Cindy Sheehan's Farewell Letter

It s so easy to forget that there's a war going on.

I ve been so busy since I got back into New Haven. My sublet absolutely wrecked my apartment. Im reintroducing myself to my surroundings. I started teaching. Im writing my paper for Singapore. Im putting together job applications. Im revising chapters and percolating a new one. Im missing Victoria and my friends and how, rather than traffic, I used to hear seagulls and the clip clop of horses (pulling oohing and aaahing tourists). Ive been obsessed with Marc Jacobs cashmere thermals.

Then I remember that there's a war going on.

It s a beautiful Saturday morning in New Haven. Im gonna go to the farmer's market in Wooster Square. The other day I got a taste of cherries, dark red, almost black. On other fruit youd say 'bruised" but with cherries you feel it's just right, so sweet, they popped a darker red inside my mouth, one after another. I couldnt stop. Ive had the taste for cherries ever since. Im on the lookout for cherries and Ill remember, I was just brutally reminded, how can I forget?, there's a war going on.

***

"Good Riddance, Attention Whore" ...by Cindy Sheehan

I have endured a lot of smear and hatred since Casey was killed and especially since I became the so-called "Face" of the American anti-war movement. Especially since I renounced any tie I have remaining with the Democratic Party, I have been further trashed on such "liberal blogs" as the Democratic Underground. Being called an "attention whore" and being told "good riddance" are some of the more milder rebukes.

I have come to some heartbreaking conclusions this Memorial Day Morning. These are not spur of the moment reflections, but things I have been meditating on for about a year now. The conclusions that I have slowly and very reluctantly come to are very heartbreaking to me.

The first conclusion is that I was the darling of the so-called left as long as I limited my protests to George Bush and the Republican Party. Of course, I was slandered and libeled by the right as a "tool" of the Democratic Party. This label was to marginalize me and my message. How could a woman have an original thought, or be working outside of our "two-party" system?

However, when I started to hold the Democratic Party to the same standards that I held the Republican Party, support for my cause started to erode and the "left" started labeling me with the same slurs that the right used. I guess no one paid attention to me when I said that the issue of peace and people dying for no reason is not a matter of "right or left", but "right and wrong."

I am deemed a radical because I believe that partisan politics should be left to the wayside when hundreds of thousands of people are dying for a war based on lies that is supported by Democrats and Republican alike. It amazes me that people who are sharp on the issues and can zero in like a laser beam on lies, misrepresentations, and political expediency when it comes to one party refuse to recognize it in their own party. Blind party loyalty is dangerous whatever side it occurs on. People of the world look on us Americans as jokes because we allow our political leaders so much murderous latitude and if we don't find alternatives to this corrupt "two" party system our Representative Republic will die and be replaced with what we are rapidly descending into with nary a check or balance: a fascist corporate wasteland. I am demonized because I don't see party affiliation or nationality when I look at a person, I see that person's heart. If someone looks, dresses, acts, talks and votes like a Republican, then why do they deserve support just because he/she calls him/herself a Democrat?

I have also reached the conclusion that if I am doing what I am doing because I am an "attention whore" then I really need to be committed. I have invested everything I have into trying to bring peace with justice to a country that wants neither. If an individual wants both, then normally he/she is not willing to do more than walk in a protest march or sit behind his/her computer criticizing others. I have spent every available cent I got from the money a "grateful" country gave me when they killed my son and every penny that I have received in speaking or book fees since then. I have sacrificed a 29 year marriage and have traveled for extended periods of time away from Casey's brother and sisters and my health has suffered and my hospital bills from last summer (when I almost died) are in collection because I have used all my energy trying to stop this country from slaughtering innocent human beings. I have been called every despicable name that small minds can think of and have had my life threatened many times.

The most devastating conclusion that I reached this morning, however, was that Casey did indeed die for nothing. His precious lifeblood drained out in a country far away from his family who loves him, killed by his own country which is beholden to and run by a war machine that even controls what we think. I have tried ever since he died to make his sacrifice meaningful. Casey died for a country which cares more about who will be the next American Idol than how many people will be killed in the next few months while Democrats and Republicans play politics with human lives. It is so painful to me to know that I bought into this system for so many years and Casey paid the price for that allegiance. I failed my boy and that hurts the most.

I have also tried to work within a peace movement that often puts personal egos above peace and human life. This group won't work with that group; he won't attend an event if she is going to be there; and why does Cindy Sheehan get all the attention anyway? It is hard to work for peace when the very movement that is named after it has so many divisions.

