I have to take on a secret identity so I may speak my mind freely. Nobody famous. Just working while female. Female while thinking. Thinking while breathing. Breathing while working. All done while not come unraveling.
This beats talking to myself inside my head.
Dear Easter Bunny, please accept our sincere apology for banishing you to the land of creepy holiday creatures where you will reign supreme I am sure.
You were slayed when 9-year-old Mr. Monk declared that he no longer believes in Easter Bunny.
Rejoice!
The Husband took the boys to Wal-Mart last night because I had failed to procure pastel things to appease the Easter Bunny. This man loves a great bargain and is not afraid of those greeters; he falls square in Wal-Mart’s target segment. While there, Mr. Monk made the surprise announcement. Now that there’s no need to keep up the charade, they came home with a bow and arrow set, a Captain America shield and two water pistols, and created the bestest Easter baskets at the fastest speed in the history of this household.
The boys had given up soda pop for Lent hence the giant bottles of soda in the baskets. Mr. Monk took one long sip of his orange soda and declared, “This is the BEST Easter ever!”
It’s been tough and crazy at work. I have been trying to wrap up as many things as possible in preparation for my business trip to China next week. Word of advice: Always have a valid passport. AND make sure you renew your passport one year ahead of the expiration date. I had to get my passport renewed before I could get my visa to China. There was a lot of nail biting. What did I get for a last minute trip? How about 6 am flight on Monday, back of the cattle cabin, middle seat?
Good thing I have a blog right? All calamities are blogging fodders.
When I came up for air on The Twitter, The Facebook, and ok, let me throw in The G+ also [placeholder for disclaimer], I realized that maybe it would have been better if I did not spend time on the Internet at all. Ignorance is bliss right? I want to bitchslap some people so bad. Let’s start with the panty-twisted bunch over at Concerned Women for America who are now anti-anti-bullying because apparently picking on gay kids at school (and everywhere else) is their children’s GOD-given rights, literally. They are fighting against anti-bulling measures in congress at state level in the name of religious freedom. Simply typing the above paragraph is making my chest hurt.
With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.
— Steven Weinberg
On the other hand, The Internet has also brought good things into my life. For example, Jeri Ryan, Seven of Nine of Star Trek fan, became my friend on Google+.
Ok, technically, she did not say “Hey, let’s be friend.” BUT she plussed and shared one of my posts, i.e. she read my post and knew of my existence! Woohoo! +100 to my geek cred and coolation (cool+ration)! I of course took a screenshot as proof right away just in case she changed her mind and withdrew her favor.
It’s my first brush with fame. Please be as impressed as I am.
It is rather embarrassing how excited I am about this latest development…
Here, this is the reason why I have not responded to your email/tweet/comment/like.
I have been contributing to the Internet with my own crapshot snapshots, documenting my oh so exciting life. Really, how many pictures of Chicago River and the caption “Y’all. I am on a boat!” can I take before I stop having friends?
I really need to go to bed now. Once you reach 40, you really cannot survive on less than 4 hours of sleep on three consecutive days. Your grammars will also start to suffer. If you miss me, check my page Life As I See It so I can tell you that I am on a boat. Again.
I have been wanting to write about this fear of mine, irrational or not, for a long time but refrained because I did not want to offend anybody. But I can’t ignore it any longer. It depresses the shit out of me on bad days. I am just going to come right out and say it:
With all due respect, I think the saying “Life begins at 40” is a crock of bullshit. It’s like saying the lottery winners are unhappy because now they have the trouble that comes with extreme wealth. Are we not supposed to be admitting to ourselves and the world that aging is scary and depressing? I don’t feel “Rah Rah Yeah Look at me I am a middle-aged woman” at all. I feel like shit, and now I also feel guilty for feeling like shit.
I am watching this aging thing in horror the way I watch a glass vase fall. In s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n. I freeze. Eyes wide open. Wishing I could somehow turn back time to before the moment when the vase was knocked over. There is nothing I can do but to watch the vase hit the ground and break into pieces.
The trailers for “Mirror Mirror” and “Snow White and the Huntsman” reminded me how peculiar it is that in many of these tales, fear of aging drives people to the extremes in order to forestall the inevitable. And inevitable it is. On more and more occasions men would greet me with “Young lady!”, sometimes with a wink even because they knew they’re doing me a favor. It’s a secret handshake that firmly positions me in the category “women who have past their prime”. I hate this because, yes, it does make my steps lighter and lift my spirit. How pathetic it is that I now live for evidences of the residue of my youth?
