Wednesday, August 29, 2007
It's Almost Over
Summer, that is. And along with the end of summer comes an old, familiar nostalgia for longer days, heat and that special sunshine brightness of those three middle months of the year. And now that I'm not in school anymore and don't have the fun, slightly festive ritual of goinig back to school to help me make the transition to fall, I feel like I have to create new rituals--consciously or not--to help ease the way. For example, I bought myself a new backpack because I was tired of lugging multiple bags around carrying my random possessions around all the time, and I liked the ease of just carrying one thing on my back. I realized today that I bought it around the same time that back to school shopping season started. Coincidence? I don't think so.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Nice
I just got out of bed after laying there for a while listening to H.'s breathing. First time in a while that I haven't had to set an alarm to wake me up for work or some other commitment (like leaving early to go watch Andy Palacio and the Garifuna Collective at Stern Grove a couple weekends ago). It always feels nice to just be able to wake up on your own, without a loud ringing in your ear, and get up when you feel like it.
I walked into the kitchen to make my daily cup of Chinese herbal tea, and looked at the clock: 10:01am. Damn. I haven't slept in this late in--I can't even remember when. Most days I get up by 7:30am, even in the Philippines when I was on vacation, because it was too damn hot to sleep past 7am. I recall the 'old days' when I was living the carefree college life in Berkeley, how some days when I wasn't holding down a weekend job (really just the last year that i was doing organizing on campus and no longer attending classes), I would sleep 'til noon, 2pm, 3pm, after having gone out the night before or stayed up late talking to my roommates (who had their own crazy hours and lives).Now, at 35 years of age, I'm shocked when I don't get up 'til 10am.
I'm not sure whether that's sad or interesting or cool. It just is nice right now to have a little time to myself, and to not have a million things to do today that I wake up knowing I won't be able to finish. I've also been traveling a lot this year, for work and family and personal stuff. On my flight to Portland last weekend for a conference at which I helped train with GIFT, I tallied up the number of trips requiring plane travel that I'd taken thusfar in 2007. It came to about once a month, or seven trips. Ugh. Travel is wearying, especially when it's required for work or when your flights are longer than 3 hours a leg or entail having long-ass layovers (which many of my flights this year did).
So suffice it to say that it feels good to not plan on traveling anywhere requiring a plane flight for the rest of the year--unless we decide to take a funder trip to New York at some point in the fall, that is--and to know that for the next few weekends I have a little more time to settle in at home, clean my house, organize my home office, finish filing my taxes (almost done! Just have to send them some money), and work on my writing. And spend some time with friends and family, which I've been doing a little more of lately, trying to take advantage of the nice weather.
Today, I have a whole day uninterrupted to do all these things. I may have plans later this evening, but it's all good. Although waking up later does leave you with less daylight hours to accomplish all the things on your to-do list. But the extra sleep was obviously needed.
Speaking of taking advantage of (what I hope turns out to be) a pretty day and good weather, any of y'all in the Oakland area should come by to the "Taste of Park" block party at the little rec center across the street from the Parkway Theater on Park Boulevard and 3rd Avenue, today and tomorrow. My baby DJ Hen10 will be playing a quick set today in the park, and I'm guessing there'll be lots of families with kids and fun things to do. I'll either be out there checking out the vibe and eating some food, or holed up in a cafe across the street getting writing done or mopping my floors at home. Call me if you wanna meet up.
Peace,
Rona
I walked into the kitchen to make my daily cup of Chinese herbal tea, and looked at the clock: 10:01am. Damn. I haven't slept in this late in--I can't even remember when. Most days I get up by 7:30am, even in the Philippines when I was on vacation, because it was too damn hot to sleep past 7am. I recall the 'old days' when I was living the carefree college life in Berkeley, how some days when I wasn't holding down a weekend job (really just the last year that i was doing organizing on campus and no longer attending classes), I would sleep 'til noon, 2pm, 3pm, after having gone out the night before or stayed up late talking to my roommates (who had their own crazy hours and lives).Now, at 35 years of age, I'm shocked when I don't get up 'til 10am.
I'm not sure whether that's sad or interesting or cool. It just is nice right now to have a little time to myself, and to not have a million things to do today that I wake up knowing I won't be able to finish. I've also been traveling a lot this year, for work and family and personal stuff. On my flight to Portland last weekend for a conference at which I helped train with GIFT, I tallied up the number of trips requiring plane travel that I'd taken thusfar in 2007. It came to about once a month, or seven trips. Ugh. Travel is wearying, especially when it's required for work or when your flights are longer than 3 hours a leg or entail having long-ass layovers (which many of my flights this year did).
So suffice it to say that it feels good to not plan on traveling anywhere requiring a plane flight for the rest of the year--unless we decide to take a funder trip to New York at some point in the fall, that is--and to know that for the next few weekends I have a little more time to settle in at home, clean my house, organize my home office, finish filing my taxes (almost done! Just have to send them some money), and work on my writing. And spend some time with friends and family, which I've been doing a little more of lately, trying to take advantage of the nice weather.
Today, I have a whole day uninterrupted to do all these things. I may have plans later this evening, but it's all good. Although waking up later does leave you with less daylight hours to accomplish all the things on your to-do list. But the extra sleep was obviously needed.
Speaking of taking advantage of (what I hope turns out to be) a pretty day and good weather, any of y'all in the Oakland area should come by to the "Taste of Park" block party at the little rec center across the street from the Parkway Theater on Park Boulevard and 3rd Avenue, today and tomorrow. My baby DJ Hen10 will be playing a quick set today in the park, and I'm guessing there'll be lots of families with kids and fun things to do. I'll either be out there checking out the vibe and eating some food, or holed up in a cafe across the street getting writing done or mopping my floors at home. Call me if you wanna meet up.
Peace,
Rona
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Rest in Peace: Chauncey Bailey
I and many other Oaklanders and supporters of the Black press are still reeling from the recent murder of Chauncey Bailey, a well-respected community journalist, last week.
The themes that this tragic incident bring up for me are, again, literacy and the power of writing to shake loose entrenched power structures, to speak truth to power. My experiences over the past few months seem to be pointing me in the direction of taking my writing to the next level, and Chauncey's death and my feelings about it are just another sign that I need to pursue my writing more seriously. His death has affirmed for me that writing can be one of the most powerful acts in the world.
I didn't know Mr. Bailey, had never even heard of him before his death this past week. But as I walked to work the other day, I encountered his spirit in the palpable emotion and heaviness I felt when I walked by the police barricades near Alice and 14th Streets in downtown Oakland. I asked a police officer what was going on; he told me someone had been shot, killed. I kept walking closer to the crime scene (everything had been cleaned up by then but a small crowd had gathered) to find out more. Now, for the non-Oaklander folks reading my blog, despite what you may have heard or what you believe about Oakland, walking through downtown at 9:30am and finding a murder scene isn't a normal occurrence. I asked a woman standing near the intersection if she knew what was going on; she'd been walking with a man who was talking on his cell phone, saying something about 'machine gunned'. I figured she knew something.
"Someone was killed," she told me. I asked if she knew who it was. "Chauncey Bailey, the editor of the Oakland Post." My mouth fell open. I knew the Post as a respected Black newspaper in the East Bay. I've read it off and on over the years, and am a big supporter of the ethnic press in general, as many stories that mainstream news outlets won't tell appear in Chinese, African-American, Spanish-language and other ethnic media.
"He was a friend," the woman said. I weakly mumbled "sorry", knowing that nothing I could say could comfort her at that moment. Before I could voice my fear of why Mr. Bailey had been killed, she voiced it for me.
"I guess he was writing some stuff that someone didn't like," she said. I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes. No, I didn't know him, but when writers are killed for writing controversial stories, you know democracy is truly dead. And while I don't really believe that our country (or this city for that matter, progressive as it can be at times) is a democracy, it's rare that I witness first-hand how much our society has degenerated into madness.
I left the scene after a few minutes, kept walking to work, my mind reeling. I hoped in a twisted way that this man had been shot over some personal or financial matter--borrowed money from the wrong people, that kind of thing. Because that would've been easier to handle than knowing that he'd been killed for writing something someone didn't agree with.
As I walked towards my office, I saw three people--two women and one man--walking swiftly towards the 14th and Alice intersection, urgently talking on their cell phones the way I'd seen the man do earlier. The woman stopped halfway down one block and started crying loudly. I've seen her in the newspaper photos from the scene of Mr. Bailey's killing.
Many of us in Oakland know that Mr. Bailey's death, tragic and insane as it was, is just one of the many murders in Oakland over the past several years. While I don't think any of those deaths are any more significant than any other, it's clear that because of his prominent position in the community and his role as a leading community journalist, Mr. Bailey's death has earned more media coverage and attention than those of the dozens of other Oaklanders who have been murdered. I only hope that, true to his muckraking spirit, his death provokes our city's leaders and residents to take a good, hard look at what can be done to truly end the senseless violence in Oakland, and inspire us to stop blaming each other, pointing fingers at thugs or gangsters or politicians or cops as the sole 'reasons' for the violence. We should all be intelligent enough to know by now that the social and political and economic forces that have created this situation are much more complex than that.
And in the end, I believe that in some way we all contribute to this problem of senseless violence whether it's by not being involved in what's happening in our neighborhood, or by not trying to talk to our neighbors, or by turning our backs on the youth and poor people in our community that, if not provided with the right support, information and guidance, may turn to crime in order to 'get ahead' or just plain survive in a harsh, often hostile world.
