the (sugar) cane fields and how when the US came to round up all the Japanese to be interned, he fled through the fields.

I kind of have mixed feelings sometimes about the shows. In one sense, they brought a lot of Asian faces to the television screen. (How many Asian faces did you see on Bay Watch Hawaii?) Yet, because there haven't been other shows, I wonder how "Kung Fu" in particular has contributed to the continued stereotypes of Asians on screen as the "Kung Fu Fighter" even though on the show, only Caine knew any "ancient" fighting moves.

Maybe when I'm able to snatch the pebble from someone's palm, I'll know that answer.

Friday on Sproul

Why do the hacky sack guys always have big ol' beer bellies?

Though I got to give it to them for having excellent hip flexibility and coordination.

lipstick and lashes

Barbara and Leny contemplate feminism and cosmetics.

Although it's a very rare occassion that I wear makeup (so much so that I simply rebuy makeup because I don't quite remember which purse I left the last stash in), it's not because I thought of it as a feminist thing to do. I'm just lazy. I also never really learned to do makeup properly. And at this point have worn makeup so infrequently that it irritates my skin. Perhaps I should follow Leny's lead into organic cosmetics.

I would watch my mother apply makeup before going to work. The only thing I really liked was the fragrant Chanel powder she had. I liked the fluffy cotton powder puff she used to apply it with.

The only makeup I could apply properly was for stage. Stage make up is easy because you just make sure to apply too much so the people in the back can still see how rosey your cheeks are despite the bright wash of light drowning out any skin tones.

So, it's ironic, is it not or perhaps simply the universe balancing itself out, that the SO loves cosmetics. He loves looking at fashion magazines and critiques Malou Nubla's makeup on tv. He's the one who wanted Barbies and cut out pictures from fashion magazines growing up. I wanted GI Joes and Transformers.

I've looked at one or two magazines, the ones where they show women step by step how to get certain looks. I read one article about how to figure out how to contour the plucking of one's eyebrows. It discussed how you use the edges of one's nose to mark where to start the plucking. Of course, the model's face in the magazine ends up perfect because she has this thin nose. Then I think, what if I apply this to my face or non-white faces where our noses are more broad then long. And it hits me, this is why there are some Asian women who look like their eyebrows are sliding off their face! These angles and calculations don't work on non-white faces. Hmmm...

Once, I had professional makeup done on me, at the SO's sister's wedding. The makeup artist was a transgender Pin@y with a makeup kit that could rival any toolbox on a woodworking show. I felt like a canvas as she mixed colors and powder applying with the most delicate brushes and even fingertips. She even did my hair, creating this skyscraper metal structure of bobbypins so my 6 inch hair could be a stunning up do. It was amazing! I didn't look like me and it didn't even feel like I had make up on. This, I thought, was the way makeup is supposed to be. No wonder if takes hours and hours to make models "look" a certain way.

I ask the SO, why women need really dark eyeliners and eyeshadow. He tells me, well, if you have blond lashes, you have no eye definition, but most Asians don't need that much.

I've come to watch over the SO's shoulder when he critiques the makeup of women of color who are on tv. How some makeup people don't know which colors to use to define our faces so we end up like a two dimensional sheet or excessively use glossy makeup that makes lighter skin shimmer but only makes darker skin look like ghosts.

A long running project of mine is to talk to Filipino make up artists to understand how they use make up to accentuate our beauty. Isn't the true art of makeup at times to look like as though one does not have makeup? The dream is to someday come up with new rules for creating our faces.

I've often had a problem with white feminism that says we have to give up the things that we like as women in order to establish our empowerment. I do understand how not wearing makeup, or shaving one's legs could be seen as a reaction to a time when all women were expected to do these things in order to look a certain feminine way. But 20 years later, women have a choice. Now that we actively choose to wear makeup or not, is the feminist act simply not wearing the makeup or is the feminist act the fact that we were able to choose what makes us beautiful?

Cloud Warrior


Your Energy is Purple. You are a visionary with
unmatched intuition and spiritual
consciousness. The mystical world and
unexplainable forces fascinate you. There
resides in you a true dignity and nobility, and
others see you as a worthy leader, and loyal
friend. You are often very mature, with a deep
understanding of human nature, and you will
instinctively encourage and guide others toward
their full potential.

You find it natural to express yourself
aesthetically and artistically, you may be
involved in the artistic professions, a
religious organization, or in activities that
have a degree of ceremony and ritual. You would
make a good therapist, healer, psychic, or
entrepreneur.


