so wednesday afternoon i composed a perfectly witty and pithy post with this title, cleverly lyrical gangsta about how i am all whimsy, no worry only to have the post be irretrievably swept away by cyberspace. i blame the great firewall and some sharky vpn activity. this loss proves that god has a sense of humour.* because of course once it was disappeared, i worried about having lost my wondrous musings on whimsy. i consider all of it a lesson in impermanence. my version of a sand mandala. the title survived the ritualistic destruction, so i too have retained it. but i shall not attempt to recreate that perfect post in its entirety. instead, i'll briefly summarise and move on, since that is what life has done in the meanwhile. moved on, that is. it always does.
the title that the small hands of cyberspace saved refers to my decision of late to choose whimsy over worry. and to encourage others to do the same. not that it is my purpose to impose my will on others.** but really i think we could all do with more whimsy in our lives. and less worry.
i was having dinner with a friend earlier this week and while i was relating a recent whimsical experience, he asked me if i could turn off the novel. he said that listening to me tell stories was like being inside a novel. he suggested that i was so busy creating, characterising, or painting my life that i wasn't simply living it. i was very briefly taken aback. i paused and considered whether he had a point, whether i somehow follow more entertaining or colourful paths purely for the sake of personal narrative or, as he may have been implying, to create wondrous stories but remain hidden behind them and not actually let anyone get close to me. i decided he was mistaken. i believe that i in fact live very authentically. i told him as much and explained that it's just the honest truth that my life that my seemingly stranger-than-fiction tornado ballet life stories are what transpire when i simply live my life. it's just part of being sparkleicious.**** i also opined that creating stories and ordering our experiences is simply how we relate. only connect!***** we then connected by imagining what would happen next in our lives if they were novels. being september, i confessed that my next chapter would have to involve falling in love because september is the perfect season to fall in love.****** of course now that i've said that and written it here, it will certainly not happen. but that's also fine because my life is not a novel, i don't live it as such and i'm not worried about falling in love at the moment. which is a relief.
after our dinner deliberations, i discovered that a thoughtful mime had said as much in a conversation with my fabulous friend that she shared on her fabulous blog: http://citizenkerry.tumblr.com/post/1080790472/my-new-friend-pearl-the-mime. pearl the mime opined: “We’re all editors, and we’re all choosing the styles and the stories that represent us." the styles and stories i'm choosing now are pure whimsy.
what does that mean in practice? it means lots of laughter and forgetting. it means noticing texture. touch. challenging myself. it means soaking up the end of summer, appreciating each precious drop of sunlight and blue sky (which is seriously precious in these parts), and dancing when no one's watching. or even when they are. it means never giving up. it means glorious late summer dinner parties with delightful friends. and last thursday i hosted perhaps my most ambitious dinner party ever. (confession: pure whimsy aside, there is always some worry involved when i take on my elaborate dinner menu agendas. thankfully it usually all comes together in the end. and this night in particular it did.*******) as evening gave way to night, the dinner devolved into drunken parlour games in the courtyard that lasted into the wee hours. a great deal of whimsy! so much, in fact, that i was still feeling it the next morning. or maybe that was the whisky.
actually, rather than the perfect season to fall in love, this particular september seems to be the perfect season for thursday to be the new friday. a pink is the new black kind of thing. (or is black the new black this year?) i seem to be up or out late every thursday of late. last night was no exception. but - wait for it - i'm not worrying about it. and i know that i'll swing back into balance by the end of the month since it will find me at a yoga / spa escape in koh samui! this story is a lesson in the whimsy-worry balance (and will also conclude with some lessons on actual balance as part of a five day personal yoga synergy program - so excited). i need to be in bangkok for work next week and the mid-autumn festival immediately follows my work trip, so i decided to extend my time in thailand and go somewhere over the holiday. i have been craving some stillness (the tornado ballet gets tiring sometimes, even with my excessive sparkle) and so explored yoga escapes. i wrestled with whether i could or should afford to go with this dream program at a highly recommended but not cheap gorgeous resort built on buddhist caves. (confession: i also had some moments of worrying about going on holiday alone and considering finding a friend or lover (?) to come along. but i decided to embrace myself.) i also decided to embrace the dream program at the gorgeous resort. and then. and then last night i got an email from the director of my NGO saying he wanted to speak with me via phone. he called this morning to tell me i was being awarded a one time (modest) merit bonus in appreciation for all my work over the last year. i was very surprised and humbled and grateful. all the more so when i learned the details. it is the exact amount to cover my holiday. literally the exact amount. and it will be deposited into my bank account on the day i fly to thailand. which is truly and simply amazing grace. maybe i'm wrong to have whimsy as my mantra of the moment. (i'm pretty sure i'm right to try not to worry.) maybe i should be moved and amazed by grace. then again, maybe i already was and always am. and maybe, just maybe, that is also part of whimsy. whheeeeeeeee!
*does she ever! she is also everywhere. like the heroes in the seaweed.
**i doubt many of you have dashed off to listen to j.c. and bill moyers chat myths and meaning. i make these suggestions not to impose myself upon you, but merely as a means of sharing. only connect!***
***challenge: how many times have i used that expression in this blog? too many, to be sure. and i'm not even much of a howard's end fan, really. and yet. here is the relevant passage:
Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer.
and now it is too clear why i quote it so often, why that expression has become a touchstone for me.... imagine if we could collect all of the expressions and the images that serve as our touchstones. and not just when writing in public spaces, or writing at all. but those that we reach for inside ourselves in quiet moments. or that we look for next to the moon through the trees when we're lying in bed mulling over our days and our tomorrows. oh, to gather that ephemera in one place. it would surely arrange into an astounding bouquet! i would love to sculpt it somehow. and place it in a public space where many hands could smooth it over and over until it was gone.... on a less abstact note, i have decided to cease worrying about footnoting footnotes.
****a nickname. also, a true story: in a recent meeting about a potential new job in discussing what i would bring to the position, i included "spakle" (which i defined as an ability to stand out in a crowd and network to make people connect and bring out their best on behalf of a worthy cause). the woman i was speaking with almost leapt out of her seat. she cried, "you have so much sparkle!" i smiled demurely (in pearls) and agreed. i thought to myself, "you have no idea, lady. i sparkle when i'm not even trying. and sometimes, it's too bright even for me."
*****i had to throw that in for people who don't actually read the footnotes. zigazig ha. (yes, i just quoted the spice girls.)