I also hope that the other middle-class, relatively new Oakland residents like myself understand and not judge the resentment that those who have been here much longer feel when the only time that crime in Oakland is paid the attention it deserves is when it happens in supposedly 'safer' areas like downtown Oakland or Piedmont Avenue or Lakeshore, or happen to white people. It's a justified resentment, and has everything to do with race and class and the changing demographics of Oakland. I still consider myself a 'new' Oakland resident and I've lived here for the better part of 15 years. But that's still very different than being born and raised in Oakland, so you folks out there that haven't even been here for a year or two better get that straight right away if you want to be part of the solution and not the problems here.
We're all in this together. And it's fitting that National Night Out is coming up this Tuesday, August 7th. There are at least three events happening within a seven-block radius of my house that night, and I'll be attending at least two of them. I think I'll need to go just to witness some of the positive things about Oakland that sometimes are easy to forget when we hear about killings and violence: people of all colors getting to know each other, getting along, trying to make Oakland a better place.
And I hope this night--and other efforts that people living and working in Oakland continue to make to build a stronger and more peaceful community--makes Mr. Chauncey Bailey smile a little, wherever he is now. Thank you, Mr. Bailey, for asking the tough questions and for doing your part in speaking truth to power. You've inspired me, and I know you've inspired many, many others.
The themes that this tragic incident bring up for me are, again, literacy and the power of writing to shake loose entrenched power structures, to speak truth to power. My experiences over the past few months seem to be pointing me in the direction of taking my writing to the next level, and Chauncey's death and my feelings about it are just another sign that I need to pursue my writing more seriously. His death has affirmed for me that writing can be one of the most powerful acts in the world.
I didn't know Mr. Bailey, had never even heard of him before his death this past week. But as I walked to work the other day, I encountered his spirit in the palpable emotion and heaviness I felt when I walked by the police barricades near Alice and 14th Streets in downtown Oakland. I asked a police officer what was going on; he told me someone had been shot, killed. I kept walking closer to the crime scene (everything had been cleaned up by then but a small crowd had gathered) to find out more. Now, for the non-Oaklander folks reading my blog, despite what you may have heard or what you believe about Oakland, walking through downtown at 9:30am and finding a murder scene isn't a normal occurrence. I asked a woman standing near the intersection if she knew what was going on; she'd been walking with a man who was talking on his cell phone, saying something about 'machine gunned'. I figured she knew something.
"Someone was killed," she told me. I asked if she knew who it was. "Chauncey Bailey, the editor of the Oakland Post." My mouth fell open. I knew the Post as a respected Black newspaper in the East Bay. I've read it off and on over the years, and am a big supporter of the ethnic press in general, as many stories that mainstream news outlets won't tell appear in Chinese, African-American, Spanish-language and other ethnic media.
"He was a friend," the woman said. I weakly mumbled "sorry", knowing that nothing I could say could comfort her at that moment. Before I could voice my fear of why Mr. Bailey had been killed, she voiced it for me.
"I guess he was writing some stuff that someone didn't like," she said. I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes. No, I didn't know him, but when writers are killed for writing controversial stories, you know democracy is truly dead. And while I don't really believe that our country (or this city for that matter, progressive as it can be at times) is a democracy, it's rare that I witness first-hand how much our society has degenerated into madness.
I left the scene after a few minutes, kept walking to work, my mind reeling. I hoped in a twisted way that this man had been shot over some personal or financial matter--borrowed money from the wrong people, that kind of thing. Because that would've been easier to handle than knowing that he'd been killed for writing something someone didn't agree with.
As I walked towards my office, I saw three people--two women and one man--walking swiftly towards the 14th and Alice intersection, urgently talking on their cell phones the way I'd seen the man do earlier. The woman stopped halfway down one block and started crying loudly. I've seen her in the newspaper photos from the scene of Mr. Bailey's killing.
Many of us in Oakland know that Mr. Bailey's death, tragic and insane as it was, is just one of the many murders in Oakland over the past several years. While I don't think any of those deaths are any more significant than any other, it's clear that because of his prominent position in the community and his role as a leading community journalist, Mr. Bailey's death has earned more media coverage and attention than those of the dozens of other Oaklanders who have been murdered. I only hope that, true to his muckraking spirit, his death provokes our city's leaders and residents to take a good, hard look at what can be done to truly end the senseless violence in Oakland, and inspire us to stop blaming each other, pointing fingers at thugs or gangsters or politicians or cops as the sole 'reasons' for the violence. We should all be intelligent enough to know by now that the social and political and economic forces that have created this situation are much more complex than that.
And in the end, I believe that in some way we all contribute to this problem of senseless violence whether it's by not being involved in what's happening in our neighborhood, or by not trying to talk to our neighbors, or by turning our backs on the youth and poor people in our community that, if not provided with the right support, information and guidance, may turn to crime in order to 'get ahead' or just plain survive in a harsh, often hostile world.
I also hope that the other middle-class, relatively new Oakland residents like myself understand and not judge the resentment that those who have been here much longer feel when the only time that crime in Oakland is paid the attention it deserves is when it happens in supposedly 'safer' areas like downtown Oakland or Piedmont Avenue or Lakeshore, or happen to white people. It's a justified resentment, and has everything to do with race and class and the changing demographics of Oakland. I still consider myself a 'new' Oakland resident and I've lived here for the better part of 15 years. But that's still very different than being born and raised in Oakland, so you folks out there that haven't even been here for a year or two better get that straight right away if you want to be part of the solution and not the problems here.
We're all in this together. And it's fitting that National Night Out is coming up this Tuesday, August 7th. There are at least three events happening within a seven-block radius of my house that night, and I'll be attending at least two of them. I think I'll need to go just to witness some of the positive things about Oakland that sometimes are easy to forget when we hear about killings and violence: people of all colors getting to know each other, getting along, trying to make Oakland a better place.
And I hope this night--and other efforts that people living and working in Oakland continue to make to build a stronger and more peaceful community--makes Mr. Chauncey Bailey smile a little, wherever he is now. Thank you, Mr. Bailey, for asking the tough questions and for doing your part in speaking truth to power. You've inspired me, and I know you've inspired many, many others.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Again on Literacy
This is a major theme in my life right now, and I'm planning on writing an essay on it. The more I talk to folks about it, the more I see it's a very common theme for all people of color--and probably for lots of white folks too, but here in California that history's a bit more obscured from my everyday experience.
But until I get started on that essay, here's an especially moving passage I just read from Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon on the same theme. This is from a conversation between twelve-year-old Macon Dead III and his father, the Junior, talking about what happened to Junior's father, Macon Dead Sr..
"'Pilate said somebody shot your father. Five feet into the air.'
'Took him sixteen years to get that farm to where it was paying. It's all dairy country up there now. Then it wasn't. Then it was...nice.'
"'Who shot him, Daddy?'"
"Macon focused his eyes on hs son. 'Papa couldn't read, couldn't even sign his name. Had a mark he used. They tricked him. He signed something, I don't know what, and they told him they owned his property. He never read nothing. I tried to teach hi, but he said he couldn't remember those little marks from one day to the next. Wrote one word in his life--Pilate's name; copied from the Bible. That's what she got folded up in that earring. He should have let me teach him. Everything bad that ever happened to him happened because he couldn't read. Got his name messed up cause he couldn't read.'
'His name? How?'
'When freedom came. All the colored people in the state had to register with the Freedman's Bureau.'
'Your father was a slave?'
'What kind of foolish question is that? Course he was. Who hadn't been in 1869? They all had to register. Free and not free. Free and used-to-be-slaves. Papa was in his teens and went to sign up, but the man behind the desk was drunk. He asked Papa where he was born. Papa said Macon. Then he asked him who his father was. Papa said, 'He's dead.' Asked him who owned him, Papa said, 'I'm free.' Well, the Yankee wrote it all down, but in the wrong spaces. Had him born in Dunfrie, wherever the hell that is, and in the space for his name the fool wrote, 'Dead' comma 'Macon.' But Papa couldn't read so he never found out what he was registered as till Mama told him. They met on a wagon going North. Started talking about one thing and another, told her about being a freedman and showed off his papers to her. When she looked at his paper she read him out what it said.'
'He didn't have to keep the name, did he? He could have used his real name, couldn't he?'
'Mama liked it. Liked the name. Said it was new and would wipe out the past. Wipe it all out.'"
But until I get started on that essay, here's an especially moving passage I just read from Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon on the same theme. This is from a conversation between twelve-year-old Macon Dead III and his father, the Junior, talking about what happened to Junior's father, Macon Dead Sr..
"'Pilate said somebody shot your father. Five feet into the air.'
'Took him sixteen years to get that farm to where it was paying. It's all dairy country up there now. Then it wasn't. Then it was...nice.'
"'Who shot him, Daddy?'"
"Macon focused his eyes on hs son. 'Papa couldn't read, couldn't even sign his name. Had a mark he used. They tricked him. He signed something, I don't know what, and they told him they owned his property. He never read nothing. I tried to teach hi, but he said he couldn't remember those little marks from one day to the next. Wrote one word in his life--Pilate's name; copied from the Bible. That's what she got folded up in that earring. He should have let me teach him. Everything bad that ever happened to him happened because he couldn't read. Got his name messed up cause he couldn't read.'
'His name? How?'
'When freedom came. All the colored people in the state had to register with the Freedman's Bureau.'
'Your father was a slave?'
'What kind of foolish question is that? Course he was. Who hadn't been in 1869? They all had to register. Free and not free. Free and used-to-be-slaves. Papa was in his teens and went to sign up, but the man behind the desk was drunk. He asked Papa where he was born. Papa said Macon. Then he asked him who his father was. Papa said, 'He's dead.' Asked him who owned him, Papa said, 'I'm free.' Well, the Yankee wrote it all down, but in the wrong spaces. Had him born in Dunfrie, wherever the hell that is, and in the space for his name the fool wrote, 'Dead' comma 'Macon.' But Papa couldn't read so he never found out what he was registered as till Mama told him. They met on a wagon going North. Started talking about one thing and another, told her about being a freedman and showed off his papers to her. When she looked at his paper she read him out what it said.'