What color is your energy?
brought to you by Quizilla

---

The sillouhette reminds me of one of the stances in my yoga warm-up video. They called it "Cloud Warrior." Purple is supposed to be a very powerful color in feng shui. The combination of water/blue and fire/red to create quite a few sparks. I actually like purple, but only wear it sparingly, especially when I want to feel luxurious.

sing me to sleep

Leny lent me a copy of Chin Chin Gutierrez' "Uyayi" while I wait for my copy on order. Some amazing arrangements of songs on there from some very well established Philippine artists. "Sa ugoy ng duyan" with its saxophones made me weepy and had me humming the song all evening.

What's truly amazing about the set is that it's 2 CDs. The first, a new arrangement of 17 lullabies, the second nearly 33 lullabies and songs sung by the original contributors! Plus a short movie about the process she took in meeting and talking with these people in the journey of making this CD.

It's fascinating! I was listening to the 2nd CD when I heard a familiar tune, "Oh my darling Clementine!" But when I checked the song notes, it was a Maguindanao song called, "Papanok." The woman had learned this song from her grandmother. I doubt the words were translatable to "oh my darlin' clementine." Hmm...I'll have to ask someone who might know what she's singing about. It would certainly put this woman's grandmother at the turn of the century, when the Americans had made their way through Mindanao and made it to areas where even the Spanish had dare not go.

Filipinos copy, but they also make it their own. So, when they make something their own, is it still a copy? (Boy, that's a question a few people will be debating about in their dessertations for a while.)

sigh, nakakainis ang bunso namin

My bro, 21 years old, 4th out of 5th year in a major at UCLA that he hates, cannot come to grips with telling our parents, what he really wants to do in his life. Hell, he can't even really tell me what he wants, and I'm close to him.

He chats with me, wonders how I got to a point in the relationship with our parents, where it's fairly cool. I do my thing, they don't complain too much about it. I don't think he was paying attention when I was having the all difficult, tell-dad-you-don't-aspire-to-the-same-things-he-wants-from-you when I was going through college. Then again he was 13, what do 13 year olds care about.

It takes time and it takes talking. And right now, he doesn't want to talk.

So he's in th computer science degree and he hates it. And he's love the community and theater work and wants to do that for a living. hmmm...get a degree in computer science, then work in the community...this is train wreck with my parents waiting to happen.

I can see it happening. My dad will ask him why he doesn't get a job in computer science. My brother will say because he hates it. My dad will ask, then why did you do 5 years of it if you hated it. My brother will reply, because you told me to. And my dad will say, "I didn't tell you to be unhappy." Then my brother will be pissed to no end because for the last 5 years of his life, he was trying to make my dad happy.

My parents don't have a problem with community work. They just care if you can pay your bills and live in a safe neighborhood. If you can do that, they don't really care what you do. They want to make sure you're in a good relationship and that if you choose to have kids, you have the means to take care of them and raise them. How you do it, well that's up to you.

It's funny, growing up, our dad was quite the authority figure who planned out our lives, ensured that we were model students and pressured us to go for the best schools. He would not settle for anything less. But I soon came to realize that life was not so linear, and saw myself on this one way track that I needed to jump off of and in a hurry. My initial plan was going to physical therapy school. My father would cut out articles about physical therapy for me, about how it was the job of the future and that society would need plenty of physical therapists.

Then, I attended a seminar about what physical therapists really do and I knew then, damn, I don't want to be a physical therapist. The next thought being, I'm screwed! I'm 12 units away from completing this major that points directly at being in the physical therapy or sports doctor field and I don't want to do it.

I had other interests. I wanted to do community work. I wanted to write. I knew I didn't want to follow the footsteps of my classmates into selling insurance or being a "consultant" whatever that meant.

So, I figured, just get through this major and get out. So I did. It has a nice fancy sounding title, "Human Biodynamics" which my parents barely pronounced and had no idea what that entailed. They just knew I was out of a nice big prestigiously named university.

Soon after, I went to look for a job. I lived at home, I wanted to move out. To move out, I needed money. Seemed simply enough. To move out, I need to get money. I had some contacts at the university and used them to get this job on campus. It paid enough so I could save money to rent an apartment or at least a room. I didn't have to wear corporate suits or dress up much. It worked and satisfied my goals and needs for 3 years, then I got another job at the university doing something I like to do more, plus it gives me time to do the stuff I really want to do.

During those years, I learned how to save, pay my bills, cook for myself, do laundry. I'm still working on how to keep up with household chores and get orchids to bloom, but I got the major stuff down.

My brother wants it all. He wants the work in the community to pay his rent. He believes that his network and community will back him up if things get rough. (That's fine, more power to him.) And he wants my parents to understand how important community and theater are to him. Yet, he is too afraid to tell them this. And I ask him, then how are they ever going to know?