Our brave young men and women in Iraq have been abandoned there indefinitely by their cowardly leaders who move them around like pawns on a chessboard of destruction and the people of Iraq have been doomed to death and fates worse than death by people worried more about elections than people. However, in five, ten, or fifteen years, our troops will come limping home in another abject defeat and ten or twenty years from then, our children's children will be seeing their loved ones die for no reason, because their grandparents also bought into this corrupt system. George Bush will never be impeached because if the Democrats dig too deeply, they may unearth a few skeletons in their own graves and the system will perpetuate itself in perpetuity.

I am going to take whatever I have left and go home. I am going to go home and be a mother to my surviving children and try to regain some of what I have lost. I will try to maintain and nurture some very positive relationships that I have found in the journey that I was forced into when Casey died and try to repair some of the ones that have fallen apart since I began this single-minded crusade to try and change a paradigm that is now, I am afraid, carved in immovable, unbendable and rigidly mendacious marble.

Camp Casey has served its purpose. It's for sale. Anyone want to buy five beautiful acres in Crawford, Texas? I will consider any reasonable offer. I hear George Bush will be moving out soon, too…which makes the property even more valuable.

This is my resignation letter as the "face" of the American anti-war movement. This is not my "Checkers" moment, because I will never give up trying to help people in the world who are harmed by the empire of the good old US of A, but I am finished working in, or outside of this system. This system forcefully resists being helped and eats up the people who try to help it. I am getting out before it totally consumes me or anymore people that I love and the rest of my resources.

Good-bye America…you are not the country that I love and I finally realized no matter how much I sacrifice, I can't make you be that country unless you want it.

It's up to you now.

A liberal agenda

...

"No," she said, "you are not sitting here and telling me it was as bad as Yale. That's just not even possible."
"Worse."
"I dont believe you, Im sorry."
Here Howard, who had a tuneful voice, began an effective impersonation.
Kiki held her jaw. Her bosom shook. She was giggling into her bosom, but now her head jerked back and out came her big bellow of a laugh. "You are making this shit up."
Howard shook his head in denial. He kept singing.
Kiki wagged her finger at him. "No, no, no- I need to see the hand signals. It aint the same without all that business."
Howard rose from his seat, still singing, and turned to face the couch. He did nothing physicalyet; he had first to envisage the moves and then fit them to his own badly coordinated body. He panicked for a moment, not able to grasp the idea and the muscles in the same thought. Suddently it came together. His body knew what to do. He began with a spin and a click."

-Zadie Smith, On Beauty

**

Earlier today, I went to the gym and randomly, Billy Joel's "Downeaster Alexa" came on my iPod. It made me miss a friend who I was already missing. Im in a missing people, nostalgic kinda mood, what with my pending return to New Haven after nearly a year away. And one of the people I miss most, is my friend ABG. See, Downeaster Alexa is sorta *our* song and when Zadie Smith, another shared interest, included a bit about Ivy League acapella groups, we both agreed Zadie was so on the money. There s a million at Yale. ABG's fondest memory of all boys singing group was hearing Brown's Jabberwocks sing a acapella version of...Billy Joel's "The Downeaster Alexa." She recalled that she was, like most young adolescents, dreamy, sad, wide eyed and in love with the Jabberwocks and the song. Now, I didnt recall this particular Billy Joel song but, since then, it's become very important in our relationship.

See, I miss ABG for a bunch of reasons but most espcially, most definitely, for her misplaced liberal politics, perfectly captured by Billy Joel's class conscious song about the plight of displaced fishermen.

Melts my cold heart, ABG does.

I coulda been killed

So not more than 15 minutes ago, Im on the phone with ABG, having woken her up, 12 30 Boston time, to announce my triumphant return to America and to harass her about her whereabouts (other than fast asleep in bed). Not a second after getting off the phone with her do I hear footsteps and the screen door creaking open. Tom back from Japan two days early? Noooo...some strange ass dirtbag walking down the hallway into the kitchen. WTF? I get up, fold my laptop under one of Tom's 15 lb brocade silk shantung throw pillows and go "Hey, hey, what the fuck are you doing here?" I said this after slowly turning the corner, cautiously, to make sure the piss ant didnt have a weapon. He smelled a bit like alcohol but he was clearly high on something else. Prolly meth. It s the area. "I'm looking for the stuff, man. The stuff, at the place." He's trying to walk into the livingroom but I block him and turn him around. "Ya, there's no stuff here." Unless he was talking about Orientalia or Gathie Falk sculptures, there's no stuff here. I push him out the door, lock it, run to the kitchen and lock the door. I was always weary about leaving the front door open but it was warm and muggy and there was a nice breeze passing from the front to the back door. Along with a breeze, open doors also bring drug addicts. He was hanging around the front gate for a bit and I opened the door asking him, once again, "Why the fuckd you come in?" Same response. "There's no stuff here" I repeat. "Okay, okay, then there isnt. Fine. Ok." And he sounded pissed too. Like *I* was inconveniencing him. Piece'a shit fuckhead! I called the police and gave them a description. "Was it a white guy?" 911 asked. "Ya. White guy. Tall. Over 6 feet. Thin. Short black hair. Shorts. Light grey shirt. Backpack. Day's growth. He was running on 19th towards Fraser." Fuck. How typical? My last nite in East Van and a fucking junkie strolls through my living room. How much more Vancouver can this be? Well, if I had some sage to burn, I guess. Wouldnt that justa been perfect? I beat my tennesis, crawling back from a 2-5 deficit, 2-5 people!!!2-5!!!and then I get murdered. Ugh. I hope they catch him. I feel all aggressive. How am I gonna sleep?