'He didn't have to keep the name, did he? He could have used his real name, couldn't he?'
'Mama liked it. Liked the name. Said it was new and would wipe out the past. Wipe it all out.'"
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Need to get off my butt and two cool pics
I've been in a serious procrastinating funk. Not about life in general--I've definitely been writing more, which is great, and reading more, which is good too--but about specific things, like cleaning my house, filing my taxes (I know, I know, it's bad), staying on top of my bills, etc.
Maybe it's because that stuff feels like real work and my writing (at least right now) feels more fun. I'm trying to ride the wave of actually feeling motivated to write. I'm nearly done with my first real draft of a short story that I'm hoping to submit to this. Just emailed Mel, Denea and Ricardo (from my 2005 VONA novel workshop) to see if they can give me some good critique/feedback on it so I can do more work on the rewrites.
Had brunch last weekend with the always-delightful (and I don't use that word very much) Max Elbaum and his partner Ellen, who are always so supportive of my writing work and are just good people all around. They really helped me feel more grounded and secure in this vision of my life as a writing life, which can still be a political life. We talked about how I'm lucky that the two career paths that I have before me right now--fundraising and writing--are both things that hold a lot of promise and opportunity. One is more immediately lucrative than the other (and if you can't figure out which path this is then you're probably an alien from another planet or a corporate person), but it's nice to know that I have a choice.
Speaking of the writing life, here's one of its perks: meeting your writing idols and getting to take pictures with them. That's Jessica Hagedorn with me (second from left), Mel and Patty (the Pinay crew in our VONA workshop), and me with the rest of the VONA novelistas and our teacher, Chris Abani.
Photo by Patricia Justine Tumang
Photo by Ibarionex Perello
Maybe it's because that stuff feels like real work and my writing (at least right now) feels more fun. I'm trying to ride the wave of actually feeling motivated to write. I'm nearly done with my first real draft of a short story that I'm hoping to submit to this. Just emailed Mel, Denea and Ricardo (from my 2005 VONA novel workshop) to see if they can give me some good critique/feedback on it so I can do more work on the rewrites.
Had brunch last weekend with the always-delightful (and I don't use that word very much) Max Elbaum and his partner Ellen, who are always so supportive of my writing work and are just good people all around. They really helped me feel more grounded and secure in this vision of my life as a writing life, which can still be a political life. We talked about how I'm lucky that the two career paths that I have before me right now--fundraising and writing--are both things that hold a lot of promise and opportunity. One is more immediately lucrative than the other (and if you can't figure out which path this is then you're probably an alien from another planet or a corporate person), but it's nice to know that I have a choice.
Speaking of the writing life, here's one of its perks: meeting your writing idols and getting to take pictures with them. That's Jessica Hagedorn with me (second from left), Mel and Patty (the Pinay crew in our VONA workshop), and me with the rest of the VONA novelistas and our teacher, Chris Abani.
Photo by Patricia Justine Tumang
Photo by Ibarionex Perello
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Recent Adds I Wanna Highlight
Slowly but surely been adding new folks' blogs to my blogroll...including:
Favianna Rodriguez, activist-artist and business woman extraordinarie (my kinda gal!) who helps operate Tumi's, where my partner H. works now.
Baguio, Philippines native Frank Cimatu's Pine for Pine. I don't know Frank but I liked Baguio and I like his blog, so there it is.
My friend and former co-worker Jeremy Smith's teamblog, the Daddy Dialectic, a cool forum for men who are new fathers but longtime activists to talk about the challenges and joys of daddyhood in the early 21st century.
Ludovic Blain III, a new-ish friend / movement buddy who's into so many different things it's hard to keep track. From electoral politics to Garifuna and lots of other kinds of music to environmental justice to philanthropy, he's got it covered.
Enjoy the musings and weird antics of my friends in the blogosphere! ;)
Peace,
Rona
Favianna Rodriguez, activist-artist and business woman extraordinarie (my kinda gal!) who helps operate Tumi's, where my partner H. works now.
Baguio, Philippines native Frank Cimatu's Pine for Pine. I don't know Frank but I liked Baguio and I like his blog, so there it is.
My friend and former co-worker Jeremy Smith's teamblog, the Daddy Dialectic, a cool forum for men who are new fathers but longtime activists to talk about the challenges and joys of daddyhood in the early 21st century.
Ludovic Blain III, a new-ish friend / movement buddy who's into so many different things it's hard to keep track. From electoral politics to Garifuna and lots of other kinds of music to environmental justice to philanthropy, he's got it covered.
Enjoy the musings and weird antics of my friends in the blogosphere! ;)
Peace,
Rona
Friday, July 20, 2007
It's a Small Start
As someone who's worked for or been involved with progressive, grassroots organizing groups for the past ten years, I know that sending random letters like this won't solve alll our social problems, but it's a start. And it makes me feel better. And hopefully someone in Dellums' office will respond to me and tell me what resources the City of Oakland already has to prepare its residents for the next Big Earthquake.
I encourage you all to write similar letters to your city council representatives, to Dellums, etc. And soon I"ll try to pull folks together for a more organized effort to prepare ourselves and our beloved City.
emailed to: officeofthemayor@oaklandnet.com
Dear Mayor Dellums-
Let me first say that I am pleased and proud of your actions regarding the current Waste Management lockout of our garbage workers. I know that your efforts and those of other stakeholders will ensure that everyone in our city regardless of income level, race or neighborhood will receive the garbage pickup service we are entitled to.
I am writing to you because I know that one of the reasons you ran for Mayor of Oakland was because you wanted to 'save' Oakland from the fate that the great city of New Orleans faced in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina--to save our city from the inevitable fate that, as a 'minority majority', largely African-
American city, Oakland would someday end up struggling to survive after a huge natural disaster.
The small but still shocking earthquake last night at 4:42am was just one of Mother Nature's reminders to us that we have a long way to go to ensure that Oakland is prepared for 'The Big One'--the 7.0+ earthquake that is predicted to hit the Hayward Fault sometime over the next 30 years.
It's clear to me that Oakland--although we may have some important resources to prepare our residents for this disaster--is far from being ready to potentially shelter, feed, and provide medical care for thousands of injured people if a large quake does strike. Oaklanders are a resourceful and community-oriented folk; if we weren't we wouldn't have been able to elect you our Mayor. But we need the resources, strategic thinking, infrastructure and coordination of our City government to take us from being good neighbors to each other to being able to take care of each other when the next big disaster strikes.
I don't want to stand aside and wait until the Big One happens for us to find out that our City can't take care of its people. And I hope that you don't want to wait either. Disaster preparedness should be a major priority of your administration, for being prepared is all we can do to protect ourselves against the potential loss of many hundreds or even thousands of lives during a major temblor.
Please let me know if there are city- or regional-government initiated efforts to address our city's preparedness. I am willing to organize in my neighborhood and beyond to help make sure that Oaklanders have the infrastructure we need to survive the Big One.
Sincerely,
Rona Fernandez
Oakland, California
I encourage you all to write similar letters to your city council representatives, to Dellums, etc. And soon I"ll try to pull folks together for a more organized effort to prepare ourselves and our beloved City.
emailed to: officeofthemayor@oaklandnet.com
Dear Mayor Dellums-
Let me first say that I am pleased and proud of your actions regarding the current Waste Management lockout of our garbage workers. I know that your efforts and those of other stakeholders will ensure that everyone in our city regardless of income level, race or neighborhood will receive the garbage pickup service we are entitled to.
I am writing to you because I know that one of the reasons you ran for Mayor of Oakland was because you wanted to 'save' Oakland from the fate that the great city of New Orleans faced in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina--to save our city from the inevitable fate that, as a 'minority majority', largely African-
American city, Oakland would someday end up struggling to survive after a huge natural disaster.
The small but still shocking earthquake last night at 4:42am was just one of Mother Nature's reminders to us that we have a long way to go to ensure that Oakland is prepared for 'The Big One'--the 7.0+ earthquake that is predicted to hit the Hayward Fault sometime over the next 30 years.
It's clear to me that Oakland--although we may have some important resources to prepare our residents for this disaster--is far from being ready to potentially shelter, feed, and provide medical care for thousands of injured people if a large quake does strike. Oaklanders are a resourceful and community-oriented folk; if we weren't we wouldn't have been able to elect you our Mayor. But we need the resources, strategic thinking, infrastructure and coordination of our City government to take us from being good neighbors to each other to being able to take care of each other when the next big disaster strikes.
I don't want to stand aside and wait until the Big One happens for us to find out that our City can't take care of its people. And I hope that you don't want to wait either. Disaster preparedness should be a major priority of your administration, for being prepared is all we can do to protect ourselves against the potential loss of many hundreds or even thousands of lives during a major temblor.
Please let me know if there are city- or regional-government initiated efforts to address our city's preparedness. I am willing to organize in my neighborhood and beyond to help make sure that Oaklanders have the infrastructure we need to survive the Big One.
Sincerely,
Rona Fernandez
Oakland, California
That Wasn't No 4.2 Quake!
But alas, it was. The USGS says the reason it felt so strong was that it was centered closer to the surface (not in the deep depths of the very active Hayward Fault.
The temblor jolted me awake, made my heart thump like a running bunny's, and prompted H. to urgently whisper, "Let's go!" He forgot that doorways aren't really safe places during earthquakes. If you're in bed during an earthquake you're supposed to stay there and cover your head with a pillow in case shit starts falling down on you. Makes sense.