Both me and my sister had our "talks" with dad. The initial confrontational talk where we said, "no, we don't want to do this anymore." In our minds we thought he would freak out and kick us out of the house. But what really happened was more something like, "OK. Then what DO you want to do?" And that was really the scary part, we didn't know. All we knew is that we didn't want to do this (be a doctor/physical therapist). And when he asks that, you feel really dumb as if you've lost against your father.

Looking back, I realize, it's not a competition. Dad is part of our team. It's not us vs them. And as soon as I came to see them as people with fears and mistakes, they came to see me too. Dad only cuts out these articles about our degrees because this is what he thinks we want to do. And he thinks this, because, well, we hadn't yet had the courage to tell him, we didn't want to.

Somewhere, in our years at college, we changed. And we forgot to tell our parents that we changed. I realize now, they were only going by the best known information to date.

And though my brother is getting on my nerves in this chat we're having online, because he's really avoiding my questions, and I sense he's running away from his fears, and epitomizing his fears in our father, in the end, I know, it's something we all go through. Something he has to go through like one of those rites of passage.

Before we leave, I tell my brother, mom and dad for as long as they live will always get your back, you just have to tell them in which direction you want to go.

In the Doghouse

Evil Clown Pat has watched the movie "It" one too many times. You can read his semi-psychotic thoughts in his D.O.G. (Diary of Goodies).

Ah, yes, it's springtime

It's springtime, as the leaves push out anew, it's time to head for the garden. The Blue Kangeroo has hopped away in the night.

Here's an amendment for ya

The Watcher notes that the American Anthropological Society has a reply to President Bush's call for a constitutional amendment (Whatever happened to the Republican ideal of government staying out of people's lives?):

Statement on Marriage and the Family from the American Anthropological Association

Arlington, Virginia; The Executive Board of the American Anthropological Association, the world's largest organization of anthropologists, the people who study culture, releases the following statement in response to President Bush's call for a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage as a threat to civilization.

"The results of more than a century of anthropological research on households, kinship relationships, and families, across cultures and through time, provide no support whatsoever for the view that either civilization or viable social orders depend upon marriage as an exclusively heterosexual institution. Rather, anthropological research supports the conclusion that a vast array of family types, including families built upon same-sex partnerships, can contribute to stable and humane societies.

The Executive Board of the American Anthropological Association strongly opposes a constitutional amendment limiting marriage to heterosexual couples."

I read an article in SFGate about Belgium. Belgium and other European countries have already granted same-sex marriage or simply changed marriage to be called "civil unions" in order to offer equal protection to anyone who chooses to be in a union with another person. [Of course it's Spain and Italy resists the tide of Europe thanks to the Vatican.] Anyway, it was big the first year, then has dwindled a bit. There have even been some registered divorces as well. Looking back now, the issues of same-sex marriage aren't that big of a deal. It didn't tear at the fabric of society, the world didn't head to utter chaotic oblivion. People just live their lives. Isn't that we all just want to do?

it's all about the length

Jam up spam systems with the longest email imagineable at http://www.abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijk.com.

Thank god for email address books. There is no way I'd ever remember that.

women and knives

Did a demo the other night for Berkeley's Pilipino American Alliance. It was just me and this other student, so I had to think of something creative to make our performance interesting. I usually don't do demos for the college students, but I liked the woman who asked me, so I did this one for her.

The idea of women and knives both entices and repels people. Men like the danger, women like the power. Men fear the power, women fear the danger. It has an interesting psychological effect.

In this demo, I wanted to show them that Kali is a Filipino martial art, not so much because we can trace it's lineage back to killing Magellan, because we really can't in the kind of anthropological dig kind of way that we would like, but it's a Filipino martial art, because we continue to reinvigorate that cultural energy into it. In part, I asked them to find the art that they know is already in them.

So we asked for one man, one woman out of the crowd to teach kali to, in 10 minutes or less. Tied a couple of malongs to their waists and threw them in there, not knowing where this experiment would go. Had the guy learn pari-check, a simple punch and deflect drill which he picked up really fast and got going really good.

I was paired up with the woman. She was jumpy, nervous. We practiced a bit of the pari-check as well, then I put a practice knife in her hand. Next thing you know, she's dodging, cutting, moving like a pro. Amazing!

The day before Tuhan had a seminar. He was telling folks there, it's not really about who your teacher is, but about how readily you are about accepting the kali and allowing it to enter you. In some ways, it's easier teachiing a pair of folks who have never done anything like this before, they don't have reservations about how to move or what something should be like.