Emmanuel d. Drew: 7-5, 3-6, 7-5

Kingsway Open
June 4, 2007

Tournament Official: Ladies and gentlemen of the press, welcome. First question please.

Q: Was it emotional for you?

E: Yes, very much. Every match is emotional and this, well, this has a history to it.

Q: You were hitting partners back then.

E: Um, yes, uh, yes we were.

Q: He now trains with Andy Roddick in Florida?

E: I dont, I, um, dont really keep up so I wouldnt, I mean, you guys would know better his whereabouts.

Q: When he was dating Lindsay Lohan did you--?

(Emmanuel looks at his manager.)

Q: Or when he was living with Jessica Simpson after her divorce, how did you cope with--

(Emmanuel looks at the tournament official)

Tournament Official: Ladies and gentlemen, please. Please questions only about the match. Thank you.

Q: How did you feel after the first match?

E: Well, it had been just under 5 years since we last played so there were nerves and it always takes time to adjust to someone s game, to his serve especially.

Q: Was this the biggest problem for you? His serve?

E: Ya, his serve s improved tremendously over the years and he can hook it, send it in with a spin, sometimes real flat and heavy. But he s pretty solid on both wings, too, so I had to adjust. My plan was to hit to his backhand, which I did, but after the first few games, you know, you kinda get it that that s not the best way to get winners or to force errors.

Q: So you dont think that time in rehab affected his game?

E: Um, I, um...

Tournament Official: Next question please.

Q: You won the first set 7-5 and then lost the second set 6-3. What happened? Was it nerves?

E: I was obviously real happy about winning the first set. That was a big accomplishment to go 1 up. I thought I was pretty level headed going into the 2nd. I just think he, um, well, got into his groove. His serve, in particular. He went up 3-0 before I was able to figure out how to return and how to keep mine from getting broken.


Q: So were you disappointed that the match was suspended because of darkness?

E: Yes and no. I mean, yes, cause I was losing but no because I thought I could really swing more freely. I was warmed up.

Q: Takes you two rounds?

E: Sometimes longer but with a little bit of wine... (laugher in the audience)

Q: Was the lack of light a distraction? Did it contribute to you losing the second set?

E: Well, no. The most distracting were those sets of gay men sitting on the benches watching us. Especially the ones licking their ice cream for an hour. I mean, come on guys, how long does it take to finish an ice cream. Especially soft serve. (Laughter in the press galley.)

Q: Speaking of which, in the interviews before the finals, Drew was talking about your serve and how it s pretty weak.

E: Ive tried to work on my serve and somedays it s on and some days it s off and I keep at it. It was real streaky, especially in the 3rd but, you know what, I won so...

Q: What do you attribute your victory to? You were down 5-2 in the final set. He was serving for the match.

E: Ya, that was real tough. I could see me back in the locker room wishing I had forced myself into the game and then I decided, I decided, to get myself in the game. I just wanted to keep the ball in play, to give myself a chance and I kept thinking of Serena, we had dinner the other nite, and how she s pulled herself out of so many losing situation and turned it around. I started to just fight, to just hang on, hitting some passing shots and forcing errors. I tried to stay pretty calm even when I broke him at 5-all to go up 6-5. I had to really calm down to serve it out but I thought how great is this? Im down 5-2 but I came back so that I can serve this match out on my serve? On my racket?

Q: And you won the game at love.

E: It was pretty nice.

Q: What did you learn from this tournament?

E: That you can learn from the past but it s already the past. I have to move forward, charge the net more. I can do more than hang in there. I can win.

Q: So this victory was pretty sweet?

E: Ya.

Q: If you had to choose, which is better? Your Diors or this win?

E: (a wide grin).

Tournament Official: Thank you ladies and gentleman. Thank you.

God is immense

I spent the weekend in Victoria. I set the alarm and left on the radio. CBC 2. I got off at Discovery and Douglas to get Kemi's keys from her work and went to Discovery.