******an idea absorbed from the fantasticks. a very pure musical. please refer to the lyrics of "try to remember" for more details.
*******menu included a watermelon gazpacho, a spinach-garbanzo bean-cucumber-cherry tomato-feta quinoa salad w/ smoked paprika dressing, an avacado-cherry tomato-red onion-cilantro greens salad w/ a secret balsamic dressing, marinated baked salmon topped with roasted red and yellow peppers and thyme. a friend contributed roasted figs wrapped in proscuitto to the appetizer course. and i made my magic amaretto-spiked chocolate mousse for dessert. it was strong work for dinner for twelve on a thursday. oh and, of course, there was lots of delicious cheese accessible at all times.
Showing posts with label common humanity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label common humanity. Show all posts
Monday, September 6, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
on naming and spending
as a friend commented to me yesterday, 'it is hard to compete with fishjuice vodka'. and she doesn't know the half of it. but indeed it is, so it is not with out some sense of trepidation that attempt to scrape together some thoughts today. i feel compelled to do so, however, in case saturday's party is as insane as the last one* and i end up writing about splitting my trousers on the dancefloor** and you all think that all i am good for is drinking champagne and being silly***. i will therefore today attempt to talk about serious things. to wit: naming (and the narratives entangled therein (oh narrative arc! my favourite subject)) and consumption (which, actually, also related to the narratives we create and seek for ourselves and how we ascribe meaning to them through language (a.k.a. naming)).
first, consumption.
i have actually been thinking about this a bit lately. partially because i (finally) paid off my private student loans from law school. and, although i still have some public loans blowing in the wind somewhere, i am able to to ponder financial potentials that were heretofore impossible for me. it has also been interesting to just examine how i managed to finally pay them off (and how people respond when i tell them) - not buying any new clothes for a year and moving into a considerably cheaper flat that i share - and where i am choosing to spend money now that i have more disposable income - on other people and experiences. (well, and i immediately purchased a small heap of shoes. but i really needed some new shoes after that year! and i am imperfect. (i maintain that blue patent leather stilettos were also required.)) so i am thinking about this now becuase i my own rather subtle musings more became more pronounced after i read the following article: http://bitchmagazine.org/article/eat-pray-spend. the authors critique the self-help / priv-lit genre and the consumer culture it promotes among women as anti-feminist****. really worth a read. although this about sums it up:
Priv-lit perpetuates several negative assumptions about women and their relationship to money and responsibility. The first is that women can or should be willing to spend extravagantly, leave our families, or abandon our jobs in order to fit ill-defined notions of what it is to be “whole.” Another is the infantilizing notion that we need guides—often strangers who don’t know the specifics of our financial, spiritual, or emotional histories—to tell us the best way forward. The most problematic assumption, and the one that ties it most closely to current, mainstream forms of misogyny, is that women are inherently and deeply flawed, in need of consistent improvement throughout their lives, and those who don’t invest in addressing those flaws are ultimately doomed to making themselves, if not others, miserable.
very astute point(s). and yet. and yet so many of the intelligent, together women i know really loved eat pray love. although many felt guilty about it. [side query: how much of that speaks to elizabeth gilbert's strength as a writer and how much of it speaks to how compelling we find her narrative?] i remember when, once upon a lifetime when i worked in a big bad law firm in the big bad apple that was affectionately nicknamed 'the sweatshop' or 'the death star', the subject of eat pray love came up in a conversation i was having with one of my partner mentors. this particular partner mentor is truly amazing - smart and compassionate and accomplished, she ended up at the firm because it was the only job she could get in nyc in 1971 that would permit her to work a four-day week so that she could spend fridays caring for her two young daughters and supporting her rabbi-husband has he prepared for services and observe shabbat in the calm way she desired. she adhered to that schedule (not without challenges along the way) the entire time her children were growing up and made partner after many years with the firm. she and her husband also started a wonderful NGO working to empower farmers and communities in afghanistan, a country they travelled in and fell in love with in the late 60s / early 70s. [http://www.gpfa.org/] this woman seemed to have it all, respected in the world of international arbitration and in her community, she had a happy marriage, great kids, a thriving career, a successful NGO. she was an inspiration.
although i worked quite closely with this partner***** on a number of cases and other projects, the occasion of our conversation that day was my inviting her to be a guest speaker at my book club when we were going to be discussing a book about afghanistan. rory stewart's the places in between, his account of walking across afghanistan in january, 2002. (incidentally, gender figured prominently in our conversation because of course a woman could never have written this book and of course rory is not at all conscious of this. then again, how many of us are truly conscious of our own privileges until something overwhelming and blinding forces us to see? and even then, our consciousness is typically fleeting.) the partner agreed, but she asked what other books we'd read. eat pray love was a last minute substitute because none of us could bear to get through the 600 pages of run-on sentences that comprised the book we had selected for that month. but i mentioned it when running through what we'd covered thus far that year. she wrinkled her nose when i mentioned eat pray love, commenting, "i read the first three pages but i couldn't bear to go any further. it was all so self-indulgent and ridiculous." she had and has a point. you don't achieve what this woman had achieved, both professionally, personally, and dare i say spiritually, by abandoning responsibilities and running off to eat gelato or pet cows every time god speaks to you while you're crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. [confession: god has never spoken to me while i'm crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. her loss, really. i am really funny when i'm crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night.] of course after the partner said that, i felt a pang of guilt for having finished the book. in one day even (shhhh!). and tumbled over myself trying to explain that it had been a last minute substitute and really the book club ladies were way more evolved than elizabeth gilbert, really. of course, when she came to book club the discussion about the places in between, we all really just wanted to know how she had done it, how she had managed to have it all. she answered simply, explaining that you can't have it all at once and must do things one at a time.
and now i am suitably tangled up in side stories and must unravel these threads in a tidy manner and draw a conclusion - we ought to be critical of how we're encouraged to consume (conscious of the cultural and gendered assumptions informing that encouragement) and consider the implications of our choices. the article is quick to point out that elizabeth gilbert's journey is not realistic to replicate or aspire to (people, after all that crying on the bathroom floor and walking out on her husband, she got to eat a lot of pasta, achieve some-sort-of-blue-light-enlightenment, marry a hot brazilian, live happily every after, and make millions). but maybe the reason the self-help priv-lit genre is so appealling even as we are conscious of how belittling and destructive it is (cf. the footnote somewhere down there about needing to orchestrate our own rescues) and also aware of the unhealthy wanton consumerism it promotes is its compelling cinderella suspension of disbelief aspect. i mean, who doesn't want to run away to eat gelato and pet cows, only to end up with an amazing latin lover and julia roberts playing you in a movie? that's some sweet glass slipper. although thankfully i am personally entirely over latin lovers in a serious way, so i that precise glass slipper wouldn't suit. in any case, enough on this. enjoy the article.