The crowd cheered for their friends. We closed the demo with me sparring with sticks with my student as my malong was slipping off. Quite interesting to fight with one stick in one hand, and the other hand hanging onto the malong. And yes, I'd still win.

Got a new cousin

OK, so me and Patrick Macaraeg exchanged various family trees, and it seems we haven't quite figured out which branch of the tree we're on. It's either much deeper down the line (beyond great grandparents) or perhaps wider on the tree (2nd, 3rd, 4th cousins removed, etc).

But, since I already have so many cousins, it doesn't seem to hurt to add another one, even if we haven't quite figured out how we are cousins. Besides, his family is from a town down the road from mine, so we could at least be kababayan. Close enough. And, he's a fellow Mac geek, surely there's some genetic link there!

I was commenting to the SO, that my family takes just about anyone in. Family parties are not so excluded to family, but people as close to being family. Not only have they allowed boyfriends/girlfriends to tag along, but also just friends to be incorporated into the mix. Hell, more than one aunt has given refuge to their daughter's boyfriends. And I remember when I had a graduation party and had invited a friend of mine who is in a heavy motorized wheelchair, my uncles carried him and the chair up the 20 steps to my parent's house. He came this far, couldn't very well let him stay on the street. If you hang around the family long enough, you become a part of the family. They might even invite you along on a family trip.

Imelda

The Chronicle does a preview article for Imelda that is closing for the film festival.

Looks like the director is hoping to get it into the art house circuit by summer. That would be nice. I'd like to watch it again, but I don't want to spend $40, since it's the closing festival movie.

I think they were accurate in saying watching "Imelda" is like a train wreck. You know it's maddening, you know it's tragic (in many different ways), and you know how it all ends up, but you have to watch. She is the ultimate diva spin doctor. She puts Bill Clinton's teflon surface to SHAME!

I'm not sure how I feel about the director saying that she is like the Shakespearean tragedy. It seems to make it all much to romantic that what it was. I think in a play you can be romantic about tragedy. When a whole country is at the bottom of that tragedy, it's not so romantic.

"I wanted the documentary to mimic my experience with Mrs. Marcos," Diaz explains. "It started out as this fairy tale, then gets darker and more nonsensical."

Go, Pangasinan!

Well, I'm now working my way up the family tree to see if I'm related to Patrick Macaraeg. Even if I don't find a direct connection, I feel it safe to say that the connection is there somewhere. Macaraeg is not a common name. And, glad to hear Alex Trebek pronouncing it quite well. It's an easy name to just slaughter.

But, after that last post on looking for cousins, I find that Aimee is from Pangasinan too. Her mom, that is. Her mom is from way up past Hundred Islands on the west side of the Lingayen gulf, past where there is yet another statue of MacArthur standing on the shores completing his vow of "I shall return" in perpetuity rusting. Relic U.S. tanks guard the grounds of the provincial capital.

Carlos Bulosan is another Pangasinan writer. Pangasinan folks are creative types, at least the ones I've met so far. We also have a distinctive chin. That's what the SO says. (That's how I think we're related, Patrick, we have the same chin). We also have the best alamang or agamang as we pronounce it.

Several of the Philippine presidents hail from there. Though I'm not sure if I should be proud. We're certainly ambitious types. Current GMA and her daddy. Her mama is a Macaraeg.

Fidel Ramos is Pangasinan. When he was going to West Point here in the U.S., he stopped by my grandfather's cousin's house in the avenues in S.F. Auntie Adele's dad was a farm boy wanting to be Manila socialite in America. His house was Fil-Am socialite central in those days. When I researched a paper in college, his address popped up in all the Fil-Am community papers. Her dad wanted her to "meet" with this young military bound lad. Oh, how history might have changed. She ended up marrying this Fil-Am boy that didn't upgrade their social standing one bit. Nowadays, she croons 1920s songs to people in rest homes and is the designated den mother to a gay/lesbian church group for her retirement in Vegas.

Pangasinan is one of those provinces that just boarders 4 different languages and everyone in the middle speaks them all. That would be us. Ilokano, Kampamgpangan, Tagalog, and our very own Pangasian - the language (which some people call Pangasinensee or something like that) or the slangy term for the language, Pangalatok.

Pangasinan is actually pronounced like it has two g's (pang-gah-see-nahn). A lot of my friends from Pangasinan don't speak Pangasinan, it's one of the harder Philippine languages to learn they say. But we all know its distinctive sounds of the back of the throat nga sounds and the e's that sound like the u's in cut. So Macaraeg is pronounced mah-kah-rah-ug. With such a big family, I've been lucky enough to still hear it around me often enough. When I learned Tagalog, I realized my mother was switching between Tagalog and Pangasinan. Listening to her talk was like listening to radio with bad reception, understanding that fades in and out.