I had some Ethiopian, vegetarian, cause it was Friday. I went and found Meaghan and Elena and hung out with them. Rob called and I went over to see his new apartment. He came ouf of a closet...











...then we went to Discovery. He d never had it and said it was "orgasmic."







I listened to the radio and left the window open. I slept well.

Saturday morning, I walked to Green Cuisine and had a real delicious rice bran flour raspberry coconut muffin. No picture. Then I walked down Government to Discovery.





I walked around downtown and forgot to take pictures. It was warm and sunny and I already knew I loved Victoria. I went to Cook Street Village and had some lunch. Ethiopian again, but this time the spicy beef.





I walked through the Moss Street Market. It was very quiet. There are different ways to measure a city. Some by height, some by sound. Victoria's very odd in this regard. People mill about together outside but there's still a hush.





The Council of Canadians were there. Oh bless them!







I went to Meaghan's and Lee offered me scotch.











I had a smoothie. White people drink far too much.









I went home and I took a nap. I woke up. I listened to P.K. Page reading her poem "Planet Earth."
I ate an apple on my way to the gym. It's been nearly a month since I been. I couldnt lift as much and I didnt break a sweat. My body was adjusting, acclimatizing. I took the gym's copy of the June Vogue. The one with Kiera Knightly. I dont care very much for her which is why I didnt buy the magazine but there were some articles I wanted to read. Like tips on packing and what to bring on transcontinental trips. I went home, showered and changed. Meaghan picked me up and we went to Brasserie. The owner asked "Where have you been?" It s nice to be missed. We were there for hours but it felt like only minutes. During that time, her car was broken into. The only thing stolen was the car adaptor for her iPod and some change.


I fell asleep and slept well. Went to church and Sunday s mass was a celebration of the Holy Trinity. The priest talked about how God is immense. "God. Is. Immense." I have to agree. God's pretty big and all encompassing. A god who lets you go back to the place where you became an adult? A god who gives you the right of return? A god who lets a friend have a baby and, barely three months later, makes her look amazingly hot? A god who gives you three straight sunny days that parches your throat and perfect ventilation at a friend's house who lets you stay there cause you felt like coming over for a visit? That s pretty big or, like the priest said, God is immense.


Im back in Vancouver and the house wasnt broken in to. Everything is still here. That s pretty big of God, too. It s a bad neighbourhood. I understand that every land is sacred land and, not but, and for me God is about 30 nautical miles south of where I am right now. Victoria, southernmost tip of Vancouver island? That, there, for me, is a holy surface.

Back To School

Its been more than a year since Ive been in an academic setting so it was a trip to be back in a university for an academic conference and hearing words like "liminality" and "abject" or terms like "critical geography." Im not taking the stand that academics are incomprehensible. Im saying that, like in any profession, theres a language, a vocabulary, to which those in a university setting share and understand. Im not taking myself out of this loop, either, just because Ive been away from Yale for a year. Writing my dissertation, this is still my trade. That said, its still a trip to hear people use them over and over and see a bunch of heads nodding in agreement.

Today, I took part in a symposium entitled "Count Me In: Writing Public Selves" at SFU. I was invited to read some poetry by Fred Wah who was Writer-in-Residence for the year. In a nutshell, the purpose of the colloquium was for "exploring “the turn to language” as medium and limit in current writing practices." Other than Fred, who's been very nice to me and to whom Im very thankful, I wont mention real names out of courtesy. The panel before the dinner break was titled "Languaging the ‘I’: Writing in Shifty Contexts.” During the Q&A, an academic started talking about "oppositional spaces" and cited Venezuela in what I thought were really uncritical terms especially since he opened with the statement that there were "real" changes for the better that he's seen during his trips to the "global south." He said that Venezuela was a real and genuine example of an oppositional space where they paid their debt, backed out of the World Bank and would start their own regional lending organization. He went on to talk about the Venezuelan constitution and how it was really written by the people and that the two most influential contributors were feminist and aboriginal groups.

Shortly after he finished, I made two comments in response. One was, in terms of Venezuela, it s hard to figure out who to believe. On the one hand, supporters in and out of the country cite it, and Chavez, as a leader in the fight against Bush's empire. On the one hand, Chavez is starting to clamp down on opposition and, just last weekend, closed down a television network he deemed as inciting his overthrow. On both counts, Venezuela is like a new Cuba and Chavez a new Fidel. My other point was asking why do we always romanticize "elsewhere"? It seems like there are always beautiful, wonderful, magical things happening somewhere else. I wanted to know why we dont pay attention to the problems we have "here" and figure out solutions. I closed by saying that it s not my intention to say the local is more important the global but that this turn to the "elsewhere", the reliance on the "over there" was costing us in terms of how we dealt with one another in Canada. A country that prides itself on multiculturalism, we nonetheless interact with each other in similar ways that we talk about other countries and other places. I cited the example of people always asking non-white Canadians "where are you from?" I hate this question. "Where are you from?" may seem like a innocuous question borne from curiousity but theres something really hostile about it. When you ask me where Im from, sometimes I hear "when are you going back?" When you ask me where Im from, I wonder why you cant just deal with me as I am in front of your face. I get hostile back.