second, nomenclature.
this is the actual english name of a new restaurant the just opened near my office: "mr. pigger restaurant". awesome. i laughed out loud with joy and wonder when i saw it. the chinese name is yi kou zhu - a mouthful of pig. hmmm, i wonder if they serve pork.... i stumbled upon this delightful new addition to the neighbourhood two days after a rather interesting discussion about the importance of names. this is a subject i have personally considered at great length given that i have a boy's name and spent a good portion of my young life complaining about this to my parents. well, until my mother calmly informed me when i was about ten that they almost gave me the middle name of “baldface.” seriously. baldface was the name of the mountain that i was conceived on and they thought it would be a nice remembrance. i think it would have been nicer for them than for me – a blissful bit of hippie nostalgia since my mother’s pregnancy meant they had to move out of the tent in the woods and it was time for my ba to enter the corporate world. in any case, that made my boy's name feel like a blessing. i also had new appreciate for "jane" (my middle name). it's a hard-knock life.
the conversation i was having the other day was more focused on amusing english names in china, or chinese names for english products. i recalled how, living in shanghai in 2001-2002, i experienced a sudden burst of joy when i discovered the slim, serious man behind the counter serving my latte at the starbucks near my flat in the french concession was named “cocaine.” i really loved cocaine the starbucks barrista. he was my unabashed favourite. i also loved getting coffee from cocaine. it gave me a greater kick than the caffeine. and it was about as close to the real stuff as i’d ever get, so it felt risqué somehow – like i was drinking cocacola back when the “coca” meant something. (speaking of cocacola, the chinese name for coke is possibly the best branding ever. a transliteration - kekoukele – that roughly translates to “makes mouths happy.” brilliant.) before i left shanghai, i asked cocaine why he had chosen that name. he shrugged and said, "everybody likes it." i nodded and thanked him for my coffee. i started to tell him i would miss him, but then i realised that was a bit much and better contained. i could save my pain at this parting for when i was crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night waiting for god to speak to me. other than cocaine, my favourite friend from afar in shanghai was a sweet young man named "clocean". when pressed about his choice, he explained he couldn't decide between "cloud" and "ocean". i loved this so much, and so did my crazywonderful family, that we now have a sculpture in the backyard named clocean. seriously. the spare house key is in his ear.
so, t.s. elliott tells us that the naming of cats is a difficult matter. as is the naming of daughters, starbucks barristas, and pork restaurants. but a recent email prompted me to consider the significance of naming charities. i received an invitation to a fundraising dinner for an organisation called "compassion for migrant children". i was simply struck by what a brilliant name that is. who doesn't want to have compassion for migrant children? or at least support those who do? i mean, not even 'empathy for migrant children' comes close. it's really the compassion that strikes you right in the chest and makes you want to cough up all of your renminbi to eat chilli bean noodles with bbq pork & apple salad. [curious, there is a lot of pork in this post.] yes, they included the menu in the invite. an unfortunate choice really. detracts slightly from the power of being smacked in the chest with compassion for migrant children because you immediately start considering entrees. but oh well. after receiving this email, i started contemplating how compassion could be worked into the names of all sorts of charities. and, naturally, considering inappropriate alternatives. 'mild frustration with migrant children' or 'contempt for disadvantaged communities' or 'apathy over minority rights' or 'mild concern for the poor'. really without compassion, why bother at all? also, the fact that i am sharing these thoughts with you may be the reason that god doesn't speak to me when i am crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night******.
so i hope this all suitably thoughtful and amusing such that i can return to writing about dancing come sunday morning. of course, if i find a glass slipper between now and then you'll hear about that too.
*please see the post dated may 9, 2010 'smells like teen spirit'. (i still have not worked out how to link, sorry.) it is my fervent hope that no one humps the couches this time. at least not before midnight.
**something i have done on more than one occasion. SJ.
***incidentally, this might be all that i am good for. ok now we're at three footnotes in one sentence. once again perhaps i need to reconsider structure.
****i appreciate that in the 'about us' section, the creators of bitch magazine quote rebeca west: "People call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat."
*****i know, too many stars! but one of my nicknames is sparkleicious. but i am getting ahead of myself, we are still on the subject of consumption, not names. and we're in a footnote. the point of which was to note that it was actually thanks to this partner's intervention that i was able to find a place in the firm's international arbitration / litigation group at our firm. i reached out to her after being fairly horribly sexually harassed by the project finance partner whose group i was originally meant to join. i was still young enough and inexperienced in the sometimes subtle misogyny that pervades corporate life and how it is managed, so this was a bit daunting. perhaps particularly because i didn't want to make real accusations, i simply wanted to escape. [sigh. i could write a book about all the inappropriate things men in the legal profession have said to me or suggested.] in any case, she painly and quietly orchestrated my rescue. well, really i orchestrated my own rescue. (you always do. it's the only way.) she implemented it. without a fuss. for which i was forever thankful.
******another confession: i don't cry on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. i prefer crying in corners. please see the post dated november 10, 2009 'a world changed'. (again, i still haven't worked out how to link.) although yikes, if you can actually be bothered to go read that post you may be struck, as i just was, about the gyring nature of my thoughts in this space. (and yes, the gyre reference was a shout out to yeats. what can i say? i'm into shout-outs these days.) i was beginning to think about having come to china to fall wholly and completely into myself even then (and even amid great and sudden heartbreak (thus the discussion of crying in corners)). and was quoting goethe then too. am i consistent or merely all too predictable? unclear.
first, consumption.