Maybe I’d feel better about this whole aging thing if I felt I’d lived a life well-lived. For myself. As myself.
I spent 23 years of my life in school. The kids came. I had lived in a fog ever since. All of a sudden the fog cleared because the kids are old enough to spare me some free time, I opened my eyes and screamed when I looked at myself in the mirror.
What the fuck happened?
I feel cheated. I was put in cryogenic sleep but I did not wake up like Captain America. I demand a do-over! All the unfulfilled promises from my youth make me want to lie on my back and throw a big, giant tantrum.
“But I don’t wanna. NO! You can’t make me! It’s not fair!”
Waving my arms frantically to bat away the minutes. Covering my ears singing “LalalalalaIcan’thearyou” and shielding my eyes from the glaring tick-tock of time.
If I cry hard enough, scream loud enough, someone will relent and let me have my way right?
I noticed a varicose vein on my face today. I’m shell-shocked I guess. Watching Vivien Leigh who was 43 in “My Week with Marilyn” crumble under the frightening prospect of the march of time did not help either.
I hope you could see this as an acceptable excuse for my irrational outburst.
Just don’t call me “Young lady”.
And definitely don’t say “When I grow up, I want to be like you.”
Last week I mused about driving by myself with the kids to Mount Rushmore over spring break. 950 glorious miles. I am sorry if I let some of your down. That was just crazy talk. I was under duress: Spring break week happened to be performance review week at work. The boys seemed to be fine not going anywhere however. They have the entire Minecraft universe to roam about where they can build fanciful things, and probably more importantly, then blow them up. I wanted to make a special effort to do some non-Minecraft related activities because
1. Last Friday, at the beginning of Spring Break, 9-year-old Mr. Monk suffered first degree burns when I bumped into him and he spilled hot tea all over his upper chest. OUCH. He’s been a trooper even though he questions my skills as a Florence Nightingale every time I change the dressing. (I should also admit that when the disaster happened, I immediately Googled in order to find out what to do since I had NO clue whatsoever. Shouldn’t First Aid training be mandatory for people about to become parents?!)
2. On our way to see the doctor (for a followup visit) I actually told Mr. Monk, “I cannot deal with stupid people. Please don’t be stupid.”
3. After seeing all the creative, amazing plots inside Minecraft, I told Number One Son, “I am so embarrassed by your lackadaisical effort. You spend all your time on this, and you only have this pyramid to show for?”
Long story short: We went to Museum of Science and Industry, and a grand time was had by all. I realized one thing: Museum visits become less horrifying once all your children are out of the stroller and have attention span longer than that of a fly.
And really, what kind of monster can resist baby chicks? It’s a shame though: the process of a baby chick pecking its way out of the shell can take up to 10 hours. We did not witness any birthing.
I was very excited to be able to revisit the Twinkie experiment right before closing time. I wrote about this insane plan of MSI back in October 2009: they decided to test whether Twinkie indeed could survive a nuclear Armageddon by leaving a Twinkie out in a display case. I am happy (or actually, horrified) to report that the Twinkie is alive and well, and has not aged a bit.
Here is a picture of the good ol’ Swiss Jolly Ball at MSI. I can stand and watch this thing over and over again. It is a giant pinball machine, essentially. The tour of the ball takes more than 5 minutes to complete. I took a 2-minute video of it because it is awesome and I need more people to know something this fascinating exists near the exit of MSI. Yup. Most people probably don’t even notice it as they rush towards the exit. It bothers me.
Swiss Jolly Ball at MSI. One of the only two in the world. Click on the picture for the 2-minute video if you want to see it in action
Maybe this is exactly how the natural world works: repetitive, fascinating motions. There are many things that I could stand and watch at length. Just watching and being mesmerized. The giant Newton’s Cradle for one. And also something called Avalanche Disk. (The video below is only 30 seconds)
You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty darn cool. No medicinal aid required to get into a trance.