These smallish quakes are nice, fairly gentle reminders from our all-powerful Mother Earth that we need to get prepared for 'The Big One', children, and I for one am not going to be one to stand around (especially after what we've seen happen to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina) and watch Oakland be ignored after a major catastrophe strikes. Which is what will happen unless Mayor Dellums and other powerful Oaklanders (and people like me) don't get together to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. San Francisco and Berkeley are both way too prominent socially, politically and economically to NOT draw resources and media attention from Oakland, where the damage will be just as great if not greater when the Hayward Fault ruptures someday.
So let's get a campaign started, people. Let's get Oakland ready for the Big One. Gimme a holla if you're down for the cause.
The temblor jolted me awake, made my heart thump like a running bunny's, and prompted H. to urgently whisper, "Let's go!" He forgot that doorways aren't really safe places during earthquakes. If you're in bed during an earthquake you're supposed to stay there and cover your head with a pillow in case shit starts falling down on you. Makes sense.
These smallish quakes are nice, fairly gentle reminders from our all-powerful Mother Earth that we need to get prepared for 'The Big One', children, and I for one am not going to be one to stand around (especially after what we've seen happen to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina) and watch Oakland be ignored after a major catastrophe strikes. Which is what will happen unless Mayor Dellums and other powerful Oaklanders (and people like me) don't get together to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. San Francisco and Berkeley are both way too prominent socially, politically and economically to NOT draw resources and media attention from Oakland, where the damage will be just as great if not greater when the Hayward Fault ruptures someday.
So let's get a campaign started, people. Let's get Oakland ready for the Big One. Gimme a holla if you're down for the cause.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Following the Process
I keep saying I'm going to blog about this and keep forgetting. So here goes. In our VONA novel workshop, Chris Abani gave us this 'homework' for after the (very intense) workshop:
1. Put your novel away for one month. Don't read it, look at it, or start rewriting it.
2. During this month, read novels, watch television and movies. Absorb and study everything you can about storytelling. (Chris promised us reading list(s) in August, but told me in the meantime I should read James Baldwin's "Giovanni's Room" which I am about half-way through now).
3. After one month, STILL don't look at your novel, but rewrite (from memory) the first 60 pages of your novel, longhand. Yes, longhand.
He said we'd be amazed at what we came out with at the end (in the longhand 60 pages). That by this time we woud've sliced away / forgotten all the unnecessary stuff and be left with the raw, nerve-hitting, essential stuff of the novel. I'm pretty sure that me and all the other women that were in Chris' class are going to try it. We'll see how it goes. I for one am enjoying having permission to not work on my novel for a month! But Chris says that research, and reading other novels, and watching TV and movies, etc. is all part of the process too. (And I am working on a short story that is completely separate from the novel, so I'm still writing, which is good).
1. Put your novel away for one month. Don't read it, look at it, or start rewriting it.
2. During this month, read novels, watch television and movies. Absorb and study everything you can about storytelling. (Chris promised us reading list(s) in August, but told me in the meantime I should read James Baldwin's "Giovanni's Room" which I am about half-way through now).
3. After one month, STILL don't look at your novel, but rewrite (from memory) the first 60 pages of your novel, longhand. Yes, longhand.
He said we'd be amazed at what we came out with at the end (in the longhand 60 pages). That by this time we woud've sliced away / forgotten all the unnecessary stuff and be left with the raw, nerve-hitting, essential stuff of the novel. I'm pretty sure that me and all the other women that were in Chris' class are going to try it. We'll see how it goes. I for one am enjoying having permission to not work on my novel for a month! But Chris says that research, and reading other novels, and watching TV and movies, etc. is all part of the process too. (And I am working on a short story that is completely separate from the novel, so I'm still writing, which is good).
Friday, July 13, 2007
Needing a Change
Not sure what kind of change, but I feel that this most recent VONA experience has left me (once again), a different person. I feel a much stronger pull to my writing now, now that I've been validated as a writer by two accomplished, published writers whom I respect and admire, the fierce, funny and multi-genre diva Jessica Hagedorn, and the equally fierce, brilliant and generous Chris Abani.
I've heard this from other writers before, that there were writers that came before them that they felt gave them 'permission' to write. Natalie Goldberg writes about this, I forget in which book. For me, this 'permission' came in the form of both Chris and Jessica telling me (and the other students in our workshops) that we are writers, and in them treating both of us as adults, giving us lots of good criticism and not as much praise, which is what I feel like I really needed to believe that I have the writing ability and talent to make a go of it in a more concerted, systematic way.
I'm actually writing this right now from a Holiday Inn room in Louisville, Kentucky, where I'm attending a conference for work. While the people here are quite open and welcoming and the content of the conference is interesting, after being at VONA the last couple weeks it just pales in comparison to that vibrant, provocative community of writers and artists.
I've been scanning the 'Conferences and Residences' section of Poets and Writers, and even had a talk with H. the other night about how, since he's working more steadily now at his job at Tumi's, maybe I can start making a plan, in the next couple years, to work less and write more. It's a scary thought to me, and one I need to mull over carefully. Obviously, I also need to talk to my job about this, but they also know I'm a writer and that this is important to me.
I just need more time to write. Even here, alone in my hotel room, I feel a peace and an openness to the act of writing that I haven't felt since my time at VONA. I can understand now why some people just really need to go away to write. I just need the time.
So I took some time tonite to work on a short story I started a while back, involving a bit of time travel and political commentary. Thinking of submitting it to an anthology of Philippine speculative fiction that Dean Alfar is editing. Wish me luck!
I've heard this from other writers before, that there were writers that came before them that they felt gave them 'permission' to write. Natalie Goldberg writes about this, I forget in which book. For me, this 'permission' came in the form of both Chris and Jessica telling me (and the other students in our workshops) that we are writers, and in them treating both of us as adults, giving us lots of good criticism and not as much praise, which is what I feel like I really needed to believe that I have the writing ability and talent to make a go of it in a more concerted, systematic way.
I'm actually writing this right now from a Holiday Inn room in Louisville, Kentucky, where I'm attending a conference for work. While the people here are quite open and welcoming and the content of the conference is interesting, after being at VONA the last couple weeks it just pales in comparison to that vibrant, provocative community of writers and artists.
I've been scanning the 'Conferences and Residences' section of Poets and Writers, and even had a talk with H. the other night about how, since he's working more steadily now at his job at Tumi's, maybe I can start making a plan, in the next couple years, to work less and write more. It's a scary thought to me, and one I need to mull over carefully. Obviously, I also need to talk to my job about this, but they also know I'm a writer and that this is important to me.
I just need more time to write. Even here, alone in my hotel room, I feel a peace and an openness to the act of writing that I haven't felt since my time at VONA. I can understand now why some people just really need to go away to write. I just need the time.
So I took some time tonite to work on a short story I started a while back, involving a bit of time travel and political commentary. Thinking of submitting it to an anthology of Philippine speculative fiction that Dean Alfar is editing. Wish me luck!
Monday, July 09, 2007
Some things
Just added a bunch of new people to my blogroll:
Jason Guillermo Luz, an old friend from Cal, who also just recently returned from a trip to the Philippines and Southeast Asia.
LA Foto Boy aka Ibarionex Perello, who took photos at VONA and has some gorgeous images on his blog.
Melanie Hilario's The Mel Mystique. Mel was in Jessica Hagedorn's class with me last week at VONA. Another Pinay writing sci-fi/fantasy. Yeah!
Olufunke Grace Bankole's Iyan and Egusi Soup. Olufunke's another VONA alum, but didn't get to meet her.
Chuck Cuyjet's Open Journal. Chuck was the workshop director this year at VONA, and always had a smile and a hug ready. I loved his energy.
Want to blog soon about the REsegregation decision of the US Supreme Court, but I feel like I'm still in denial about it. Give me a minute, I'll compose my thoughts and send the out soon.
Jason Guillermo Luz, an old friend from Cal, who also just recently returned from a trip to the Philippines and Southeast Asia.
LA Foto Boy aka Ibarionex Perello, who took photos at VONA and has some gorgeous images on his blog.
Melanie Hilario's The Mel Mystique. Mel was in Jessica Hagedorn's class with me last week at VONA. Another Pinay writing sci-fi/fantasy. Yeah!
Olufunke Grace Bankole's Iyan and Egusi Soup. Olufunke's another VONA alum, but didn't get to meet her.
Chuck Cuyjet's Open Journal. Chuck was the workshop director this year at VONA, and always had a smile and a hug ready. I loved his energy.
Want to blog soon about the REsegregation decision of the US Supreme Court, but I feel like I'm still in denial about it. Give me a minute, I'll compose my thoughts and send the out soon.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Saw this coming a mile away...
Your Score: Katharine Hepburn
You scored 14% grit, 28% wit, 42% flair, and 23% class!
You are the fabulously quirky and independent woman of character. You go your own way, follow your own drummer, take your own lead. You stand head and shoulders next to your partner, but you are perfectly willing and able to stand alone. Others might be more classically beautiful or conventionally woman-like, but you possess a more fundamental common sense and off-kilter charm, making interesting men fall at your feet. You can pick them up or leave them there as you see fit. You share the screen with the likes of Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant, thinking men who like strong women.
Find out what kind of classic leading man you'd make by taking the
Classic Leading Man Test.
| Link: The Classic Dames Test written by gidgetgoes on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test |
I knew it even before I took the darn quiz, but I love these things so I did it anyway. How predictable! I got Katherine Hepburn because she's the only old-school Hollywood leading (white) lady who was complicated enough to come anywhere close to matching the sass, smarts and style of women of color.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Privilege
As I sit here writing on my boyfriend's computer on July 4th, I'm thinking about privilege. My mental gears have been churning frantically since I got to VONA last week, and being in Chris Abani's workshop has only switched the setting higher. He throws out so many things to process, at such a rapid pace, and challenges you to stop being lazy and really think and take control fo your novel. It's a wild ride, intense and overwhelming, but incredibly healthy and healing, in a strange way, at the same time.