"It's a real shitty question to be asked."

Right there, by questioning a white male academic who, up to that point, was being fawningly adored by most people in the room (who were, by the way, white), I wasnt playing along. I guess it was rude to use the word "shitty." But I did think what he was saying was "shitty." Now, Ive never heard of this man before but, during the rest of the day, I determined he was pretty important in this circle. A couple of the writers who read their work mentioned in their bio that they studied under this man. His rank and file closed around in protection of him when I introduced myself to another academic and novelist (who was, interestingly enough, not a white male but a Chinese-Canadian female). After a quick hello she proceeded to answer my question making a clear effort to come to the academic's defense. Over dinner, another academic (a white male who, it was announced, just got hired as an Assistant Professor in the department...cheers all around, yaaaay...) asked me, in very abrupt terms, what my problem was with the professor's statement. Fred Wah, sitting next to this guy, came to my defense. The two professors who were very hostile continued to be frosty throughout my reading and as I left the auditorium after saying my goodbyes to the other readers and to Fred. I stand by my critique. Because some people were so cold and hostile, it was very nice to hear some audience members (2 white women, a black woman, a white man) tell me in private that they agreed with what I said and that it needed to be said.

Reading my poems was a bit anti-climactic. I was processing the afternoon's events and the coldness and hostility I felt from some of the academics including the two I just mentioned. (There were others but, really, I dont have the energy to rehash. Doing two was enough. It's pretty much the same thing.) I was already tired from yesterday's monstrous and emotional tennis match that deserves, and will get, a post of it s own. (It was a draw. I won the 1st set, 7-5. Drew won the 2nd, 6-3. Then it got too dark to play. We're gonna pick it up on Monday is the plan.) I went out for dinner last nite and didnt get home til bout 1 and fell asleep at round 2:30. I got up at 8 cause a friend wanted to take me out for coffee. Im leaving in a few days, Im thinking of what I need to pack, how to scrub clean the two stained pots with burnt millet. Ive got responsibilities and commitments on the academic front, the job front. There are expectations and thats ok. Im the oldest son. Im used to it. Im just saying Im tired and today's academic posturings and pettiness just wore me down. I was really looking forward to reading my poems. Im happy Im writing again. Id read my poems out loud before, like in my living room, but I forgot what it was like to read in front of 200 people, strangers. I was struck by how some lines and thoughts, that I glossed over, caused me to choke a little. I was happy that some things I found sad, others found hilarious. You never know when a crowd's gonna laugh.

Im starting to feel better already. I ran outta space on my disk so it ends kina abrupt.

Good night.

Brokeback Mountain

Deleted scene from Judd Apatow's "Knocked Up."

Vancouver

I was walking home from yoga this afternoon and started thinking about my time here in Vancouver and what to make of it. Yes, all in all, it s been good. It hasn't been great though it s been good. Then I thought about it in terms of hair. For those interested, try to follow. Im not being circuitous or cryptic, charges that have been lobbed against me with some degree of fairness by various friends and acquaintances, but this time, I really dont have a full formed analogy. I just feel there's something here. Okay. So my hair.

Three weeks ago, a little more than three weeks ago, shortly after I got to Vancouver, I found a Japanese hair salon on the foot of Hornby. I knew it was the place I could get my hair cut right especially when the sign out front said "We come from Japan." One of the toughest things bout traveling was getting a good cut for my hair (though this came second to the toll traveling and the changes in sleeping patterns, diet and weather caused on my skin). Cut it a inch too close and it ll stick up like I was being electrocuted. Dont cut enough off and it doesnt look like Ive had anything done. Ive had a million bad haircuts since I left New Haven.

For the past four years, Ive gotten my hair cut at a Japanese salon in the West Village. Yoshie, my stylist, knows how to cut my hair. I always like her cuts. Without getting too essentialist, Japanese people know how to cut Asian hair. They just do. Theyre the best. So I make an appointment at Air and I tell Hiromi, the stylist, what I want. Something very basic. Short on the side, short on the top, but not too short. This part I repeat. Not too short or else it ll stick up. She nods and repeats what Ive said. We re on the same page, I think. But we re not.