I thought, “Hey, instead of hitting play over and over again, I should just copy and paste the clip to extend it! Multiple times!” Soon, a song popped into my head. The perfect song to accompany my insanity. Oh, sorry, L’insanity. I know this post is now tl;dr. Somebody stop me! I am leaving this 5+ minute video on here because Mr. Blue Sky told me to. I am staring at this video and listening to this song until spring break is over.
I have not watched the new TV show Awakeon NBC. I understand the story is about a police detective who “woke” up from a car accident and realized that he’s caught in two realities, or two dreams, or rather one reality + one dream. In one half of his life, his son died, whereas in the other half of his life, his wife. In order to keep both of his loved ones “alive”, he decided to keep living this dual existence, ignoring the clues threatening to expose one half as “fake”.
I am scared to watch it…
I’ve had realistic, vivid nightmares in which I kept on telling myself, “No, it could not be. This has got to be a dream. Wake up! Wake up!” but I could not wake up. Fear would quickly settle in as I realized (erroneously) that this was not a dream. I would cry out from the pang of despair, with real tears, in from my dream. Often the warm tears would startle me and I would wake up, completely disoriented. “It is a dream after all.” My relief however would soon be overtaken by fear, fear that maybe next time, I would not be so lucky. Next time, I would not have anything to wake up to.
On the other hand, I have never had a dream so enticing that I do not want to leave it. (Probably a sign for lack of imagination?) Yet, on some days, when I am wishing for a do-over, I felt I could somehow understand why “the wife” in the movie Inception felt that way about the limbo she was in. (I will stop here lest this becomes a spoiler… even though I assume everybody that wants to see the movie has done so already…)
Remember Cypher (played by Joe Pantoliano) in The Matrix? He basically said “Fuck this. Put me back in the dream because reality sucks!”
If a dreamscape is so real that you cannot tell, what makes it any less real?
You take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill – you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes. — Morpheus in The Matrix
“Which pill would you take: red or blue?” I get a headache whenever I think about this.
You would laugh if I tell you what started this whole debate inside my head. It was the song Video Games by Lana Del Rey playing in the car on our way home after watching The Hunger Games. Now, a digression…
I am one of those empathetic people that cannot help imagining myself in the protagonist’s place when watching a film — That explains why I cannot watch horror movies — therefore I watched The Hunger Games with heightened alarm. The games would be a nightmare I do not want to be caught dead (or alive or sleeping) in. I KNOW, if I were there, I would be the first one to die. And that thought alone makes me want to hide a piece of cyanid in my tooth cavity. (I never claim to be brave so there).
Ok. I am back on track. (According to The Husband, this IS how I talk in real life…) When I heard Lana Del Rey’s voice, I remembered the big brouhaha over her flop on SNL. There was so much hype around her first ever TV/public appearance, on SNL nonetheless, people were shocked (or perhaps even outraged?) to find the Internet sensation could not deliver the promise in a live performance. It appeared that she could not sing nor did she know what to do with her hands. I cringed for the first few minutes and had to turn it off. It was painful to watch. I will admit: I liked her musical videos. I liked her voice in the videos. I still do. The videos were expertly produced, looking and sounding fantastic. The out-of-proportion backlash against her on the Internet (The Internet giveth, the Internet taketh) following her SNL appearance made me wonder out loud:
So what if the persona Lana Del Rey is fabricated? You liked her when you thought she was real, what changed now that you know her daddy is rich and her lips may have been undergone some cosmetic surgery, and that her voice may have been digitally enhanced during production? What if she had simply stayed a virtual Internet sensation a la the Japanese virtual pop star Hatsune Miku: a synthesized presence that, understood by all partaking in it to be “artificial”, yet fulfills something the audience yearns for that is not achievable in real life.
Here is Hatsune Miku in all her digital bits performing live to thousands of screaming fans. She is so real that she stars in commercials for Google Chrome in Japan, and of course, for Toyota.