Learning Tagalog helped me learn Pangasinan by understanding what to listen for. Before it was all jumble-mumble. My older sister who didn't take Tagalog says she doesn't understand. But in truth, she does. Maybe not consciously, but instinctively.

ok, some quick all I know Pangasinan lessons:

latin niyo - where are you? where did you go?

inner - where? as in where is that place or object.

antoy ngaran mo? - what is your name?

shak met - me too

mangan tila - let's eat

ngarasen ak - i think means I'm tired. but also a reply to let's eat as in, "I'm tired of
eating"

bii - woman

laki - man

cho or cha - respectful title of older man or older woman.

wala - (and this is where the Tagalog speakers go nuts) - I have it or there is something here, the equivalent of meron in Tagalog. Which just goes to show, Pangasinan folks find something where Tagalog folks see nothing. We're just magical that way!

wadjai - it's here.

wadjara - it's here over there.

anggapo - is equivilent to the Tagalog "wala" of nothing.

talora - third/three

lima - hand (lima is five in Tagalog)

I know there are other words I know, like the word for second, as in "second child." That's how my mother introduces me.

I have this one younger cousin who was born here. She speaks and understands Pangasinan, being surrounded by it constantly since she was born. Though I was never able to learn it growing up, having had teachers who told my parents to speak in English. I've done what I can to tell my uncles and aunts to ignore the teachers who tell them that. You'd think teachers wouldn't tell people that anymore, but they still do.

During my birthday, a friend got my mother to sing a song in Pangasinan. Something she sang to us as children. It turned out the party was filled with Fil-Am Pangasinan folks, who don't speak it but have ears tuned to its melody. It was one of those moments I wish I had a video camera for. I can't remember the song anymore. But I remember the emotion. I remember how quiet we all got, looking off in different directions. The sound of the guitar and my mother's voice. They remembered the sound of family parties, of their mothers or fathers humming tunes. I remember the long slow breath everyone took after she finished as if breaking the trance we were all in. I would like to learn this song or at least record it even if it's the only Pangasinan I may ever know. To think, that the most touching thing I ever heard, was something I may never understand.

lladro

The Watcher posts this, a Lladro sculpture of a Singkil Princess and Umbrella woman. Only 1500 of them made. Started in 1981 and discontinued in 1995. Last US price $2400. hmm...I wonder if one of these will make it's way to ebay.

Tom Cruise swinging sticks on Oprah

Filipino martial arts is getting to be the "hip" new art in Hollywood it seems, from Matt Damon in "Bourne Identity" to Benicio del Toro in "The Hunted" and now it seems, Tom Cruise for "The Last Samurai" everyone is learning something about Filipino martial arts.

Just saw a promo for Oprah and they showed a quick clip of Cruise doing Sinuwali, which is a twirl done with two sticks. Suwali are the woven walls in houses. Sinuwali is the motion of weaving these walls, which I suspect the name of this twirl comes from. It's a common technique that seems to cross all the the forms and schools of FMA. Just about everyone does the doublestick twirl, including Tom Cruise.

the wisdom of 25th years

spent the afternoon today at the 25th wedding anniversary of some friends. before we wait, the guests all held hands and each said something about the couple. when it was the SO's turn, he says something like, "when we're married I hope we're like you." to which everyone gasps. funny, we had told most everyone there previously that we were planning our wedding, yet a public announcement like that sends folks spinning.

subsequently, people ask if there's a proposal or a ring. no, but we're working on that too. one friend said that after she and her husband had been dating for 4 years, she gave him an ultimatum. hmmm...i really don't want to go to that extreme and i don't believe i have to.

we watched as our friends celebrated with various friends many they've had for over 20 years, others only a handful a years. the warmth and love and generosity surrounding them from their friends simply reflected what they had given each other over the quarter of a century. a committment to building a life together.

one woman told a story of how A & H were married (the wife's mother was coming to town and they couldn't be "living in sin"). they went to glide memorial during lunch called a couple of friends to witness then went back to work. the funny part, is that the woman didn't remember that she was actually a witness to their wedding until A reminded her a few years ago.

they have several friends who are newlyweds. they're attracted to A&H like we are, they too want to be like them. A&H show that life is not always up, or fun, or happy, but it does keep going and they take each day they are given because they know that there will be up, fun, and happy times and not just times, but moments as well. and it's these moments that make life worth living.

after singing happy birthday to H, (it was her 50th) we have A&H cut the cake together and do the whole wedding cake ritual since they didn't do it the first time around.

it was a long afternoon, full of friends constantly entering their home, some they hadn't seen in years, but who know it's moments like these one does not miss.

if we didn't end up here at A&H's, we would have ended up spending the weekend with another married couple. a recently married couple who have been together as long as we have, but their marriage is historic, as one of the several thousand same-sex couples who were married at SF City Hall. we'll catch up with them next weekend.

we end up being one of the first guests to arrive and the lasts guests to leave. (we brought the extra chairs, so couldn't leave until the others left). H, though tired, said it was a very excellent day.