i have actually been thinking about this a bit lately. partially because i (finally) paid off my private student loans from law school. and, although i still have some public loans blowing in the wind somewhere, i am able to to ponder financial potentials that were heretofore impossible for me. it has also been interesting to just examine how i managed to finally pay them off (and how people respond when i tell them) - not buying any new clothes for a year and moving into a considerably cheaper flat that i share - and where i am choosing to spend money now that i have more disposable income - on other people and experiences. (well, and i immediately purchased a small heap of shoes. but i really needed some new shoes after that year! and i am imperfect. (i maintain that blue patent leather stilettos were also required.)) so i am thinking about this now becuase i my own rather subtle musings more became more pronounced after i read the following article: http://bitchmagazine.org/article/eat-pray-spend. the authors critique the self-help / priv-lit genre and the consumer culture it promotes among women as anti-feminist****. really worth a read. although this about sums it up:
Priv-lit perpetuates several negative assumptions about women and their relationship to money and responsibility. The first is that women can or should be willing to spend extravagantly, leave our families, or abandon our jobs in order to fit ill-defined notions of what it is to be “whole.” Another is the infantilizing notion that we need guides—often strangers who don’t know the specifics of our financial, spiritual, or emotional histories—to tell us the best way forward. The most problematic assumption, and the one that ties it most closely to current, mainstream forms of misogyny, is that women are inherently and deeply flawed, in need of consistent improvement throughout their lives, and those who don’t invest in addressing those flaws are ultimately doomed to making themselves, if not others, miserable.
very astute point(s). and yet. and yet so many of the intelligent, together women i know really loved eat pray love. although many felt guilty about it. [side query: how much of that speaks to elizabeth gilbert's strength as a writer and how much of it speaks to how compelling we find her narrative?] i remember when, once upon a lifetime when i worked in a big bad law firm in the big bad apple that was affectionately nicknamed 'the sweatshop' or 'the death star', the subject of eat pray love came up in a conversation i was having with one of my partner mentors. this particular partner mentor is truly amazing - smart and compassionate and accomplished, she ended up at the firm because it was the only job she could get in nyc in 1971 that would permit her to work a four-day week so that she could spend fridays caring for her two young daughters and supporting her rabbi-husband has he prepared for services and observe shabbat in the calm way she desired. she adhered to that schedule (not without challenges along the way) the entire time her children were growing up and made partner after many years with the firm. she and her husband also started a wonderful NGO working to empower farmers and communities in afghanistan, a country they travelled in and fell in love with in the late 60s / early 70s. [http://www.gpfa.org/] this woman seemed to have it all, respected in the world of international arbitration and in her community, she had a happy marriage, great kids, a thriving career, a successful NGO. she was an inspiration.
although i worked quite closely with this partner***** on a number of cases and other projects, the occasion of our conversation that day was my inviting her to be a guest speaker at my book club when we were going to be discussing a book about afghanistan. rory stewart's the places in between, his account of walking across afghanistan in january, 2002. (incidentally, gender figured prominently in our conversation because of course a woman could never have written this book and of course rory is not at all conscious of this. then again, how many of us are truly conscious of our own privileges until something overwhelming and blinding forces us to see? and even then, our consciousness is typically fleeting.) the partner agreed, but she asked what other books we'd read. eat pray love was a last minute substitute because none of us could bear to get through the 600 pages of run-on sentences that comprised the book we had selected for that month. but i mentioned it when running through what we'd covered thus far that year. she wrinkled her nose when i mentioned eat pray love, commenting, "i read the first three pages but i couldn't bear to go any further. it was all so self-indulgent and ridiculous." she had and has a point. you don't achieve what this woman had achieved, both professionally, personally, and dare i say spiritually, by abandoning responsibilities and running off to eat gelato or pet cows every time god speaks to you while you're crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. [confession: god has never spoken to me while i'm crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. her loss, really. i am really funny when i'm crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night.] of course after the partner said that, i felt a pang of guilt for having finished the book. in one day even (shhhh!). and tumbled over myself trying to explain that it had been a last minute substitute and really the book club ladies were way more evolved than elizabeth gilbert, really. of course, when she came to book club the discussion about the places in between, we all really just wanted to know how she had done it, how she had managed to have it all. she answered simply, explaining that you can't have it all at once and must do things one at a time.
and now i am suitably tangled up in side stories and must unravel these threads in a tidy manner and draw a conclusion - we ought to be critical of how we're encouraged to consume (conscious of the cultural and gendered assumptions informing that encouragement) and consider the implications of our choices. the article is quick to point out that elizabeth gilbert's journey is not realistic to replicate or aspire to (people, after all that crying on the bathroom floor and walking out on her husband, she got to eat a lot of pasta, achieve some-sort-of-blue-light-enlightenment, marry a hot brazilian, live happily every after, and make millions). but maybe the reason the self-help priv-lit genre is so appealling even as we are conscious of how belittling and destructive it is (cf. the footnote somewhere down there about needing to orchestrate our own rescues) and also aware of the unhealthy wanton consumerism it promotes is its compelling cinderella suspension of disbelief aspect. i mean, who doesn't want to run away to eat gelato and pet cows, only to end up with an amazing latin lover and julia roberts playing you in a movie? that's some sweet glass slipper. although thankfully i am personally entirely over latin lovers in a serious way, so i that precise glass slipper wouldn't suit. in any case, enough on this. enjoy the article.
second, nomenclature.
this is the actual english name of a new restaurant the just opened near my office: "mr. pigger restaurant". awesome. i laughed out loud with joy and wonder when i saw it. the chinese name is yi kou zhu - a mouthful of pig. hmmm, i wonder if they serve pork.... i stumbled upon this delightful new addition to the neighbourhood two days after a rather interesting discussion about the importance of names. this is a subject i have personally considered at great length given that i have a boy's name and spent a good portion of my young life complaining about this to my parents. well, until my mother calmly informed me when i was about ten that they almost gave me the middle name of “baldface.” seriously. baldface was the name of the mountain that i was conceived on and they thought it would be a nice remembrance. i think it would have been nicer for them than for me – a blissful bit of hippie nostalgia since my mother’s pregnancy meant they had to move out of the tent in the woods and it was time for my ba to enter the corporate world. in any case, that made my boy's name feel like a blessing. i also had new appreciate for "jane" (my middle name). it's a hard-knock life.