So today I'm thinking about privilege, because Abani told that all of us in his workshop are middle class, that no matter what our socioeconomic background we've had the privilege of an education. Yes, all true. But then it got me thinking about the many levels of privilege I have, and how much privilege I've attained in just one generation here in this country, how removed I am from my mother's experience and even further from my grandmother's experience (and I'm only focusing on my mother's side of the family because that's the only part of my blood-family that know well).
It's interesting that in a writing workshop that was exclusively people of color, I started to ponder how privileged I am. Some people might think that all we talk about at VONA is oppression and 'The Man' and how we are so downtrodden and silenced in the mainstream. God, if we only talked about that, how boring VONA would be! Instead we have much more engaging and relevant conversations about themes of voice, language, self-loathing, immigration, violence, relationships and love in our work. And we see over and over again how even if we are only writing about people of color without even talking about colonialism or whiteness or racism in the US or whatever, we've got plenty of privileges and oppressions to deal with just within our own nations/peoples/communities.
I started listing today all the different kinds of privilege I have: economic (I have enough money to not just eat but to have health care, go to therapy, have a computer, go to this workshop, buy new clothes every so often, etc. In other words, I'm not just surviving, even if I am living paycheck to paycheck most of the time); educational / intellectual (I have an undergraduate degree in a country where only a small percentage of people even attend college, let alone graduate with a degree); access to money and exposure to people with money (through my fundraising work); political (I vote and have knowledge of the inner workings of our government through my job, and have more access than some people to policymakers and decision-makers); literacy and communication (I can read and write at a fairly sophisticated level in one language--English--and I can communicate somewhat in three other languages--Spanish, French and Tagalog).
This last privilege, the privilege of literacy, is one that has been haunting me lately with the weight of its importance. Not just for me as a person--who would I be if I didn't know how to write? I wouldn't haev the job I have, the friends I have, I wouldn't be a writer, I wouldn't read books--but for my family, the people that I've known as my community, etc.
The importance of literacy struck me in a very simple but deeply emotional way when I was in the Philippines. My second day there, I was in Lingayen, where many of my cousins grew up and still live. The cousin I was traveling with, R., brought me to the bamboo hut (bahay kubo in Tagalog) that he and his siblings grew up in for part of their lives, and I saw with clear eyes the poverty and rural conditions that my mom had known as a girl growing up in the Philippines, not far away. My cousin and I talked about how our mothers--his mother is my mother's sister--had lost touch for a good 30 years, being in the US and the Philippines respectively. It always was a question in my mind how they could have 'let' that happen. It never entered my mind how difficult it would've been to maintain communication for them during that time, given their class status and life circumstances.
My cousin explained how in the town they were growing up in, there wasn't even a phone until a few decades ago, and even then there was only one phone in the whole town, so communication by phone was not very reliable.
"Why didn't our mothers just write to each other then?" I asked naively (my mother can write, although she doesn't like to because she's not very skilled at it and usually makes me write out checks for her and sometimes even sign her name; she's embarassed that she doesn't know how to do this well).
My cousin just looked at me and said matter-of-factly, "My mother doesn't know how to write."
I felt so stupid that I hadn't even considered that. For the first time in my life, I think, I realized what a huge privilege it is to be literate. And because I was literate, why I was the one who was asked to write the obituary for my adopted grandmother when she died seven years ago, and to write and give the eulogy at her funeral. i finally realized how hard it must've been for my mother to have me get impatient or frustrated with her because she wanted me to write out her checks or sign a birthday card for her. I realized that I had taken for granted the one skill I have that I would be an entirely different person without. I cannot imagine life without writing, as I can't imagine life without eating or drinking or music or dancing. It's inconceivable to me. Even something as simple as writing a letter to your sister who is an ocean away was not something my aunt could accomplish by herself.
And in one generation, me and my cousins have this privilege, this right, really, to write. Being at VONA has helped me understand more deeply how important this is, and how important it is for me to use my writing to make the best damn novel or short story or poem that I can. I'm not going to squander this gift, this privilege, this right; I'm going to use it to set the world on fire.
So today I'm thinking about privilege, because Abani told that all of us in his workshop are middle class, that no matter what our socioeconomic background we've had the privilege of an education. Yes, all true. But then it got me thinking about the many levels of privilege I have, and how much privilege I've attained in just one generation here in this country, how removed I am from my mother's experience and even further from my grandmother's experience (and I'm only focusing on my mother's side of the family because that's the only part of my blood-family that know well).
It's interesting that in a writing workshop that was exclusively people of color, I started to ponder how privileged I am. Some people might think that all we talk about at VONA is oppression and 'The Man' and how we are so downtrodden and silenced in the mainstream. God, if we only talked about that, how boring VONA would be! Instead we have much more engaging and relevant conversations about themes of voice, language, self-loathing, immigration, violence, relationships and love in our work. And we see over and over again how even if we are only writing about people of color without even talking about colonialism or whiteness or racism in the US or whatever, we've got plenty of privileges and oppressions to deal with just within our own nations/peoples/communities.
I started listing today all the different kinds of privilege I have: economic (I have enough money to not just eat but to have health care, go to therapy, have a computer, go to this workshop, buy new clothes every so often, etc. In other words, I'm not just surviving, even if I am living paycheck to paycheck most of the time); educational / intellectual (I have an undergraduate degree in a country where only a small percentage of people even attend college, let alone graduate with a degree); access to money and exposure to people with money (through my fundraising work); political (I vote and have knowledge of the inner workings of our government through my job, and have more access than some people to policymakers and decision-makers); literacy and communication (I can read and write at a fairly sophisticated level in one language--English--and I can communicate somewhat in three other languages--Spanish, French and Tagalog).
This last privilege, the privilege of literacy, is one that has been haunting me lately with the weight of its importance. Not just for me as a person--who would I be if I didn't know how to write? I wouldn't haev the job I have, the friends I have, I wouldn't be a writer, I wouldn't read books--but for my family, the people that I've known as my community, etc.
The importance of literacy struck me in a very simple but deeply emotional way when I was in the Philippines. My second day there, I was in Lingayen, where many of my cousins grew up and still live. The cousin I was traveling with, R., brought me to the bamboo hut (bahay kubo in Tagalog) that he and his siblings grew up in for part of their lives, and I saw with clear eyes the poverty and rural conditions that my mom had known as a girl growing up in the Philippines, not far away. My cousin and I talked about how our mothers--his mother is my mother's sister--had lost touch for a good 30 years, being in the US and the Philippines respectively. It always was a question in my mind how they could have 'let' that happen. It never entered my mind how difficult it would've been to maintain communication for them during that time, given their class status and life circumstances.
My cousin explained how in the town they were growing up in, there wasn't even a phone until a few decades ago, and even then there was only one phone in the whole town, so communication by phone was not very reliable.
"Why didn't our mothers just write to each other then?" I asked naively (my mother can write, although she doesn't like to because she's not very skilled at it and usually makes me write out checks for her and sometimes even sign her name; she's embarassed that she doesn't know how to do this well).
My cousin just looked at me and said matter-of-factly, "My mother doesn't know how to write."
I felt so stupid that I hadn't even considered that. For the first time in my life, I think, I realized what a huge privilege it is to be literate. And because I was literate, why I was the one who was asked to write the obituary for my adopted grandmother when she died seven years ago, and to write and give the eulogy at her funeral. i finally realized how hard it must've been for my mother to have me get impatient or frustrated with her because she wanted me to write out her checks or sign a birthday card for her. I realized that I had taken for granted the one skill I have that I would be an entirely different person without. I cannot imagine life without writing, as I can't imagine life without eating or drinking or music or dancing. It's inconceivable to me. Even something as simple as writing a letter to your sister who is an ocean away was not something my aunt could accomplish by herself.
And in one generation, me and my cousins have this privilege, this right, really, to write. Being at VONA has helped me understand more deeply how important this is, and how important it is for me to use my writing to make the best damn novel or short story or poem that I can. I'm not going to squander this gift, this privilege, this right; I'm going to use it to set the world on fire.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Ass-kicked
I feel a bit beat-up, like I had a long, drunken night that ended in a mini-brawl that I can't remember and now I'm awake and trying to figure out what happened. No bruises or anything, just that feeling. Ass-kicked. I did not literally get my ass kicked--well, actually I did get my literARY ass kicked. I had my fantasy/sci fi novel workshopped in Chris Abani's 'Complete Novel Workshop' during my second week here at VONA. It was a good whuppin', because I'd been a 'bad' writer--hadn't developed my characters enough, hadn't written my 'bible' for the world that I've created, etc etc. Chris at one point even called it an 'intervention' to 'save' me, the 'addict'. Addicted to writing an illogical book, I'm supposing.
It was about what I expected. He had told us yesterday in orientation that he would make us cry, that he would really call us on our shit. And he did. His favorite question it seemed was: "What are you afraid of?" And at first I couldn't figure it out. I didn't think I was afraid of anything, but I realize now that I am afraid of making my protagonist vulnerable, of making her human (even though she's technically not), of making her consider doing something I feel every woman has a right to do but at the same time I would never want to do: have an abortion.
It was such a big revelation to me, but it came in a pretty unspectacular way, after a fellow workshop participant mentioned something about my protagonist being conflicted about wanting her baby, about whether she might abort it. As my stomach muscles tensed and I felt a strange nausea that rose to my chest, I realized that that was what I had been running away from in my story: my protagonist has to want to abort her baby. Whether she does it or not is an entirely different situation--or should I say whether she succeeds at aborting her baby or not is an entirely different situation.