A little over an hour later with most of my hair on the floor, she s given me an elaborate buzz cut. My hair s pretty much standing up and she s shaped it to empasize certain points and spikes. To her credit, and because this was a salon and not a barbershop, she never used clippers. It was all artfully and painstakingly done by a pair of scissors. Immediately after and days and weeks after, recalling the cut to friends, I ve always maintained that Im not angry at Hiromi. In fact, Im not. Usually, actually always, if Im unhappy with something, I ll definitely bring it up whether Im at a restaurant or a department store. But I didnt feel the need to do so with Hiromi. To a degree, I get it, I get what she was doing. She was giving me a cut like you see on those Japanese ESL students with their skater shoes and Louis Vuitton backpacks and ENYCE hoodies. But those kids have edge. I dont. Im pretty boring.

Immediately after the cut, I bought a baseball cap or, rather, one of those terrible Fidel Castro looking caps that every other straight guy seem to think signifies that theyre fashionable. To me, it signified a desparate need to hide my hair. I dislike my hair very much. It's real thinned out, it sticks up in some parts. The hair on the side of my head is also sticking out at a rate faster than the top of my head so it just looks uneven. One friend said she liked it and that I needed to own it. Another said it s a bit of a faux hawk and I needed to use the right type of putty. For the past three weeks, Ive been wearing hoodies. Fortunately, it's been a very cool May and the weather s allowed for such a fashion choice. A few days ago, I noticed that my hair felt different. There was a texture and a substantiveness to it that was also very light. It felt nice and I think it ll look nice once it grows a bit more. In other words, Hiromi did a good job. I may not have liked it immediately and I may have had to walk around in a hoodie for three weeks looking like the Unabomber (I almost always always have one of my biiiiiig Marc Jacobs sunglasses on) but I liked what happened after, how the hair is growing out.

I somehow feel this is best representative of my time in Vancouver.

Maybe Im just being hopeful. I dont know. Im not quite done yet and this week is very busy but this is my goodbye to Vancouver.

Thanks.

Yves Saint Laurent

So well put together. I gotta get myself together.

Godfrey Deeny

A part of me misses Elsa Klensch, a part of me is thrilled when I see Suzy Menkes' flip. A big part of me misses Tim Blanks. Ive developed a healthy dislike of the new Fashion File. It s real choppy, there s no coherence or much information about a designer, a show. Tim was concise and literate and at least I still have his reviews on men.style.com. Watching Fashion Television on Saturday afternoons was a part of my teenage years like renting movies at Video 99 on Saturday nights (3 for $5.99) or playing tennis at the community centre. Seeing it again after a few years hiatus, it s skidded downhill. Was the show always that much fluff? Was Jeanie Becker always so fawning (wait, actually she was)? She was never Tim Blanks in her analysis. But seeing her interview Hussein Chalayan on his F/W 07 collection featuring mechanized dresses that magically/electronically peeled themselves off the models was painful. Here s one of the most brilliant designers of his generation who has real ideas and he s talking about "the body" in that academic way and Jeanie is just nodding and smiling with no follow up. At least I got to see Godfrey Deeny who loved the collection (who opined that the presentation and the cut of the clothes were all fresh and new) and seemed to be humouring Jeanie.

Godfrey Deeny is perfect.

Good morning and good night.

Beat Up

My Pilates session beat me up. Beat. Me. Up.

Who doesnt want core strength?
Im all for pelvic stability.
Abdominal strength?
Where do I sign up?!

But seriously, I think I need to get fit before I take another Pilates class.

In other news, Rosie O'Donnell is leaving "The View" three weeks before the her original departure date. That fight with Elizabeth was intense. Sadness. Rosie made "The View" worth watching. We should be talking about the war in Iraq and the senseless carnage on both sides. (Ya, I watch "The View." I love it. Or used to. When Rosie was on...)

Im going to take a nap now. Pilates beat me up.

Under My Head

I did a headstand in yoga class today. I got to class early and my teacher was doing one. I mentioned how I admired the position and always wondered about how to do one. Ive never done one after years and years of yoga. We had a discussion and before I knew it, I was pressed up against the wall, my waist high up in the air and my legs planted straight on the ground. At that point, it seemed like the most natural thing for my feet was to go up against the wall. She held me for a second and then let go. "Nothing's gonna happen to you." And nothing I did, cept the world, which in that moment was an empty room, was upside down. I didnt break, I didnt snap, I didnt fall. My body felt light and I felt cool then warm. It was amazing.

Let's see. The last few days have been busy with all sorts of activities. Beehive.