the conversation i was having the other day was more focused on amusing english names in china, or chinese names for english products. i recalled how, living in shanghai in 2001-2002, i experienced a sudden burst of joy when i discovered the slim, serious man behind the counter serving my latte at the starbucks near my flat in the french concession was named “cocaine.” i really loved cocaine the starbucks barrista. he was my unabashed favourite. i also loved getting coffee from cocaine. it gave me a greater kick than the caffeine. and it was about as close to the real stuff as i’d ever get, so it felt risqué somehow – like i was drinking cocacola back when the “coca” meant something. (speaking of cocacola, the chinese name for coke is possibly the best branding ever. a transliteration - kekoukele – that roughly translates to “makes mouths happy.” brilliant.) before i left shanghai, i asked cocaine why he had chosen that name. he shrugged and said, "everybody likes it." i nodded and thanked him for my coffee. i started to tell him i would miss him, but then i realised that was a bit much and better contained. i could save my pain at this parting for when i was crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night waiting for god to speak to me. other than cocaine, my favourite friend from afar in shanghai was a sweet young man named "clocean". when pressed about his choice, he explained he couldn't decide between "cloud" and "ocean". i loved this so much, and so did my crazywonderful family, that we now have a sculpture in the backyard named clocean. seriously. the spare house key is in his ear.
so, t.s. elliott tells us that the naming of cats is a difficult matter. as is the naming of daughters, starbucks barristas, and pork restaurants. but a recent email prompted me to consider the significance of naming charities. i received an invitation to a fundraising dinner for an organisation called "compassion for migrant children". i was simply struck by what a brilliant name that is. who doesn't want to have compassion for migrant children? or at least support those who do? i mean, not even 'empathy for migrant children' comes close. it's really the compassion that strikes you right in the chest and makes you want to cough up all of your renminbi to eat chilli bean noodles with bbq pork & apple salad. [curious, there is a lot of pork in this post.] yes, they included the menu in the invite. an unfortunate choice really. detracts slightly from the power of being smacked in the chest with compassion for migrant children because you immediately start considering entrees. but oh well. after receiving this email, i started contemplating how compassion could be worked into the names of all sorts of charities. and, naturally, considering inappropriate alternatives. 'mild frustration with migrant children' or 'contempt for disadvantaged communities' or 'apathy over minority rights' or 'mild concern for the poor'. really without compassion, why bother at all? also, the fact that i am sharing these thoughts with you may be the reason that god doesn't speak to me when i am crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night******.
so i hope this all suitably thoughtful and amusing such that i can return to writing about dancing come sunday morning. of course, if i find a glass slipper between now and then you'll hear about that too.
*please see the post dated may 9, 2010 'smells like teen spirit'. (i still have not worked out how to link, sorry.) it is my fervent hope that no one humps the couches this time. at least not before midnight.
**something i have done on more than one occasion. SJ.
***incidentally, this might be all that i am good for. ok now we're at three footnotes in one sentence. once again perhaps i need to reconsider structure.
****i appreciate that in the 'about us' section, the creators of bitch magazine quote rebeca west: "People call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat."
*****i know, too many stars! but one of my nicknames is sparkleicious. but i am getting ahead of myself, we are still on the subject of consumption, not names. and we're in a footnote. the point of which was to note that it was actually thanks to this partner's intervention that i was able to find a place in the firm's international arbitration / litigation group at our firm. i reached out to her after being fairly horribly sexually harassed by the project finance partner whose group i was originally meant to join. i was still young enough and inexperienced in the sometimes subtle misogyny that pervades corporate life and how it is managed, so this was a bit daunting. perhaps particularly because i didn't want to make real accusations, i simply wanted to escape. [sigh. i could write a book about all the inappropriate things men in the legal profession have said to me or suggested.] in any case, she painly and quietly orchestrated my rescue. well, really i orchestrated my own rescue. (you always do. it's the only way.) she implemented it. without a fuss. for which i was forever thankful.
******another confession: i don't cry on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. i prefer crying in corners. please see the post dated november 10, 2009 'a world changed'. (again, i still haven't worked out how to link.) although yikes, if you can actually be bothered to go read that post you may be struck, as i just was, about the gyring nature of my thoughts in this space. (and yes, the gyre reference was a shout out to yeats. what can i say? i'm into shout-outs these days.) i was beginning to think about having come to china to fall wholly and completely into myself even then (and even amid great and sudden heartbreak (thus the discussion of crying in corners)). and was quoting goethe then too. am i consistent or merely all too predictable? unclear.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
the full catastrophe
in zorba the greek * nikos kazantzakis gives us the wonderful image of life as “the full catastrophe”. although i think in that moment, he was speaking more marriage, kids, a house, i think it's more universal than that. even without those particular tornadoes, the winds of life will rock us no matter where we are. we all have our full catastrophes. zorba's way is to dance in the gale of the full catastrophe.... to celebrate life, to laugh with it and at himself, even in the face of personal failure and defeat. in doing so, he is never weighed down for long, never ultimately defeated either by the world or by his own considerable folly. of course, zorba himself must have been quite a catastrophe for his wife and kids and the others in his path. a loving and outrageous and wonderful one, but a catastrophe nonetheless. what i appreciate about that phrase is that it captures the human spirit's capacity to smile into the winds that blow us about, to come to terms with life's howling difficulties and find within them space for growth and grace. and i love the imperative to dance through the full catastrophe.(note to self: another mantra! use it.)
it has been a full catastrophe of a weekend so far and it's not even saturday night yet. people will be coming over in a few hours to eat cheese and drink wine and smile at life. i've just made hummus. and the early pattern of the tree branches against the early evening sky out my window is like dripping laughter. spent both last night and this morning in the company of wonderful women friends. well, and an italian football team and a room full of outrageous, whimsical hats (not at the same time). but those are stories for another time. in other miraculous news, my partners learned how to use emoticons. and a newly engaged friend is happily glowing in the joy and challenges of it all. so many gorgeous winds blowing!
in this quiet eye of the storm, i find myself wanting to stay very still and listen to my thoughts. almost like listening to my breath in meditation.** it has been an overwhelming week. with the winds of life's wonder and terror whirling about. as ever.
one of the more unfortunate winds that has been forcefully blowing through beijing these days is the continued suppression of public interest lawyers. i had lunch on friday with some of the leaders of china's women's rights movements and the founders of a women's legal aid organisation. i am humbled by how much they have accomplished. their uncompromising commitment to justice, their tenacity, their thoughtful approach to their work, and their playful spirits. their centre was at beijing university (beida) since it was established fourteen years ago. but earlier this week, the university told them they could only stay at beida if they stopped doing cases. they could continue to do research, but, as the centre's founder pointed out, their entire purpose was bringing cases. you can hardly champion women's legal rights much outside the courtroom. and, as i said to her, what they presented you was not an option. they had no choice but to go. this was devastating news to me. it was clearly the government directing beida to silence them. the organisation had no choice but to disassociate from beida and is now considering other options for registration. being associated with a university gives legal public interest organisations such as this one the political cover necessary to enable them to work. by being cast out, it's a clear signal from the government that it does not welcome their cases. and there are myriad obstacles to registering as an NGO in china. luckily, they have a law firm as part of their centre with independent registration so they can continue to work on their cases even as they try to resolve how to move ahead. their cases are vital to trying to push the legal charade of china's legal system towards justice, legitimacy and rule of law.