It's so fascinating how the psyche works. I'm very openly pro-choice, have been trained to do clinic defense and was on the advisory board of Our Truths a publication which provides a forum for women who've had abortions to talk about their varied experiences. From happy to conflicted, from depressed to relieved. But this was still a hard thing for me to allow my character to even think about, let alone to do. Call it Catholic guilt, call it unresolved emotional issues, or whatever. It's the thing I needed to realize before I could really let this characcter be vulnerable.
As Chris said, I've had my breakthrough. Now I just gotta figure it all out in my writing. Wish me luck.
It was about what I expected. He had told us yesterday in orientation that he would make us cry, that he would really call us on our shit. And he did. His favorite question it seemed was: "What are you afraid of?" And at first I couldn't figure it out. I didn't think I was afraid of anything, but I realize now that I am afraid of making my protagonist vulnerable, of making her human (even though she's technically not), of making her consider doing something I feel every woman has a right to do but at the same time I would never want to do: have an abortion.
It was such a big revelation to me, but it came in a pretty unspectacular way, after a fellow workshop participant mentioned something about my protagonist being conflicted about wanting her baby, about whether she might abort it. As my stomach muscles tensed and I felt a strange nausea that rose to my chest, I realized that that was what I had been running away from in my story: my protagonist has to want to abort her baby. Whether she does it or not is an entirely different situation--or should I say whether she succeeds at aborting her baby or not is an entirely different situation.
It's so fascinating how the psyche works. I'm very openly pro-choice, have been trained to do clinic defense and was on the advisory board of Our Truths a publication which provides a forum for women who've had abortions to talk about their varied experiences. From happy to conflicted, from depressed to relieved. But this was still a hard thing for me to allow my character to even think about, let alone to do. Call it Catholic guilt, call it unresolved emotional issues, or whatever. It's the thing I needed to realize before I could really let this characcter be vulnerable.
As Chris said, I've had my breakthrough. Now I just gotta figure it all out in my writing. Wish me luck.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Other VONA-ites & Their Takes
I did a quick search for other bloggers writing about their VONA experience these last few days, and although I don't know these folks I know we share a kinship now as fellow VONA alums. Head-nod to Black Girl Lost...In a Book and Gemini Poet. If anyone else out there knows of other blogs by VONA-ites, please holla.
Peace and Writing,
Rona
Peace and Writing,
Rona
Friday, June 29, 2007
Collard Greens, Gay Sex and Other Thoughts Post-VONA
I'm sitting at home now eating spicy stewed collard greens (no I didn't make them from scratch, I'm not that talented). I came back a couple hours ago from USF, where I departed early from the VONA student reading. I had read a piece that I wrote in Jessica Hagedorn's character development master class, from the point of view of a character named David, who has just had sex with his (straight male) best friend of 10 years and is regretting it.
It was fun and fascinating studying under Jessica. She's witty, quick, smart as hell, funny, down-to-earth and opinionated as all get out. She was straightforward and honest with her criticism, and gave us some good exercises to help flesh out our characters (in my case, David was a fairly flat side-character in my story, with his best friend being the point of view character and protagonist; working in Jessica's class helped me figure out some important stuff that's going to help me finish my story and make it stronger).
I'm realizing how cool and achievable it is--with lots of hard work, diligence and attention--to write fiction. Good fiction. Not that my story is near being finished, but it's a lot better now than it was a few months ago (I just workshopped it in Junse Kim's fiction workshop as well, which finished up right before VONA jumped off). If I apply myself, learn my craft, and listen to my characters, I can create a story that is both intriguing as well as entertaining.
I rented two big favorites of mine to help me come down from my VONA high--I haven't watched TV in a few days now--The Empire Strikes Back and Rome: Season One, Volume 2. I have fairly 'low brow' taste when it comes to cinema, although I do like a good art house or foreign flick now and again. Both of these films contain well-told stories, however, but they don't beat you over the head with their cleverness. They draw you in without holding your hand, and immerse you in worlds so real with characters so human and flawed and fascinating that you can't resist going along for the ride.
And that's what I'm going for with my story. Tonight after I hugged Jessica good-bye she looked me straight in the eyes, her hands squaring my shoulders towards her and said, "Keep working. I want you to finish that story. Just finish it." I couldn't have asked for more succinct encouragement, and it couldn't come at a better time.
It was fun and fascinating studying under Jessica. She's witty, quick, smart as hell, funny, down-to-earth and opinionated as all get out. She was straightforward and honest with her criticism, and gave us some good exercises to help flesh out our characters (in my case, David was a fairly flat side-character in my story, with his best friend being the point of view character and protagonist; working in Jessica's class helped me figure out some important stuff that's going to help me finish my story and make it stronger).
I'm realizing how cool and achievable it is--with lots of hard work, diligence and attention--to write fiction. Good fiction. Not that my story is near being finished, but it's a lot better now than it was a few months ago (I just workshopped it in Junse Kim's fiction workshop as well, which finished up right before VONA jumped off). If I apply myself, learn my craft, and listen to my characters, I can create a story that is both intriguing as well as entertaining.
I rented two big favorites of mine to help me come down from my VONA high--I haven't watched TV in a few days now--The Empire Strikes Back and Rome: Season One, Volume 2. I have fairly 'low brow' taste when it comes to cinema, although I do like a good art house or foreign flick now and again. Both of these films contain well-told stories, however, but they don't beat you over the head with their cleverness. They draw you in without holding your hand, and immerse you in worlds so real with characters so human and flawed and fascinating that you can't resist going along for the ride.
And that's what I'm going for with my story. Tonight after I hugged Jessica good-bye she looked me straight in the eyes, her hands squaring my shoulders towards her and said, "Keep working. I want you to finish that story. Just finish it." I couldn't have asked for more succinct encouragement, and it couldn't come at a better time.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
All Shook Up
Been fearing earthquakes a lot lately. Not the little barely-noticed-them jolts that are so common, especially where I live in Oakland (it feels at times as if our building is built on not-so-steady ground). No, I'm talking about having fears of the proverbial 'Big One'--the one that geologists, amateur and professional--say is coming to the Hayward Fault, most likely, in the next 25 or so years. But really, it's not just the Hayward Fault earthquake I've been paranoid about--so paranoid that I've lain awake at nights after feeling a suspicious trembling (most likely my partner moving around next to me), my heart pounding in my chest--it's just earthquakes in general. I was in LA this past weekend and felt the same fear. Earthquakes, as it were, can happen almost anywhere in California. It's a fact of life I've known since I was a child, having been born and raised here and having lived here all my life.
Today I went to therapy and finally confessed to my therapist (who is very good, by the way) that I've had this strange, intense fear of earthquakes lately. So intense that I hadn't told anyone about it, for fear that I would be seen as silly and bizarre, or that I would cause what I feared the most to come true. She asked me, in that inimitably matter-of-fact yet nurturing way of hers, "Symbolically, earthquakes shake you to your foundation. Do you feel like you've been shaken, that you've changed lately?"
My answer was, unequivocally, yes. I have changed. From my trip to meet my father and sisters to my trip to the Philippines for the first time, I have swallowed, absorbed and manifested many changes in my life that I never thought I would. Feeling possible feelings of forgiveness towards the father who abandoned me before I knew who he was. Meeting family members I never even knew existed. Building a relationship with a sister who, though born and raised 3,000 miles away from me, is so much like me that it feels natural to be with her. Immersing myself in the culture of my 'homeland' without knowing the language, without being able to say much more than "I'm hungry" or "It's hot" or "My name is Rona." All this has changed me, in ways that are obvious and in ways that I have yet to see and understand.
So yes, I told my therapist today, I feel as if I've had a series of earthquakes in my life lately. All self-triggered, so to speak, but emotional and psychological earthquakes all the same. Catharses. Cleansings. Life changes.
Today, on the BART ride home from my therapy session, I felt a little less skittish about riding the train underground. I felt a release, a letting go within me, of the fear that had tensed my shoulder muscles every time I felt a tremor from the rumbling of a truck outside, or of the train rolling into the station. It started to make sense. I suddenly understood that I didn't have to be afraid anymore, that my fear wasn't serving me in any way except for to make me feel imprisoned, trapped, helpless.
So crazy how having one person listen to you and attempt to help you make sense of your deepest desires and insecurities can loosen the grip of your old patterns, old grooves of habit and thought.
And now I feel ready for another potential shake-up: I start the first of my two VONA workshops tomorrow morning at 8:30am sharp. I'll be studying character development with Jessica Hagedorn, and then next week going through a novel workshop with Chris Abani. VONA was a life-changing experience for me two years ago, and though I'm trying not to have too high expectations for my second time around, I know at the very least that I'll learn something, even if it doesn't rock my world.
And really, that's okay if it doesn't. Because I've had plenty of 'earthquakes' this year already.
Today I went to therapy and finally confessed to my therapist (who is very good, by the way) that I've had this strange, intense fear of earthquakes lately. So intense that I hadn't told anyone about it, for fear that I would be seen as silly and bizarre, or that I would cause what I feared the most to come true. She asked me, in that inimitably matter-of-fact yet nurturing way of hers, "Symbolically, earthquakes shake you to your foundation. Do you feel like you've been shaken, that you've changed lately?"
My answer was, unequivocally, yes. I have changed. From my trip to meet my father and sisters to my trip to the Philippines for the first time, I have swallowed, absorbed and manifested many changes in my life that I never thought I would. Feeling possible feelings of forgiveness towards the father who abandoned me before I knew who he was. Meeting family members I never even knew existed. Building a relationship with a sister who, though born and raised 3,000 miles away from me, is so much like me that it feels natural to be with her. Immersing myself in the culture of my 'homeland' without knowing the language, without being able to say much more than "I'm hungry" or "It's hot" or "My name is Rona." All this has changed me, in ways that are obvious and in ways that I have yet to see and understand.