Aside from keeping up with the latest feud on "The View" (it was really cheap for Elizbeth to bring up Rosie's feud with Donald Trump), missing Victoria and gearing myself up for the imminent return to New Haven, I had some Filipino food. Only my second time since I got to Vancouver. And it's not for lack of Filipino restaurants and stores. Pinakbet and okoy, some vinegar and a cupful of sinigang broth? Yummmm. A very recent acquaintance (a real life chef for what it s worth), said "Filipino food is weird." Putting aside the strange hostility of saying this to me (me being Filipino-Canadian), lots of non Filipinos prolly share that assessment. To me, it isn't so much "weird" in the sense that Im grossed out by it or that the culinary aesthete in me (of which there's really very little...Im hungry all the time and eat liberally) gets confused since I cant fix and place Filipino food. Is it Asian? It is Spanish? Who cares? It's good. Soul food. It can fix me right.

In other news, there's also been a rash of robberies in my neighbourhood. Ive been getting email updates from Tom in Kyoto since he's on the neighbourhood list serve and I never bothered to sign up when I first moved in. The latest was on Saturday when a homeowner around the block happened upon two thieves in his house: a tall, thin man, white, with bad acne and even worse teeth and a girlfriend who pretty much looked the same. Meth heads. Quite a few of them roaming round east of Fraser. Ive already been sleeping poorly. I set the alarm tonight at about 8 30. Im trying to get to bed early cause with my insomnia and drug addicts running around outside, it s hard to fall asleep. I have to find a good hiding place for my laptop and my Marc Jacobs bag when I go out. God forbid this place was ever broken in to, crackheads would prolly think my MJ was a bowling bag and would leave it alone. Hope so. This part of town isnt gentrifying fast enough for me. (Ya, I said it.)

And yet in even more news, I may be dying. See, yesterday, I had lunch with a friend round Stanley Park. Walking back towards Robson, I came across a community notice board and I happened to have a flyer for this art project Im working on so I thought Id post one. Most of the flyers Ive posted have been in and around my neighbourhood. Main Street, Mount Pleasant, the Kingsway, Commercial. I didnt have tape or thumbtacks. There were a bunch of tacks and as I was prying one off the wooden columns, it somehow relodged itself into the nail bed of my right index finger. I was a bit stunned and pulled it out. The pin on a tack isnt very long but most of it was in my finger. I pulled it out and it produced a small trickle of blood. The nail didnt look rusty.

Regardless, Im on the watch for gangrene.

Body Break - Airplane Exercises (1992)

I love being back in Canada. Ya, something like 90% of the Canadian population live within 100 miles of the US border and maintaining a distinct identity is a challenge cause there IS a difference between the two countries. Forget universal healthcare and lower crime rates and better public schools. Im talking about things like having money and coins in different colours. Im talking about Heritage commercials on tv re-enacting important inventions by Canadians like time zones. Im talking about Body Break with Hal Johnson and Joane Macleod! This is an old one from 1992 but its classic. And theyre still at it. (Hal's shaved the 'stache, unfortunately.)

Loonie vs. Greenback

The Canadian dollar is 92 cents against the US dollar, its highest level since 1977. On a related note, the US dollar is also down to about 46 pesos. Im gettin killed in Vancouver and Im gonna get killed in Manila. "Grabe!..."

YES!!!

Roger Federer won the German Open, the last clay tune up before the French Open, beating Rafael Nadal 2-6, 6-2, 6-0. This is momentous. Roger was in a bit of a slump. After winning the Australian in January, he failed to make it to the finals of his next four tournaments including the Italian Open last week, another pre-French tune up, to #56 Filipo Volandri. Winning the German, he also broke Rafael Nadal's winning streak on clay that lasted 81 matches since April 2005. Not only that, this is the first time Fe's beaten Nadal on clay in 6 matches. The French is the only major Roger's never won and theres considerable pressure for him to do so, the idea being that if he is the greatest ever, he can win on all four surfaces. It s amazing how many people were counting Roger out because of his little slump. So he had a bad couple of days in the office? It dont prove nutin! Roger IS already the greatest ever. The man's been ranked #1 since 2004 and has won 11 Grand Slam titles, far away more than any other active player on the tour. To come from a set down, adjust his game and bagel Nadal in the final set? Rogers too much of a gentleman to say it but Im not: SUCK IT! Thats what Id say to my detractors. SUCK. IT.