There are 6 teenage boys now in my house and they are staying overnight until tomorrow noon. Sleepover is a misnomer: there will be NO sleep involved. They will be up all night, taking over the house while I hide in my locked bedroom. Fortunately my boy runs with the nerd crowd so give them each a Wii remote control and time flies, as they say, Mario Cart style. Of course, when the sun comes up tomorrow, I will be ushered into the Dawn of the Dead (Tired): these teenagers, being outside of Asia where the Tiger Moms roam, are untrained in the Tao of Midnight Oil Burning (“OMG. The teacher gives them so much homework. My son spent TWO HOURS last night doing his math homework!” Yah… I bit my tongue for that one.) They all talk a big game, and yet we know, tomorrow they will be complaining about headaches and extreme exhaustion and whimper like little babies. Thank goodness tomorrow also happens to be my least favorite day of the year – I have a slogan for it too, Spring Forward My Ass – so I am actually one hour closer to liberation.
Hurrah!
The lady brigade suggested lots of booze to help me survive the Night of the Undead. When in doubt, add Vodka. And sometimes, bacon. Unfortunately for me though, I have something in my mouth which, actually, is one of the biggest mistakes I have made in my life, I am convinced.
Last Saturday, I got Invisaligned.
Oh no no. Taking these suckers out is NOT an one-handed job. *He he. Rim shot?* All the glossy pictures featuring beautiful people do not show you the “anchors” on my teeth to secure the braces. These bumps make me look like a vampire (of the non-sexy variety) and make it a pain to take them out, and that means I basically have only limited windows every day to eat and drink. On the first day, I tore the bottom liner out of frustration and panic when I was dizzy with hunger. “What if I cannot take these things out and I have to stop eating for the next 12 months?!” On top of the dreadful task of taking the liners out (which reminds me of the first few days when I got my first contact lenses), I am also very very lazy, and I do not like the thought of having to brush and floss my teeth AFTER every bite or sip before I put the liners back on.
This is torture for a grazer. In this past week I have experienced thousands of moments when I thought about eating but could not. It’s revealing because, if not for my inability to do so, I would not have even given it any thought before I polished off say a whole bag of Sun Chips, or ate half of the strawberries while cutting them. Gone are the days to hold a cocktail giant beer glass and sip my Cranvodka the whole day night. No more lounging at Starbucks for hours. (Ok. Fine. I don’t get to do that anyway… But you get the point) I feel unsettled and restless the whole day, like something is wrong but I cannot quite put my finger on it. The promise of losing weight from this self-enforced starvation? Ha. I am half-starved for the past week but still managed to gain 5 lbs. HOW? Because when it comes time to eat, I eat like a starved person, like someone who has no idea when they are going to see food again. I now eat appetizers, main courses, AND desserts. After I am done with my meal, I survey the pantry and the fridge to find all things that I think I may have a cravings for later during the day and I shove them into my mouth.
At the same time, I also got a raging case of pink eye and was therefore rocking my geek-cred thick-coke-bottle glasses. Along with new braces, my weight gain, and the telltale rash around my waist band…
Liz Lemon: God, three weddings in one day, I’m going to be in Spanx for 12 hours. My elastic line is gonna get infected again.
I’ve had a week of low self-esteem, which meant only one thing: I needed food for emotional support.
Like I said, one of the worst decisions I’ve made in my life. So far.
Maybe I should try and top it with another bad decision? Maybe I should just say “Oh, fuck it”, and go have pizza, cake, chips and a big giant glass of Cranvodka tonight? I mean, it’s my kid’s birthday party right? I gave birth to that little guy (now measuring 5’10”) fourteen years ago so I deserve a night off from this mental torture device, right?
Happy Birthday, Number One Son! Let’s party! Separately of course. I am cool like that. You guys stay downstairs and watch mindless YouTube videos while I surround myself with all the food that I bought for you and watch an R-rated movie. Now who’s going to help mommy carry all the food and the bottle of vodka and cranberry juice upstairs?
Update: I did not even get to eat anything when the doorbell all of a sudden went off. “Are you guys expecting more people?” “No…” We opened the door and it was The Girls. Well, I guess I have officially thrown a cool party right if it’s been crashed? You’d be happy to know that after I corralled them into singing Happy Birthday and cut the birthday pies, I quickly grabbed my bottle of ready-made Costco Margarita (NO cranberry juice in the house!) and headed upstairs while leaving Mr. Monk, my 9-year-old in charge.
Unless you live under a rock, or you are my husband, by now you must have seen (or chosen to skip) this video, KONY 2012 (video at the bottom of this post for all you under-the-rock-dwellers), and it is possible you are already tired of “hearing” about it on your Facebook or Twitter (or even, dare I say, Google+?) stream.