Before Their Words: Friday, March 5 - Jon Sims Theater 8p

This will be our second show at the Jon Sims Theater.

before their words (a work in progress) a collaborative, interdisciplinary, multimedia poetry performance that combines subversive, poetic narrative with indigenous pre-colonial Philippine cultural traditions and art forms. Utilizing indigenous Philippine dance (Singkil), martial arts (Kali), and music, the larger poetic narrative unfolds as the (queer) re-telling of the Philippine folktale of Sondayo, the village woman who battles the wind goddess to re-claim her stolen husband. Featuring Michelle Bautista and Nedjula Baguio.

For more info: http://www.jonsimsctr.org/maiana.html

For the love of books

I love books. I also love reading Asian American books. But they can be difficult to find. The Asian American Writer's Workshop is having a book sale. Free shipping on orders of $25 or more (kind of like Amazon). So, get your Christmas shopping done early!

---

Dear Friends of The Asian American Writers' Workshop,

The Workshop is not moving, we're not closed--that much I hope you know. But
more than 750 independent bookstores have closed in just five years, and we
are struggling under the same pressure of competition and increased costs.
If you want to hear the whole story straight from our Executive Director
Quang Bao on WBAI radio, you can visit http://www.asiapacificforum.org/
(click on archive section.)

So many of you offered to help the Workshop, and here's your chance:

PLEASE BUY A BOOK!

We're running a 5-10-15-20 dollar sale online, with free shipping on orders
over $25. Scroll through a wonderful selection of 50 contemporary Asian
American books, including children's literature. The sale begins today and
ends Friday, March 12, so be sure to check our website at
http://www.aaww.org/ And we'll see those of you near the Workshop on April
15 for the big party, Charlie Chan Is Dead 2, edited by Jessica Hagedorn.

Thanks for supporting us,
The Workshop

The Asian American Writers' Workshop
16 West 32nd Street, Suite 10A
New York NY 10001-3814
212-494-0061 tel
212-494-0062 fax
desk@aaww.org email
http://www.aaww.org/

Let the cinema begin

That time of year again for the Asian American Film Festival which starts tomorrow at various venues in San Francisco, San Jose, and Berkeley.

Highlights include Hero which although was big in Asia, was unable to get distribution here in the U.S. (I think it had to do something with some US company buying rights to an American version or something.)

Another film to watch is Imelda by the same person who did "Spirits Rising" about EDSA 1. I was lucky enough to get a preview a few weeks ago. They not only interview Imelda, but they also interview childhood friends, political prisoners, the guy who made all her outfits, former US Ambassadors and the like. It's really an amazing movie that allows the audience to explore the different views of Imelda and allows the audience to come up with their own view of her being careful not to overtly impose one view or another.

My Ninja for your Nun screens several shorts including Matt Abaya's Bampinay and Gayle Romasanta's Lock Jaw.

Music Video Asia features vids from Barbie's Cradle as well as Dino Ignacio's SkyFlakes video of the song "Bad Thoughts."

probably related to a Jeopardy champion

Was watching Jeopardy last night and saw a potential cousin, Patrick Macaraeg, kick ass! He's the current 3-day champion with over $80K. The guy's got guts. Was down by more than half, bets nearly all of it in the last daily double, then nearly doubles again in final jeopardy.

You can see him on the Jeopardy website and click on "see who's on this week" link. He even has a pretty silly promo for the Tampa Bay area where he's from.

So far, every Macaraeg (with an E) I've met can trace their lineage back to the town of Malasiqui, Pangasinan where every other person is a Macaraeg. Suffice it to say, I'd bet it all on a daily double that he is a distant kin of mine.

Harrah's, Harvey's, and whether Filipino identity requires one to be suffering

Harrah's buffet was way better than Caesar's. But no one tops Vegas buffets, then again, it's Vegas. So in South Lake Tahoe, Harrah's gets my vote. The Chinese food stinks, but the Mexican bar is good as well as the desserts.

Dinner conversation consists mostly of talking about family and how we are dealing with and interacting our partner's family. The Watcher is teaching Filipino Diaspora. She talks about her various students: the activist who wants an alibata/babayin tattoo but finds out her name doesn't really "translate" very well into the script, the devil's advocate who got pounced on by the women in the class for some of his comments about overseas workers, the one white guy that's left, the one white woman who is left, and the rest of them who swear they would have been poor if their families stayed in the Philippines.