So yes, I told my therapist today, I feel as if I've had a series of earthquakes in my life lately. All self-triggered, so to speak, but emotional and psychological earthquakes all the same. Catharses. Cleansings. Life changes.
Today, on the BART ride home from my therapy session, I felt a little less skittish about riding the train underground. I felt a release, a letting go within me, of the fear that had tensed my shoulder muscles every time I felt a tremor from the rumbling of a truck outside, or of the train rolling into the station. It started to make sense. I suddenly understood that I didn't have to be afraid anymore, that my fear wasn't serving me in any way except for to make me feel imprisoned, trapped, helpless.
So crazy how having one person listen to you and attempt to help you make sense of your deepest desires and insecurities can loosen the grip of your old patterns, old grooves of habit and thought.
And now I feel ready for another potential shake-up: I start the first of my two VONA workshops tomorrow morning at 8:30am sharp. I'll be studying character development with Jessica Hagedorn, and then next week going through a novel workshop with Chris Abani. VONA was a life-changing experience for me two years ago, and though I'm trying not to have too high expectations for my second time around, I know at the very least that I'll learn something, even if it doesn't rock my world.
And really, that's okay if it doesn't. Because I've had plenty of 'earthquakes' this year already.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I Love These Things
These tag-and-you're-it random list-questionnaire things. Don't know why, but I do. Guess I need some structure in order to narcisstically reveal personal information. Thanks to Efren for giving me the opportunity to indulge.
A. Available or Single? Nope. Very partnered and taken. I'm available for free gourmet meals though if you want to take my boyfriend too. ;)
B. Best friend? My partner/boyfriend H., most definitely.
C. Cake or pie? Mmm, this is hard. Depends on the flavor. For cake, if it's coconut cream from Sweet Inspiration or guava from Hawaii, I'm all about it. If it was warm apple or cherry pie a la mode, I'm there.
D. Drink of choice? Loving the Serenity Kombucha stuff lately (H. thinks it smells like rotting fruit). But my budget prefers Italian sparkling mineral water. A holdover from my trip to Rome last Spring.
E. Essential item? My Palm Z22. I'm lost without it!
F. Favorite color? Purple for home-oriented things, various shades of green for clothes.
G. Gummi bears or worms? Ick. I'll eat them but only if there's nothing else around.
H. Hometown? This is starting to be too much information...
I. Indulgence? Chocolate gelato, Mexican chocolate or ube ice cream from Mitchell's.
J. January or February? February--Valentine's Day!
K. Kids and names? None yet! But hopefully soon..
L. Life incomplete without? Dancing, love, friends, my sweetie, and delicious food
M. Marriage date? N/a
N. Number of Siblings? 3 half-sisters
O. Oranges or Apples? Mmm....Apples. Fuji apples.
P. Phobias/fears? Dying without feeling as if I've accomplished everything I want to accomplish.
Q. Favorite Quotation? Don't have one anymore. They all sound too trite for me to enjoy for more than a few months.
R. Reason to smile? The sweet, small moments in life: afternoon sunlight, golden and slanting; sleeping in on Saturday mornings; watching children play and be goofy and innocent; hearing a golden oldie salsa hit from the Fania hey-day.
S. Season? Summer. The season of beaches and long, warm days (like today!)
T. Tag three people: I know they probably won't do it but here goes: Oscarchoy, Ludovic who's looking for a job, and Bino.
U. Unknown fact about me: Jeez. It depends on who you are. I love the musical (and the soundtrack to) 'Rent' (but not the movie so much).
V. Vegetable you hate: Ampalaya / bitter melon (Efren and I are on the same page with this sucker).
W. Worst habit? Biting the skin on my fingers. Yah, I know it's gross.
X. X-rays I’ve had: Too many. CATscan, chest x-ray (i've had lots of coughs in my lifetime), dental of course.
Y. Your favorite food? Good food. Seriously, I like all kinds of cuisines, and living in the Bay Area means I can pretty much take my pick of cuisines most days and nights. Some perennial favorites are Chinese, Filipino, Ethiopian, Indian, Japanese and Mexican.
Z. Zodiac? Capricorn (western astrology). Metal pig (Chinese).
A. Available or Single? Nope. Very partnered and taken. I'm available for free gourmet meals though if you want to take my boyfriend too. ;)
B. Best friend? My partner/boyfriend H., most definitely.
C. Cake or pie? Mmm, this is hard. Depends on the flavor. For cake, if it's coconut cream from Sweet Inspiration or guava from Hawaii, I'm all about it. If it was warm apple or cherry pie a la mode, I'm there.
D. Drink of choice? Loving the Serenity Kombucha stuff lately (H. thinks it smells like rotting fruit). But my budget prefers Italian sparkling mineral water. A holdover from my trip to Rome last Spring.
E. Essential item? My Palm Z22. I'm lost without it!
F. Favorite color? Purple for home-oriented things, various shades of green for clothes.
G. Gummi bears or worms? Ick. I'll eat them but only if there's nothing else around.
H. Hometown? This is starting to be too much information...
I. Indulgence? Chocolate gelato, Mexican chocolate or ube ice cream from Mitchell's.
J. January or February? February--Valentine's Day!
K. Kids and names? None yet! But hopefully soon..
L. Life incomplete without? Dancing, love, friends, my sweetie, and delicious food
M. Marriage date? N/a
N. Number of Siblings? 3 half-sisters
O. Oranges or Apples? Mmm....Apples. Fuji apples.
P. Phobias/fears? Dying without feeling as if I've accomplished everything I want to accomplish.
Q. Favorite Quotation? Don't have one anymore. They all sound too trite for me to enjoy for more than a few months.
R. Reason to smile? The sweet, small moments in life: afternoon sunlight, golden and slanting; sleeping in on Saturday mornings; watching children play and be goofy and innocent; hearing a golden oldie salsa hit from the Fania hey-day.
S. Season? Summer. The season of beaches and long, warm days (like today!)
T. Tag three people: I know they probably won't do it but here goes: Oscarchoy, Ludovic who's looking for a job, and Bino.
U. Unknown fact about me: Jeez. It depends on who you are. I love the musical (and the soundtrack to) 'Rent' (but not the movie so much).
V. Vegetable you hate: Ampalaya / bitter melon (Efren and I are on the same page with this sucker).
W. Worst habit? Biting the skin on my fingers. Yah, I know it's gross.
X. X-rays I’ve had: Too many. CATscan, chest x-ray (i've had lots of coughs in my lifetime), dental of course.
Y. Your favorite food? Good food. Seriously, I like all kinds of cuisines, and living in the Bay Area means I can pretty much take my pick of cuisines most days and nights. Some perennial favorites are Chinese, Filipino, Ethiopian, Indian, Japanese and Mexican.
Z. Zodiac? Capricorn (western astrology). Metal pig (Chinese).
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Closing the Circle
I'd heard recently from my former boss, John Anner, that the Independent Press Association (or IPA) had imploded after several years of mishandling, lack of political vision and (what seems to me to be) corrupt and unethical decisions made by key leaders in the organization (namely the Executive Director, Richard Landry and whatever Board members were supporting him).
This came as sad news to me, and I'm sure many others. You see, I worked for John at the IPA, for a little over two years after my start-up stint at School of Unity and Liberation. Back then, in 1999, the IPA was a smallish organization with big ambitions--the main reason I joined John's fledgling staff and stayed through the dot-com boom (and subsequent bust), when I could've gotten a job, like many of my friends did, making twice as much money and working half as hard for some weird tech company. John has always been a visionary, with the fundraising, communications and marketing skills to match, and I learned much working with him and the other talented folks at IPA, like Jeremy Smith, Martha Bowen, Linda Jue and Abby Scher.
Looking back on the whole experience now, I realize that the IPA taught me some important things about organizational culture, politics, and what it takes to build a real movement in the U.S.--things that I don't think I would've learned if I'd stayed in the world of small, grassroots nonprofits; these kinds of organizations, as John Anner has put it in his inimitably opinionated way, are often 'in love with [their] own marginality'. I also learned stuff about indie publishing, but that was secondary, really. I love magazines but I don't think I ever had the same passionate commitment to the indie publishing world that John, Jeremy and others at IPA possessed.
The real lessons I learned during my tenure at IPA were much bigger, and had (I realize now) a long-lasting impact on me and my worldview. Here's a rough summary:
1. Think small, be small, win small. The counterpoint to this lesson being Think big, be big, win big.. I was having a conversation with a colleague the other day after haggling with one of our youth board members over whether she could raise $500 or $1,000 as part of her board fundraising goal (Californians for Justice has a board that's mostly made up of high school-age youth and college-age young adults). I was exasperated afterwards (of course, she opted for the lower goal, despite my positive encouragement that I thought she could raise much more--which she definitely has both the skills and the contacts to do). I chatted my colleague and said, "I don't want to help people raise $500, I want to help people raise $5 million!"
This sentiment is a direct result of my experiences at the IPA. John and the rest of the IPA crew often thought big, huge even: they bought a distribution company to help get our member publications out to a wider audiences, then brokered deals with Barnes and Noble and Borders to increase that reach (I know, the hardcore lefties are rolling their eyes, but we ain't gonna win over 'the masses' if the only place we're trying to reach them is in radical enclaves like Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley). The IPA advocated to get indie publishers to use recycled paper, started an advertising co-op to help its members generate more sustainable revenue, and launched a project to get more articles by journalists of color in the still-embarassingly-White-male-dominated left press.
My head spins now thinking of all the IPA accomplished in such a short period of time. John and co. thought big, went big, won big. It's an attitude and approach I think many leftists--especially folks working at the grassroots, like me--could do well to embrace.