Here is what the non-profit organization, Invisible Children, the people behind one of the most brilliant marketing campaigns I have ever witnessed (and by calling it a “marketing campaign” I do not mean to trivialize the issue to which it aims to raise awareness of), says to be the objective of this well-executed video:
KONY 2012 is a film and campaign by Invisible Children that aims to make Joseph Kony famous, not to celebrate him, but to raise support for his arrest and set a precedent for international justice.
It is possible that you, like me, thought to yourself, “Who the f is Joseph Kony? And why should I care? And what the f is going on?”
Well, making you aware and thus making you care IS the objective of this video that is the talk of the town today. It had 100,000 views on YouTube last night when I shared it on all the social media channels; as of now, there are more than 15 million views. In 24 hours. It is a trending topic on Twitter and Facebook. Of course, detractors and critics have come out of the woods; it seems that nowadays rocketing fame and popularity cannot evade the fate of soon becoming notoriety. Invisible Children‘s charity score and financial practices have since come under severe scrutiny.
[Update on March 8, 11:30 am: The video now has almost 37 million views on YouTube, i.e. the view count has more than doubled overnight]
But Joseph Kony and the atrocity he and his army has been committing is being talked about. I’d say Objective Achieved.
As I said, this is one of the most brilliant campaigns. As I scroll through the slick website and all its social-media-optimizing graphic designs and html code (TWEET the celebrities and politicians directly from the website to make them aware, because, sad yet true, when George Clooney is pissed off by something, people that matter actually listen), I could not stop being amazed at how this was not a brainchild by some corner suite on Madison Avenue. I will let the pundits and scholars and all the commenters out there do the debating for me/you. Read this one if you must: Taking ‘Kony 2012′ Down A Notch, and this one, Stop Kony, yes. But don’t stop asking questions. But by god, do not read the comments on YouTube; they really make you lose faith in humanity: one glowing example accuses this video/campaign as an Obama conspiracy.
Here is my Facebook status at 10:28 pm last night:
My boys insisted that I watch a video today. I thought, Not another stupid YouTube video (Yes, Charlie the Unicorn I am looking at you!) I am glad I “obliged” and watched this very well done, call for action, film created by Invisible Children. It astounds me that Joseph Kony is number 1 on the war criminal list and yet I didn’t know about him and the atrocity he has committed
IF THE WORLD KNOWS WHO JOSEPH KONY IS, IT WILL UNITE TO STOP HIM. IT STARTS HERE.
KONY 2012 IS A FILM AND CAMPAIGN BY INVISIBLE CHILDREN THAT AIMS TO MAKE JOSEPH KONY FAMOUS, NOT TO CELEBRATE HIM, BUT TO RAISE SUPPORT FOR HIS ARREST AND SET A PRECEDENT FOR INTERNATIONAL JUSTICE.
The least we could do is to pass this movie on on the Internet.
When I was watching it, my 9-year-old (Mr. Monk) came to watch it again with me. He was alternating between being sad, outraged, incredulous, and agitated. He was doing those jumping without moving his feet thing that people do when they are excited about something but don’t know what to do with it, or where to start. His eyes were red, and yet shimmering with hope. Yes, hope.
And that’s what I think Kony 2012 did the most brilliantly. It breaks down a complicated political/social/historical/economical/national/global/humanitarian situation into simple, forceful messages that people of any background, age, education, intellect can easily grasp. Sort of like a call for action for the drive-through generation. Of course, that is also one of the shortcomings picked out by its critics, that Kony 2012 does not provide the whole political/etc. context. Because if it did, most people would not even click PLAY. Sad but true. Even well-intentioned, compassionate young people, the target audience of this video (complete with t-shirts, bracelets, posters and pins!), would have been too overwhelmed by the hopelessness in the situation, “So, there is nothing nobody can do about it?” What would they have done? Probably go back to mindless YouTube videos that show the myriad ways a guy can get his crotch hit by some foreign object.
Yes, it’s a First World Problem, that our young people have to be spoon-fed easily digestible messages, but this may be a start, their first engagement in social activism, no matter how whitewashed it is. (Why don’t people criticize all the walkthons and fundraising that I have been forced to donate to because I do not like my children to hit up relatives/friends for money? Don’t even get me started on how the retailers donate $1 stinkig dollar per crap to our school. I will just give you the money directly, Mr. Principle. School fundraising is, IMFHO, MOST. STUPID. IDEA. EVER. How about youse don’t vote down property tax increase so we don’t have to send our children out to be extortioners?! And why do we need to buy more balls for the playground??!!)