She tries to be understanding an patient as many of them find their culture that goes beyond their mostly suburban American lives, and tries not to push to far too fast on topics and issues less they get carried away by the flood. I remember when I was their age. Culture and identity seemed simple. When it was simple I was angry. Now that I find culture a bit more complex and subtle, I can feel other things now besides anger. I can find humor and laughter along with the anger, but the anger is not so overwhelming.

Though the students have their varying opinions, none of them seem ready to deal with the notion of their priviledge in the U.S. The idea that to be a person of color or immigrant community requires one to be impoverished in some way. If my parents had not come to the U.S., I don't think we would have been all that "poor." I had "poor" relatives, but my parents were professionals who would have taken some upper management position or started a business. I imagine that my life would have been more upper middle class in the Philippines. There is a certain level of guilt with being born into the "good life" and how somehow this negates their claim on their Filipino identity.

The Watcher tells me of this one professor at the school who took on an exchange student from the Philippines. The professor was really surprised because they had thought that they would be able to show this exchange student the grand old U.S. by taking her to Disneyland and such. But the exchange student had done all that already. The exhange student had never done her own laundry, had never cooked for herself. The U.S. was truly an eye opening experience. Little did the professor know that her exchange student was the daughter of the owner of San Miguel.

Certainly there are poor people from the Philippines, but there are also very very rich people in the Philippines. And in reality, the poorest of the poor rarely make it to U.S. shores. Certainly, the vast majority of the Philippines endure poverty levels that barely allow them to afford food, much less shelter and the like. But it's a stretch to say that all Filipinos would have been poor if they had stayed. There are people who stay who have very good lives.

But when you're 19, these complexities of life are difficult to comprehend especially when they are tied to you wanting to claim a new identity. It's hard. Alot is riding on it.

10 years later I find that I can laugh more about being Filipino and Filipino culture. I can also be more critical and somewhat sarcastic, sometimes cutting. I can come to acknowledge and comprehend the complex facets of being Filipino. It's not a black or white issue. I don't have to worry about not being "Filipino enough" or getting labeled as being "too White," or "too ghetto (ie too Black)." It's no longer an issue.

In our conversation, we agree that the Watcher will not change their minds overnight, but the Watcher can plant seeds that will allow them to view the world with a critical eye. And all of them will hopefully find their own way through it.

Afterwards, back down to the smokey casino. I load a $20 into the slots. I haven't been much of a gambler. Family trips to Reno were usually boring for me. I don't get excited gambling. But I thought, what the hell, my dad and sister are often lucky. I watch as the wheels spin. I pull the arm instead of pressing the button. I watch as my coin totals go up and down. I hear others cash out some winnings. People have different techniques: there's the nomad, who wanders around putting one or two coins in a machine to see if it'll hit. Then moves onto the next one. There are those that play two machines at a time. Others who put in their money and immediately cash out the coins to put the coins in one by one. They like the tangible feeling of their money.

I decide my $20 is already gone and money I don't need as to assuade my guilt for losing $20. I decide to think positive and be happy for each coin that comes my way, even if it's only one. I watch as the totals go up and down, up and down, then up. I manage to get as high as $38 and decide to cash out having gained 90% off of my initial investment. I know, I could have stayed to try to win more, but I didn't want to be greedy. I just wanted to be happy for what I have been given.

The Watcher and Flux put a $5 in a large video poker machine "for mom." Mom in her retirement sets up gambling trips for her Filipino club nearly every weekend: Indian casinos, Reno. Even then your relatives can't go gambling, they always give you a little something to put into a machine, "just to see" if maybe you'll be lucky. The eternal hope of winning it big. They manage to win $20 off of their $5 and cash out. Thanks, Mom!

The SO is now fascinated by Pai Gow Poker but there's only a couple of tables. We take the tunnel to Harvey's where we finally discover the Texas Hold 'Em poker tables. Ten people to a table. It's hard. People watching. You trying to read stranger's faces. I notice how on the regular tables, people order the harder drinks. At the poker tables, beer was the strongest kick. Most everyone else drank water and soda. The mind needs to stay sharp for poker. There are many things to think about, calculate. The last pot we watch there are a pair of 2s and an ace in the flop. Someone is going to get hurt. A pair in the open cards has the potential of a 3 of a kind. Three people stay in all the way, raising bets each time. It's a big pot. All three of them had an ace. What are the possibilities? Ace/Queen takes the pot the other two are burned as they each thought, "who else would have the ace in the hole?"

The SO decides not to bet, saves his gambling budget for another day. His brain is a bit fatigued, not a good time to gamble.

We go back to the hotel. The snow outside is not so pristine, but our angels are still there.

Questions and comments asked about the taho trip

Ver asks a few things.

Q) the all important, was I wearing a hat?
A) I wore a green head scarf that kept my hair back better. It looks like a really wide sweatband across your head. The Watcher said it made us look like Mike Bibby. I think we're cuter than Mike Bibby. Along with the green scarf, my outfit consisted of a white turtleneck, and green/black Henley Hansen jacket, white snow gloves, and snow bib that was baggy when I was in high school, but now is quite snug.

Q) Would I do it again?
A) absofreakinglutely! I think I'm hooked onto snowboarding. It fits me. I like the idea of being able to ride down the hill no matter which way you're facing. I was walking around work today thinking about how my body should lean to turn different directions. I've always liked board type stuff like skateboarding and push scooters. I guess the next board thing I should try is surfing, but that seems kind of scary.

My friend said that when she watched me go down the learning hill, I managed to hit a stance that looked like I knew what I was doing. I think I remember what she means. I actually remember almost seeing myself go down the hill as if I was another person watching me. Besides, I like to sit on the hill and look at the view. The next snow thing I'd like to try is cross country skiing. I think I can handle that.

The SO would like to go snowmobiling which we saw at the Tahoe municipal golf course. And he doesn't want to share his snowmobile either.

C)"Leaning like you have no butt"
A) Has something to do with balance and center of gravity. Like you have to keep your torso vertical over the board, while your weight shifts over each of the feet left and right, and front and back, while keeping your back straight. It was like a bad 3 dimensional game of Twister. Leaning like you have no butt is supposed to drive your toes forward and gets the weight off your heels which is supposed to turn you or slow you down or so they say. All of it seems to defy gravity in strange ways.

C) Chatty said to spike the hot chocolate
A) dang, forgot. but I did bring the really good godiva hot chocolate stuff and soy milk for our lactose intolerant selves.

C)Snow suits with lapels
A) saw that at the lodge. Quite stylish. Skiers tended to have the tighter form fitting outfits, while many of the boarders had that baggy sk8rboi look.

Stepping onto clouds to reach an angel

We get back to the lodge quite tired and a bit sore, but before removing the snow gear, it's snow angel time. A dad with his kids created a bit of path through the snow. The snow is deep, 2-3 feet in some parts and the snow is powdery, not even wet enough to make a snowball. When you hurled one, it just disintegrated to powder.

I walk out to the snow and look for a proper angel landing site. The SO is scared. He doesn't like sliding. He doesn't like cold. Those tropical instincts are strong in him. But he has the camera. Deep down I know, that the photographer in him needing to capture a life moment will overtake him and his fear. He comes out to take closer pictures of the Watcher and I making snow angels. The artist wins over fear!

Just as he thinks it's time to go in. I head out further in the snow. There are snow sculptures to be made dammit. The artist in me drives me forth. Again, it's another life moment. (His brother and him battled the hottest summers in Yellowstone with 40 lbs of camera equipment to capture life's moments.) If he didn't come out here for this, I'd have to tell on him to his brother. As I sit stuck in the snow, gathering piles for my sculpture, I see him trudge out following the steps of Flux, the Watcher and I. I'm proud of him. This is how I know he loves me because love conquered fear. It makes me happy that we're here together.

A gaggle of geese paddle along offshore watching us sink into the deep snow. We take pictures of them.

I'm still not sure what my ice sculpture will be til the Watcher declares, "ooh, cool bear!" I had initially saw an old guy with large jowels, but a bear seems better. I start to feel the soreness in my forearms while gathering the snow. I have to hurry before fatigue really sets in. I like snow the way I like clay. I like tangible sculpting. I've always wanted to take pottery classes. I find it relaxing, the forming of shape through touch which I don't always get from poetry. It allows my mind to go to a different space.

Flux signs up for a foot massage in the evening before dinner. I ask for a facial the next morning. The Watcher asks for a massage in the morning as well.

Tonight we head to Harrah's buffet and casino.

while we wait...


Hecate


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
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What kind of soul do you have?


You are naturally born with a gift, whether it be
poetry, writing or song. You love beauty and
creativity, and usually are highly intelligent.
Others view you as mysterious and dreamy, yet
also bold since you hold firm in your beliefs.


What Type of Soul Do You Have ?
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Meanwhile, the Nars takes a couple of tests and finds Einstein and Apocolypse Now. I guess it means you gotta be pretty bright, yet being a nurse can be hell.