2. My opinions matter, my politics are important, people will listen to me. I didn't have years and years of writing and publishing experience before I joined the IPA staff. But for some reason the good folks there still paid attention to me, still took what I said and considered it valuable enough to maybe put into practice in terms of policy or programs. It amazes me now when I reflect on that time that they took anything I said very seriously! I was young and more than a little arrogant, and wore my radical politics on my sleeve (a fashionably chic sleeve, of course), sometimes alienating the very people that I needed to work with to accomplish our big goals. This meant a great deal to me, and I don't think I even realized it until now, at 35 years old. It makes a big difference in one's self-confidence to have people you respect and admire and who are accomplishing great things in the world stop and listen to what you have to say.
And at the IPA, we listened to our members, too. The importance of this seemingly simple act cannot be underestimated. These publishers were small, grassroots media-makers--the kind that the big trade associations, distribution companies and bookstore chains didn't listen to, because they didn't have to or necessarily want to. The IPA helped change that, because we listened to our members, asked them what they needed, and took it upon ourselves to figure out ways to give it them. The last round of IPA management obviously didn't do that, as many different accounts tell. Bumping members off the email list because they were critical of organizational practices or asking board members to resign--I can't even imagine even thinking about doing those things when I was Membership Director at IPA. The members didn't 'help us' fulfill our mission, the members were our mission. Listening to them wasn't a nice thing to do to make them feel better, it was our job. It's a perspective that I've grown to take as a given in my line of work with nonprofit grassroots organizations, and sometimes I forget that most of the world doesn't operate on this assumption: that you have to listen to your constituents, the folks whom you are serving, the people who are most impacted by the problems you are trying to find solutions for.
But these lessons weren't just imparted to me--I'm sure that many members of what was once the IPA would agree: the IPA's ambitious vision--for an indie press that could sustain itself financially and reach tens if not hundreds of thousands of more people, that could help sway the hearts and minds of the 'unconverted' masses that need to be won over if we are to build a real movement for social justice in this country--this vision and the programs and infrastructure the IPA created to help realize it, taught all of us that we could dream big, that we could do more, and that we could, one day, if we struggled through our differences and kept our eyes on the prize and were willing to think outside the box, build the kind of world that we'd only dreamed of.
Of course, that vision has not been realized, not even close, but it's incredibly reassuring to know that we've stepped a little closer to it, and that we even held parts of it in our hands.
Rest in peace, IPA. And may the lessons you taught us stay with us for a long, long time.
This came as sad news to me, and I'm sure many others. You see, I worked for John at the IPA, for a little over two years after my start-up stint at School of Unity and Liberation. Back then, in 1999, the IPA was a smallish organization with big ambitions--the main reason I joined John's fledgling staff and stayed through the dot-com boom (and subsequent bust), when I could've gotten a job, like many of my friends did, making twice as much money and working half as hard for some weird tech company. John has always been a visionary, with the fundraising, communications and marketing skills to match, and I learned much working with him and the other talented folks at IPA, like Jeremy Smith, Martha Bowen, Linda Jue and Abby Scher.
Looking back on the whole experience now, I realize that the IPA taught me some important things about organizational culture, politics, and what it takes to build a real movement in the U.S.--things that I don't think I would've learned if I'd stayed in the world of small, grassroots nonprofits; these kinds of organizations, as John Anner has put it in his inimitably opinionated way, are often 'in love with [their] own marginality'. I also learned stuff about indie publishing, but that was secondary, really. I love magazines but I don't think I ever had the same passionate commitment to the indie publishing world that John, Jeremy and others at IPA possessed.
The real lessons I learned during my tenure at IPA were much bigger, and had (I realize now) a long-lasting impact on me and my worldview. Here's a rough summary:
1. Think small, be small, win small. The counterpoint to this lesson being Think big, be big, win big.. I was having a conversation with a colleague the other day after haggling with one of our youth board members over whether she could raise $500 or $1,000 as part of her board fundraising goal (Californians for Justice has a board that's mostly made up of high school-age youth and college-age young adults). I was exasperated afterwards (of course, she opted for the lower goal, despite my positive encouragement that I thought she could raise much more--which she definitely has both the skills and the contacts to do). I chatted my colleague and said, "I don't want to help people raise $500, I want to help people raise $5 million!"
This sentiment is a direct result of my experiences at the IPA. John and the rest of the IPA crew often thought big, huge even: they bought a distribution company to help get our member publications out to a wider audiences, then brokered deals with Barnes and Noble and Borders to increase that reach (I know, the hardcore lefties are rolling their eyes, but we ain't gonna win over 'the masses' if the only place we're trying to reach them is in radical enclaves like Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley). The IPA advocated to get indie publishers to use recycled paper, started an advertising co-op to help its members generate more sustainable revenue, and launched a project to get more articles by journalists of color in the still-embarassingly-White-male-dominated left press.
My head spins now thinking of all the IPA accomplished in such a short period of time. John and co. thought big, went big, won big. It's an attitude and approach I think many leftists--especially folks working at the grassroots, like me--could do well to embrace.
2. My opinions matter, my politics are important, people will listen to me. I didn't have years and years of writing and publishing experience before I joined the IPA staff. But for some reason the good folks there still paid attention to me, still took what I said and considered it valuable enough to maybe put into practice in terms of policy or programs. It amazes me now when I reflect on that time that they took anything I said very seriously! I was young and more than a little arrogant, and wore my radical politics on my sleeve (a fashionably chic sleeve, of course), sometimes alienating the very people that I needed to work with to accomplish our big goals. This meant a great deal to me, and I don't think I even realized it until now, at 35 years old. It makes a big difference in one's self-confidence to have people you respect and admire and who are accomplishing great things in the world stop and listen to what you have to say.
And at the IPA, we listened to our members, too. The importance of this seemingly simple act cannot be underestimated. These publishers were small, grassroots media-makers--the kind that the big trade associations, distribution companies and bookstore chains didn't listen to, because they didn't have to or necessarily want to. The IPA helped change that, because we listened to our members, asked them what they needed, and took it upon ourselves to figure out ways to give it them. The last round of IPA management obviously didn't do that, as many different accounts tell. Bumping members off the email list because they were critical of organizational practices or asking board members to resign--I can't even imagine even thinking about doing those things when I was Membership Director at IPA. The members didn't 'help us' fulfill our mission, the members were our mission. Listening to them wasn't a nice thing to do to make them feel better, it was our job. It's a perspective that I've grown to take as a given in my line of work with nonprofit grassroots organizations, and sometimes I forget that most of the world doesn't operate on this assumption: that you have to listen to your constituents, the folks whom you are serving, the people who are most impacted by the problems you are trying to find solutions for.
But these lessons weren't just imparted to me--I'm sure that many members of what was once the IPA would agree: the IPA's ambitious vision--for an indie press that could sustain itself financially and reach tens if not hundreds of thousands of more people, that could help sway the hearts and minds of the 'unconverted' masses that need to be won over if we are to build a real movement for social justice in this country--this vision and the programs and infrastructure the IPA created to help realize it, taught all of us that we could dream big, that we could do more, and that we could, one day, if we struggled through our differences and kept our eyes on the prize and were willing to think outside the box, build the kind of world that we'd only dreamed of.
Of course, that vision has not been realized, not even close, but it's incredibly reassuring to know that we've stepped a little closer to it, and that we even held parts of it in our hands.
Rest in peace, IPA. And may the lessons you taught us stay with us for a long, long time.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Procrastination is...
...I don't feel like being on a schedule. I want to just sleep in and relax and take my time getting up, and then later on go eat ice cream from Mitchell's in the Mission.
...I want to go have brunch at my friends' place and hang out eating waffles and turkey sausage and drinking french-pressed coffee 'til 3:30pm.
...I don't want to go do my laundry like a good girl, I don't care if I the only truly clean pants I have left to wear are the brown polyester slacks I bought in a rush to wear for a training one day, which I for some reason refuse to get rid of even though they are completely unflattering in every way.
...I want to go have dim sum with Efren and Howard in Daly City and then go to Target and buy meaningless trinkets, toiletries and office supplies.
...I don't want to have to go to work tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. I want to be on vacation and laying on a beach in Maui.
...I want to stay here and cuddle with my sweetie in bed, because we were out late last night at the Leftist Lounge where H. spun a solid set that had the whole floor groovin'. Hate to say it but the other DJ's we heard were pretty sucky.
...I don't want to do the hundreds of pages of reading I have to finish by June 27 for VONA because I'm tired of reading student manuscripts and wish I could just re-watch Seasons 2 and 2.5 of Battlestar Galactica instead.
But most of all I want to stop feeling like a lethargic piece or warm rubber, so I will stop complaining now about all the things I want and don't want to do, and go be a good little Capricorn girl and wash my undies and jeans.
...I want to go have brunch at my friends' place and hang out eating waffles and turkey sausage and drinking french-pressed coffee 'til 3:30pm.
...I don't want to go do my laundry like a good girl, I don't care if I the only truly clean pants I have left to wear are the brown polyester slacks I bought in a rush to wear for a training one day, which I for some reason refuse to get rid of even though they are completely unflattering in every way.
...I want to go have dim sum with Efren and Howard in Daly City and then go to Target and buy meaningless trinkets, toiletries and office supplies.
...I don't want to have to go to work tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. I want to be on vacation and laying on a beach in Maui.
...I want to stay here and cuddle with my sweetie in bed, because we were out late last night at the Leftist Lounge where H. spun a solid set that had the whole floor groovin'. Hate to say it but the other DJ's we heard were pretty sucky.
...I don't want to do the hundreds of pages of reading I have to finish by June 27 for VONA because I'm tired of reading student manuscripts and wish I could just re-watch Seasons 2 and 2.5 of Battlestar Galactica instead.
But most of all I want to stop feeling like a lethargic piece or warm rubber, so I will stop complaining now about all the things I want and don't want to do, and go be a good little Capricorn girl and wash my undies and jeans.
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