Even more impressively, people behind Invisible Children understand that in order to get the masses to do something, you have to tell them what and how, and keep it simple. We are all Homer Simpsons. Or in the case of its actual target audience, you have to make sure the actions you are calling for are well within the capability of teenagers and young adults: Camp outside an embassy in protest. No. Tweet Lady Gaga. Yes. This is not said in jest. They’ve smartly figured out that in order for there to be a cause, you need a celebrity + a political figure to carry the torch. How do you get a celebrity to carry the torch for the said cause? The power of fans, most of them young and passionate. How do you get a political figure to care? When Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt come-a-calling.
The actionable instructions at the end of the video are so concise and simplistic that even Mr. Monk was excited and convinced that he, a 3rd grader, could do something about it. He’s been brooding since last night. The story of Jacob really struck a cord and he could not stop thinking about Kony 2012 the whole day today. Finally he asked, “Mom, is it ok if I buy a kit from Kony 2012? And also, I would like to donate. What do you think? Do you think $3 a month will be ok?”
I said, “Of course, honey. I am very proud of you.” And then I went, SHIT, and started reading all the comments on all the posts.
I am a cynical curmudgeon. Yes, I was emotional for about half an hour after I watched the video despite the gnawing discomfort I had, and started bombarding the Internet with “OMG. You’ve got to watch this video to find out who Joseph Kony is!” In my defense, people do need to know who Joseph Kony is, and need to be reminded that child slavery/abduction/abuse/etc. is still going on even though CNN stopped reporting it.
The shit moment came because I had not vetted Invisible Children as a charity. Unlike my kids, I have heard/read/been disgusted by how some charities turned out to be the front for people to line their own pockets. Sharing the video and getting the word out is one thing; putting money where it deserves to go is something else. I would be very very upset if Mr. Monk’s money went towards some shady charity taking advantage of young people for their innocence and compassion. And I worried because… this campaign has been too well executed. What can I say? I am a cynical curmudgeon.
So I sat in front of my computer and followed along the multiple threads of debates raging on the Internet, gritting my teeth, seeing all sides of stories and finding no solace. For some reason I had the false flashback of pulling petals off of a flower, “He loves me. He loves me not.”
They are legit. They are a sham. They mean well. They are doing this wrong. You did the right thing. You have been taken for a fool.
Watching Mr. Monk cautiously calculating how much all these will add up and figuring out whether he’s saved enough money to pay for it, I had not the heart to explain to him the cold, hard reality of the world. Not about how sometimes people that mean to do well are actually doing more harm. Not yet.
A supposedly simple, straightforward lesson of compassion and “let’s do something to help someone else” is in reality far from being that.
Or, did Kony 2012’s meteor rise to fame cause the complexity? If we ignore its notoriety and the speed in which it reached that notoriety, could this still be a simple straightforward opportunity for sheltered young people in the first world to be inspired to care, and to care enough to take actions no matter how simplistic they are?
Sadly, after reading 1000+ impassioned comments, I have no answers.
By taking them to the exhibit dedicated to the 1980s at Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, of course!
I am kidding on the square, seeing how this is a hard glance back at the 1980s with a critical eye: feminism, gender politics, race politics, AIDES, political upheavals in the Latin America, Disappeared, Reaganism, NEA, Robert Mapplethorpe. How do you explain to a young child what happened in the 1980s when all they heard nowadays was how in the 1980s everybody was happy because the economy was great?
It’s kind of scary how little the kids know about what really happened in the 1980s.
It’s also kind of difficult, as a parent, to gauge “how young is old enough” and “how much is too much”. I don’t like to shelter my children but I also want to make sure what I share with them is “age appropriate”…
I believe I screamed, just a little, when I saw Adrian Piper’s My Calling (Cards) on display since I’ve used this often as an example of how one performance artist has chosen to deal with racism in mundane, daily life. MCA has them on display, in multiple copies, free for the taking.