Karen Carpenter

Her voice is so distinct and pure. A shame that shes remembered equally for her voice to her death from annorexia. Was a great loss. Her voice had something naturally lush and plain about it. Its interesting to see how, since her death in the early 80s, shes morphed into different things. There's always the annorexia angle but theres also: her as easy, safe pop, a backlash to the political corruption and sex, drugs and rock and roll scene of the late 60s and 70s; that her voice and her sound was emblematic of the 70s pop and easy listening, paving the way for Adult Contemporary; moving into the 80s, she was taken up as an icon (see Todd Haynes' short movie bout her, "Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story") and as a public health figure (more public awareness about annorexia); to a darling of the indie scene in the mid 90s (like The Carpenters tribute album featuring Sonic Youth, Shonen Knife, etc). When India Arie was doing press for her first album a few years ago, she cited Karen as one of her inspirations, that listening to Karens voice brought her closer to God. Ive also heard a few people (one in Todd Haynes' movie and a couple of people in real life) say that "Rainy Days and Mondays" is so ironic and subversive. Like I said, I cant define irony and who knows whats really subversive? All I know is that I really dig her voice. Yesterday, I took the long way home, crossed the Granville Street Bridge, listening to Karen Carpenter.

Shania

I cant even define "irony."

Is he talking about me?

I am at KFC all the time.

Emmanuel d. Rob: 6-2, 2-6, 6-1

Then we had Vietnamese. This was a memorable match but Im too exhausted for much else other than pictures. It was emotional. This is the last time we ll play in a long time.

Grace Jones

Grace Jones is a bit of a caricature in popular culture, isnt she? A tall, sleek black woman with a British accent starring with Dolph Lundgren in 80s action movies and wearing over the top costumes. Its a bit about race too, isnt it?and the place black women occupy in popular culture as either the attentive Mammy or the sexually insatiable Jezebel. Grace recalibrates how to occupy these positions, it seems.

Along with being a singer and an actress, Grace was also a model. Her body was her ticket. Case in point, "My Jamaican Guy." A series of shots in the video has Grace bent over, nearly crouched, hands on the floor, bending her knees, raising her arms inspired by African tribal dance. Shes dressed in a form fitting steel gray suit with cropped pants, uniform of the corporate 80s. (Pure perfection if it was an Armani.) It's hard to literally place and fix Grace into one spot. The spotlights tryin to contain her, to time its tracking with her movement but where and who is she? A black woman in corporate attire singing a song about a Jamaican guy with some African dancing interlaced with her sitting on ascending boxes, like a giant staircase, singing with a mic. We dont get much of a clue of where to place her either. The video starts with a close up of Grace, her face painted in the de rigeur protocol of 80s style- plum cheeks and eye lids, matte finish, glossy red lips- followed by alternating close ups of a similar shaped face, but with no make up, the other distinctive feature being the sound they make: Grace's "Eeeeee" to the other's "Ugghhhh." There's a play with sex and gender here. Grace as androgynous rather than strictly female or male and messing up the idea that black women as being either too masculine to be feminine or as the epitome of feminine licentiousness while squarely addressing the relationship between black women and black men. She stands up for her Jamaican guy: "he's laid back, not laying back." Her man's cool *and* hes got a job. (Im all about men having jobs.) After a side shot of the male face kissing an unreceptive Grace- lip smacking sounds included- the video shows two black faces looking squarely at the camera and the viewer, slowly swaying. The shot pans out and you see the two dancing closely, Graces hands cupping her partners behind. Rather than a binary or a dichotomy, rather than black men and black women fighting, theres a homology and a correspondence and a physical union between two black people.

There were a lot of female singers and bands making their mark in the late 70s and 80s: Blondie, The Go Gos, Cyndi Lauper and, the biggest of them all, Madonna. You get the odd mention of Tina Turner (who deserves another posting on her own for a whole bunch of different reasons) but most of these groups and women are white. Grace is a footnote or a joke. But check out the video for "Im Not Perfect (But Im Perfect For You)." A bit of a vanity piece but you cant be a pop star without indulging in this habit. And Grace is cheekily aware of this as theres shots of her getting a massage, talking to her therapist and getting a massage. Madonna's rise from suburban Detroit to the Lower East Side's counterculture is part of her myth but this video gives some context to Grace Jones' role in the culture scene of the 80s. When Andy Warhol says youre perfect? Well, you pretty much most likely prolly are. Race, sex and gender are all still at play here. She has white men, gay white men, literally working for her. Aside from Andy, there's Keith Haring painting inside a giant canvas that ends up as Grace's giant skirt. In another shot, she's lowered into a bathtub full of milk, referencing the Annie Leibovitz shot of Whoopi Goldberg. She's aware of what's involved in her representation.

Amongst Grace's infamous appearances is her "slapping" Russell Harty. (Though what appearance of Grace isnt infamous everyones waiting anticipating wishing and praying shes gonna say or do something crazy.) She's not giving attention, she's seeking it- her threats to leave if she's not interviewed, her pouting and her hitting, her baby tiger pawing? This could be read as proof positive of her infantile development or it could be taken as her insistence she's worth paying attention to, that she's worth a second look.

She kinda is.