they recently tried to get involved in a horrific case here in beijing. a 20-year-old rural woman from anhui province came to beijing as a petitioner under china's system allowing individuals to petition the government for wrongs and express grievances. sadly, many of beijing's petitioners end up being detained and imprisoned in "black jails" where they are often abused, tortured, and intimidated into silence before they are trucked back home. (the chinese government official denies that they exist, but they are well-documented. a recent human rights watch report on china's abusive black jails: http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/2009/11/12/alleyway-hell-0.) another tactic (and the experience of a woman represented by the centre in a separate case) is for the authorities to declare petitioners mentally ill, imprison them in psychiatric hospitals institutions and heavily medicate them. (see a friend's excellent report on this here: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/video/share.html?s=news01s3066qb75.)
this particular young woman's fate was even worse. she was raped by the guards in the black jail. others were in the room at the time (there are a large number of petitioner-prisoners per room and genders are mixed), but they were too afraid of being beaten to do anything to stop it or even scream. someone in the prison reported the story via sms and soon the black jail and soon the place was swarmed by NGO representatives and reporters. the guards tried to clean up the blood and destroy the evidence and sealed the room. the young woman was returned to her village in anhui and told not to petition again. she has decided to bring a lawsuit against her attacker(s). the women i was lunching with had tried to become involved in her case, but she was only permitted to have a government-appointed attorney. they were furious because that attorney said nothing at all during the initial court proceeding they had just attended. and they also learned that the local government was offering large sums of money to the young woman's uneducated parents to buy her silence. the case will go forward, but it already such a perversion of justice.***
but, as we considered the current situation for public interest lawyering over lunch, we concluded that there is no justice in china. it was a heavy meal, and not just because of all the delicious dofu. i was really just so distraught to hear about this group's being booted from beida. i tried to provide some lightness by joking "who needs public justice when there's such good food in china?" only my work wife laughed. sarcasm in general and my jokes in particular don't translate particularly well. i am aware of this, but resist ceasing my amusing commentary in chinese. even if it is only amusing to me. it's all part of the full catastrophe.
this feels a very heavy place to conclude. but our capacity for both for goodness and disgrace, compassion and despair are all whirling in the gales of the full catastrophe. and to dance through it is to know them all.
*this was also the name of my first cat - zorba the greek. although i apparently couldn't quite pronounce "greek" so ended up calling him "zorba the geek". in the end, he was "zorbie". he was a great companion and an old soul. i am sure we will meet again in other lifetimes.
**confession: i am not skilled at meditation. in fact, i can't really do it. so i feel a bit guilty about even writing that sentence lest it give a false impression. but i aspire to meditate. or do so in the abstract. but actually sitting myself down and doing it is really beyond my abilities at this point.
***although today's news reminds us that the chinese haven't entirely cornered the market on the perversion of justice. apparently doing cartwheels is evidence of murder in italy these days: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/05/world/europe/05italy.html?ref=global-home; http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/02/amanda-knox-revisited/?scp=2&sq=amanda%20knox&st=cse. and principles of open government and accountability are quietly being strangled the states: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/05/opinion/05sat2.html?_r=1&ref=global-home
it has been a full catastrophe of a weekend so far and it's not even saturday night yet. people will be coming over in a few hours to eat cheese and drink wine and smile at life. i've just made hummus. and the early pattern of the tree branches against the early evening sky out my window is like dripping laughter. spent both last night and this morning in the company of wonderful women friends. well, and an italian football team and a room full of outrageous, whimsical hats (not at the same time). but those are stories for another time. in other miraculous news, my partners learned how to use emoticons. and a newly engaged friend is happily glowing in the joy and challenges of it all. so many gorgeous winds blowing!
in this quiet eye of the storm, i find myself wanting to stay very still and listen to my thoughts. almost like listening to my breath in meditation.** it has been an overwhelming week. with the winds of life's wonder and terror whirling about. as ever.
one of the more unfortunate winds that has been forcefully blowing through beijing these days is the continued suppression of public interest lawyers. i had lunch on friday with some of the leaders of china's women's rights movements and the founders of a women's legal aid organisation. i am humbled by how much they have accomplished. their uncompromising commitment to justice, their tenacity, their thoughtful approach to their work, and their playful spirits. their centre was at beijing university (beida) since it was established fourteen years ago. but earlier this week, the university told them they could only stay at beida if they stopped doing cases. they could continue to do research, but, as the centre's founder pointed out, their entire purpose was bringing cases. you can hardly champion women's legal rights much outside the courtroom. and, as i said to her, what they presented you was not an option. they had no choice but to go. this was devastating news to me. it was clearly the government directing beida to silence them. the organisation had no choice but to disassociate from beida and is now considering other options for registration. being associated with a university gives legal public interest organisations such as this one the political cover necessary to enable them to work. by being cast out, it's a clear signal from the government that it does not welcome their cases. and there are myriad obstacles to registering as an NGO in china. luckily, they have a law firm as part of their centre with independent registration so they can continue to work on their cases even as they try to resolve how to move ahead. their cases are vital to trying to push the legal charade of china's legal system towards justice, legitimacy and rule of law.
they recently tried to get involved in a horrific case here in beijing. a 20-year-old rural woman from anhui province came to beijing as a petitioner under china's system allowing individuals to petition the government for wrongs and express grievances. sadly, many of beijing's petitioners end up being detained and imprisoned in "black jails" where they are often abused, tortured, and intimidated into silence before they are trucked back home. (the chinese government official denies that they exist, but they are well-documented. a recent human rights watch report on china's abusive black jails: http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/2009/11/12/alleyway-hell-0.) another tactic (and the experience of a woman represented by the centre in a separate case) is for the authorities to declare petitioners mentally ill, imprison them in psychiatric hospitals institutions and heavily medicate them. (see a friend's excellent report on this here: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/video/share.html?s=news01s3066qb75.)
this particular young woman's fate was even worse. she was raped by the guards in the black jail. others were in the room at the time (there are a large number of petitioner-prisoners per room and genders are mixed), but they were too afraid of being beaten to do anything to stop it or even scream. someone in the prison reported the story via sms and soon the black jail and soon the place was swarmed by NGO representatives and reporters. the guards tried to clean up the blood and destroy the evidence and sealed the room. the young woman was returned to her village in anhui and told not to petition again. she has decided to bring a lawsuit against her attacker(s). the women i was lunching with had tried to become involved in her case, but she was only permitted to have a government-appointed attorney. they were furious because that attorney said nothing at all during the initial court proceeding they had just attended. and they also learned that the local government was offering large sums of money to the young woman's uneducated parents to buy her silence. the case will go forward, but it already such a perversion of justice.***
but, as we considered the current situation for public interest lawyering over lunch, we concluded that there is no justice in china. it was a heavy meal, and not just because of all the delicious dofu. i was really just so distraught to hear about this group's being booted from beida. i tried to provide some lightness by joking "who needs public justice when there's such good food in china?" only my work wife laughed. sarcasm in general and my jokes in particular don't translate particularly well. i am aware of this, but resist ceasing my amusing commentary in chinese. even if it is only amusing to me. it's all part of the full catastrophe.
this feels a very heavy place to conclude. but our capacity for both for goodness and disgrace, compassion and despair are all whirling in the gales of the full catastrophe. and to dance through it is to know them all.
*this was also the name of my first cat - zorba the greek. although i apparently couldn't quite pronounce "greek" so ended up calling him "zorba the geek". in the end, he was "zorbie". he was a great companion and an old soul. i am sure we will meet again in other lifetimes.
**confession: i am not skilled at meditation. in fact, i can't really do it. so i feel a bit guilty about even writing that sentence lest it give a false impression. but i aspire to meditate. or do so in the abstract. but actually sitting myself down and doing it is really beyond my abilities at this point.
***although today's news reminds us that the chinese haven't entirely cornered the market on the perversion of justice. apparently doing cartwheels is evidence of murder in italy these days: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/05/world/europe/05italy.html?ref=global-home; http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/02/amanda-knox-revisited/?scp=2&sq=amanda%20knox&st=cse. and principles of open government and accountability are quietly being strangled the states: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/05/opinion/05sat2.html?_r=1&ref=global-home
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
team america: -1
the nobel peace prize committee acknowledged even as it announced obama as this year's shocking upset recipient, that it was aspirational award. it was an expression of hope (desperation?), a fervent wish that he will be the change we want to see in the world. (incidentally, gandhi, whose words i am borrowing here and who basically cornered the market in living your principles, never received the peace prize.) i wonder if when they were deciding to award him the prize, the committee members had lofty aspirations for obama's engagement with china on human rights. that might have helped convince them to overlook the chinese human rights activists being considered for the award, the choice of whom this year would have sent a powerful message to china as it celebrated 60 years of CCP suppression. i wonder if those lofty aspirations might have included a joint statement at the end of obama's visit in which "both sides recognized that the united states and china have differences on the issue of human rights". so much for human rights being universal. that's the best our world crusader for peace could do?!? yowza.
as his ever so stage-managed visit in china comes to a close, i find myself wondering whether the nobel peace prize committee has buyer's remorse. indeed, whether we all do. i confess i am deeply disappointed in the president's seeming acquiescence to all of the chinese concerns and his failure to stand up for the very principles - the universal nature of human rights, speaking truth to power, not compromising american principles of justice in the name of political or economic goals, a commitment to the rule of law, openness and candid dialogue, an end to politics as usual - that were the foundation of his campaign.
yet, some will say, obama faces unprecedented challenges and he just needs more time to actualize the above. in other words, the chinese own us. or at least the majority of our debt. so the united states is in a deeply compromised position.* is that sufficient justification to kowtow to both the form and the substance of the chinese arrangement of and priorities for this visit? i wonder what gandhi would say.
i only hope that things can improve from here. i would say it would be difficult for things to worsen, but i don't want to tempt fate. the title of this blog is a nod to the universality of the human condition and my failed attempt to express that idea to chinese university classmates. once upon a lifetime i spent a year at the training school for the chinese foreign service and so was immersed in political conversations about international affairs. one afternoon hanging out by the pingpong tables, i found myself making a pitch for the universal. i was arguing that we are all more alike than we are different, regardless of nationality or race or religion. “we’re all red on the inside,” i explained to blank stares. this image entirely failed. i was talking about blood and trying to speak poetically about our common humanity. my classmates thought that i was talking about communism. team universal: 0. team china: 1. i gave up then and went back to watching the pingpong. i feel as though obama is doing the same now. unfortunately, there's a lot more at stake.
*leaving aside for now the human rights issues that continue to dog us at home which further compromise america's discussion of human rights abroad. perhaps most distressing are those related to the so-called war on terror: guantanamo, extraordinary rendition, the shameful ruling last week undermining our own rule of law and denying maher arar due process: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/03/nyregion/03arar-web.html?scp=2&sq=maher%20arar&st=cse
as his ever so stage-managed visit in china comes to a close, i find myself wondering whether the nobel peace prize committee has buyer's remorse. indeed, whether we all do. i confess i am deeply disappointed in the president's seeming acquiescence to all of the chinese concerns and his failure to stand up for the very principles - the universal nature of human rights, speaking truth to power, not compromising american principles of justice in the name of political or economic goals, a commitment to the rule of law, openness and candid dialogue, an end to politics as usual - that were the foundation of his campaign.
yet, some will say, obama faces unprecedented challenges and he just needs more time to actualize the above. in other words, the chinese own us. or at least the majority of our debt. so the united states is in a deeply compromised position.* is that sufficient justification to kowtow to both the form and the substance of the chinese arrangement of and priorities for this visit? i wonder what gandhi would say.
i only hope that things can improve from here. i would say it would be difficult for things to worsen, but i don't want to tempt fate. the title of this blog is a nod to the universality of the human condition and my failed attempt to express that idea to chinese university classmates. once upon a lifetime i spent a year at the training school for the chinese foreign service and so was immersed in political conversations about international affairs. one afternoon hanging out by the pingpong tables, i found myself making a pitch for the universal. i was arguing that we are all more alike than we are different, regardless of nationality or race or religion. “we’re all red on the inside,” i explained to blank stares. this image entirely failed. i was talking about blood and trying to speak poetically about our common humanity. my classmates thought that i was talking about communism. team universal: 0. team china: 1. i gave up then and went back to watching the pingpong. i feel as though obama is doing the same now. unfortunately, there's a lot more at stake.
*leaving aside for now the human rights issues that continue to dog us at home which further compromise america's discussion of human rights abroad. perhaps most distressing are those related to the so-called war on terror: guantanamo, extraordinary rendition, the shameful ruling last week undermining our own rule of law and denying maher arar due process: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/03/nyregion/03arar-web.html?scp=2&sq=maher%20arar&st=cse
Thursday, May 7, 2009
strength in the differences between us, comfort where we overlap
so, in spite of years of my not being here, neither an inch nor half a globe too far, i've finally decided to start gathering my wandering thoughts. perhaps it took coming back to beijing for me to finally brave blogging, because returning to the most formative city of my youth was coming full circle and proffered a profound opportunity for reflection, introspection, and mediocre poetry.* or perhaps it simply took learning that the u.s. embassy uses twitter to send out updates on pollution levels in beijing. (if the embassy is hip enough to twitter, surely i can blog.)
although this is my first 'post', i have a bit of a storeroom full of thoughts and plots that i hope sharing here will allow for some sort of katharsis / epiphany / amusement. i realize as i tried to complete that sentence that i don't have a particular agenda. "all red on the inside" refers to a failed effort i made to express the idea of common humanity to a group of chinese classmates in 1997. i'll share the complete story at some point. at the time, i was seeking to convey a concept of the universal - that we are all, regardless of country, race, religion, culture, more alike than different. the image failed then (they thought i was talking about communism). but my faith in the universal hasn't faltered.
this thimbleful of thoughts, then, will consider themes of universality, reveling in our beautiful differences and appreciating the soft spots of common overlap. (that's a very lofty way of saying i will write about anything / everything and it will likely touch on cross-cultural themes because so does life.) being the creature that i am, a public interest lawyer newly returned to china, be prepared for pontifications on justice and jiaozi.... in fact, maybe i should write exclusively about justice and jiaozi. or maybe just a justice and jiaozi weekly dish - the most interesting legal issue of the week and the best thing i've eaten. hmmm. so far this week it was a particularly delicious doushabing** on tuesday morning and a real appreciation for an independent judiciary on monday afternoon (a topic i intend to return to in detail at some point).
with that, comrades, it begins.
*i write mediocre poetry. no, i am not being humble, just honest. i like to think of it as a unique niche talent. many, many people write poor poetry. (many people also write self-indulgent poem-like, clammy things that are best thrown into the ocean.) a small handful write excellent poetry. (a very, very small handful of people write transcendent, beautiful poetry that stays with you always.) a few people write good poetry. a few people write fair poetry. hitting the sweet spot of mediocrity is actually quite special and harder to achieve than you think. it's a delicate balance to strike that perfect chord between good and bad. yet somehow, i have been blessed with a talent for writing mediocre poetry. on occasion, i confess, i falter and a poem ends up sliding down the scale to bad (or even worse - melodramatic). perhaps once, i faltered and produced an almost good poem. but generally, without to much effort, my poetry is soundly mediocre. i never plan to write a poem. usually, a poem just comes to me and begs to be written and i ignore the poem as long as possible and then when i cannot contain it any longer, i write it. i think of them like unruly baby swans.
** red bean bread. i am kind of obsessed with doushabing. red bean in general, really. speaking of red bean, it occurred to me while walking to work this morning as i was eating doushabao (red bean steamed buns), that if you were to cut me open, i might bleed red bean i eat it so much. then i realized what a ridiculous thought that was and wondered how it ever occurred to me to even think it. then i was almost hit by a bicycle.
although this is my first 'post', i have a bit of a storeroom full of thoughts and plots that i hope sharing here will allow for some sort of katharsis / epiphany / amusement. i realize as i tried to complete that sentence that i don't have a particular agenda. "all red on the inside" refers to a failed effort i made to express the idea of common humanity to a group of chinese classmates in 1997. i'll share the complete story at some point. at the time, i was seeking to convey a concept of the universal - that we are all, regardless of country, race, religion, culture, more alike than different. the image failed then (they thought i was talking about communism). but my faith in the universal hasn't faltered.
this thimbleful of thoughts, then, will consider themes of universality, reveling in our beautiful differences and appreciating the soft spots of common overlap. (that's a very lofty way of saying i will write about anything / everything and it will likely touch on cross-cultural themes because so does life.) being the creature that i am, a public interest lawyer newly returned to china, be prepared for pontifications on justice and jiaozi.... in fact, maybe i should write exclusively about justice and jiaozi. or maybe just a justice and jiaozi weekly dish - the most interesting legal issue of the week and the best thing i've eaten. hmmm. so far this week it was a particularly delicious doushabing** on tuesday morning and a real appreciation for an independent judiciary on monday afternoon (a topic i intend to return to in detail at some point).
with that, comrades, it begins.
*i write mediocre poetry. no, i am not being humble, just honest. i like to think of it as a unique niche talent. many, many people write poor poetry. (many people also write self-indulgent poem-like, clammy things that are best thrown into the ocean.) a small handful write excellent poetry. (a very, very small handful of people write transcendent, beautiful poetry that stays with you always.) a few people write good poetry. a few people write fair poetry. hitting the sweet spot of mediocrity is actually quite special and harder to achieve than you think. it's a delicate balance to strike that perfect chord between good and bad. yet somehow, i have been blessed with a talent for writing mediocre poetry. on occasion, i confess, i falter and a poem ends up sliding down the scale to bad (or even worse - melodramatic). perhaps once, i faltered and produced an almost good poem. but generally, without to much effort, my poetry is soundly mediocre. i never plan to write a poem. usually, a poem just comes to me and begs to be written and i ignore the poem as long as possible and then when i cannot contain it any longer, i write it. i think of them like unruly baby swans.
** red bean bread. i am kind of obsessed with doushabing. red bean in general, really. speaking of red bean, it occurred to me while walking to work this morning as i was eating doushabao (red bean steamed buns), that if you were to cut me open, i might bleed red bean i eat it so much. then i realized what a ridiculous thought that was and wondered how it ever occurred to me to even think it. then i was almost hit by a bicycle.
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