Coming off from my high, I was immediately put on “high alert” when next we walked into the wing dedicated to “Gender Trouble”. Because of the in-your-face shock value of the protest art, I felt I had to prepare Mr. Monk, who’s in 3rd grade, even though he’s a mature 3rd grader, for the images on display. Here’s what I came up with in a panic:
The rise of feminism means that women artists started questioning the social orders in the society: why are men given more power and authority than women? What makes a man a man? What makes a woman a woman? And that’s why they show the anatomy of human being to confront the man-made meanings and differences between men and women, and that’s why you are going to see a lot of penises.
He dutifully nodded, and laughed to mask his discomfort. Nobody wants to hear their mother utter the word “penis” in public even at a whisper.
As I went through the internal struggle of whether to impose “censorship” on the fly, I instinctively shielded him from an open, video screen room [Later, The Husband told me that the room came with a warning sign outside so I guess my instinct was correct]. Then across the room were these:
Robert Mapplethorpe. The artist that embodied two main Reaganism in the 1980s: the government’s willful negligence towards the Aides epidemic and its fight to censor what it deemed as “obscene” art. Without thinking, I had strategically positioned myself between these photos and Mr. Monk’s sight line. To this moment, I am still questioning myself whether I had done the right thing: If I disagree with the conservative’s accusation, why did I shield Mr. Monk’s gaze from these pictures, esp. the leather-encased penis? [In my defense, I was not worried about my 13-year old; he roamed through the exhibit without a chaperon]
Lots of questions were asked: Why was Reagan’s portrait there? Was it for sarcastic reasons? Why? What did he do? Why were people upset?
What is AIDS?
I think Mr. Monk understands this picture or at least walked away with his own interpretation.
Photo Courtesy of The Husband
[After all, he got it when Jack Donaghy said, about Kenneth the Intern, “He’s a white male with hair, Lemon. The sky’s the limit.”]
Even though this is a child who is extremely mature for his age, sensitive and observant of the world around him, has watched possibly all episodes of The Simpsons, and Weekend Update on SNL with me, I left the museum still questioning myself: Was is it too much? What is too much? Have I shown my child “age appropriate” material?
Photo Courtesy of The Husband
This is such a difficult picture to look at straight on. But it is not difficult to grasp the messages. Should I have shielded him from the ugliness of the world?
So… 1980s. I almost forgot. It’s not just about the cheesy music, leg warmers and big hairs.
More pictures from our visit to MCA that day here:
I re-discovered and fell in love with Davy Jones again when I saw that he was the voice behind our favoriteSandra Boynton song, I Want to be Your Personal Penguin.
I’ve always thought that one would be lucky in life to meet someone that makes you want to sing this song to them. We should all be so lucky to have our own personal penguins.
I have never been addicted to anything. Not even to love. That’s the tragic burden I have to bear as someone who can never seem to manage to stick to anything. But once in a while, I have passionate, obsessive affairs with some things that abruptly break into my consciousness to command all my attention, and then leave soon afterwards just as abruptly.
As a piece of evidence to the above tragic character flaw of mine, I present to you, The Ukulele.
It showed up from Amazon.com last August. Was used as a prop in several pictures. And then… sadly, it along with the instruction book and CD, was never to be seen again… until last month when I traveled with it all the way to San Francisco for a team building event, and then back, without once taking it out of its bag.
On the night of February 10, I jumped on the Linsanity wagon and stayed up the WHOLE night to follow New York Knicks’ win over Lakers. I was gaga over Jeremy Lin, and all the lin-puns that ensued.
Hey, if even Spike Lee caught the fever, who was I to pretend to be cool, right?
That weekend I had a lot of fun with Jeremy Lin Word Generator (of course!), and below is my favorite:
Actually, I’d like all of you to start calling me Linja from now on. In return, I will give you the awesome Dynamic Einstein Caption Generator: Have Einstein write anything you want on the blackboard! Yeah, naturally I had fun for a while with Einstein also.
My obsession this weekend? Quicken. Yup. Turns out that I have not reconciled my bank statement on Quicken since… drum roll please… September 2009, interestingly coincided with the time when I started getting to know the blogging community… You guys are a bad influence, you know that (and are probably proud of it too). I am now up to October 2010. Pray for me.
There is one thing that I should be more obsessed with but haven’t got around to it:
