Summer Television self-indulgences: The Real L Word

On top of reading, I have been watching a significant amount of not-so-guilty, yet pleasurable (sort of) television.

The Real L Word

Like the fake L Word, the Real L Word is poorly scripted, flat, full of drama (although lesbian), reifying of heteronormativity, and I JUST CAN'T NOT WATCH IT. Sunday nights, I am drawn to this Lesbian themed reality television like I am to my Crackberry. Little red light flashing=previews for that night's episode. Then after seeing the opening credits, Jill and I discuss who we like and dislike, although, obviously I am more invested in this than she is. I realized most of them I hate but I keep coming back for more, hoping for some redeeming qualities. Always trying to find a point of (dis) identification, I am trying to find which character I belong to. In this, I see no hope. Of course the "fake" L Word left us all hanging with the "Who killed Jenny" fiasco. Redemption for Ilene Chaiken may be impossible.

Whitney
I like to describe her as smokin' hot with THE MOST annoying personality EVER!!! Her misnomer, "I don't like drama" is getting old. She is the epitome of LESBO drama. Oh I don't know why you piss off every girl you play with, maybe because you date all of them at once. I am fine with polyamory as long as everyone involved is open and aware of what is going on. Obviously this is not the case with all of Whitney's flings. At least this week Sara (why the fuck do they say her name like SADA?) gave her a taste of her own well-deserved medicine. Oh poor Whitney's getting her heart broken...ABOUT TIME!!! Quit trying to figure out if Whitney will commit and be ok with her commitment-phobic attitude and allow her to be free as long as she is respectful of the women she is free with.And for all the women in love with her...Get a freakin' clue. She's just not that into you!

Mikey
A total mysoginist, Mikey at least had a couple moments of shining. First when yelling at that modeling agent she really almost started crying, although I don't think she would ever honestly admit that. Second, offering her aunt that make-over, performed by one of Whitney's flings, Romi. This was a touching moment of the series where one of the bos actually appeared to have a soul. A rarity. Her mood shifts are pretty intense, from loving Raquel and wanting to marry her to hating her for playing a pretty harmless joke and pretending to not be at Mikey's beck and call.

Rose
Supposedly Papi is based on Rose's life of partying and womanizing. It's cool, I liked Papi, although short-lived and a highly stereotypical portrayal of the Latin lover. I hate Rose. Papi was likeable, she didn't treat the women she was with like little children but managed to at least appear on some level to love all of them. Afterellen.com sums up Rose best in their minicap Rose cares about Rose and treats her girlfriend Natalie like poo. Condescension and paternalism are just two of Rose's faults, amongst her lying (I'm just hanging out with my friends actually a "bromance" night with strippers rubbing boobies in her face), and all over rude demeanor. I am sick of Natalie being treated like a five-year-old little girl, with mama Rose protecting her. Please Nat, DO NOT work for Rose, you will regret it. Or maybe do it so the break-up will come faster.

Jik/Nill
It is annoying that in this couple the two individuals seem to have collapsed self-identities. They are no longer two seperate people but are defined by their primary pairing. Self-defined as the straightest gay people they or at least Nik knows, they are in the midst of planning some hideous glamarati wedding. Oh it is Betina all over again, one person has more money and power then the other and we all saw how well that worked out! I'm not saying don't celebrate your love but why does it need to be so extravagant? At least they vetoed the custom dresses-those were ridiculously expensive. There are few words to explain the ick-factor that these two embody. How is being straight-gay something to celebrate and exclaim from the television rooftops?


Tracy
Finally, the ONE character that does not constantly annoy me! In fact most of the time I feel bad for her, she's too young to be a mother of three. And I don't think she really wants that sort of responsibility yet. I am kind of waiting for her to realize this and for the other shoe to drop. On the other side, Stamie is funny, charming, and interested in helping Tracy with a modeling career. Well-worth it in my opinion. So I continue to root for them. Is there any way to kick the kids out of the picture? Just kidding. It's way gayer this way. Dogs and kids and keys oh my!

The one thing I liked about the "fake" L Word was that all the women were at least at various times all friends with one another. When are the Real L Word characters going to all meet up and become friends. I think Iw as hoping for something of a Real World (Watch what happens when six lesbians live in a house in Los Angeles stop being polite and start getting real!!) Like lets round up six lesbians, put them in a cage, and voyeuristically observe them in their unnatural habitat. Ok, so that isn't a good idea either, but I was hoping for some camaraderie amongst the cast, some relationships being formed, hot tub scenes being filmed, cat fights breaking out! You know the things that make for good reality television. Alas I will have to settle for the soft-core porn of Whitney effing SADA in the shower. I am not a big fan of this hypersexualized performance of lesbianism and I don't need to see the line-crossing sex scenes. I don't find them hot, but weird, and again ick factor. And I'm a lesbo. Not good when Real lesbians feel intrusive into these personal moments in a non-sexy way.

all in all middle to down thumb with hope for the future.

Being and Vibration

So I recently finished reading Being and Vibration by Joseph Rael for my week-long workshop at Naropa with Julie Patton.

It was an amazing week and I should have written about it more at the time. Julie asked us to try and not write with our computers at all during the week and I have to say it was very liberating to not be tied to a machine. Of course here I am back to it. But at the time of the workshop the way I took my notes was through writing letters to two friends, sharing parts of my experience. I am tying to carry over this practice as much as possible by not tying myself down to computers, my cell phone, etc. It is summer time, not time to be in connection with everyone, because, it is the only time I get to connect with myself. THE WHOLE PURPOSE OF THIS BOOK READING, REVIEWING PROCESS.

Back to the book. I cannot say I understand. The combination of metaphysics, sound, tone, vibration, energy is not something I usually jive with on such an explicit level. For instance, Rael, a man of Ute (as combined with other American Indian) heritage, offers a variety of ways to chant various words both in solo and group meditation settings. He describes ways of focusing on vowel sounds, i.e. "PEACE" becomes "peeeez" stretching the "ee" sound for purposes of sound meditation. This is not necessarily a new idea for those people who practice various forms of sound meditation, including the "Om" at the end of yoga practice. Rael relates much of sound vibration to a sort of transcendent form of being, the medicine wheel, and directionaiy (NSEW) and identifications with directions.

I thought this was crazy and didn't get it. Just kind of blasted through reading it. Until I met Julie, who is a poet. Some might call her a sound poet, meaning she makes poetry through sounds, not always human language, but language none-the-less. But she calls herself a poet, and I respect her process of self-identification. She is this amazingly beautiful black woman, with huge greying dreds, and a penchant for being with nature, observing, and knowing how to survive without monetary gain. Pretty impressive. We spent one workshop observing a blue heron, and then blindfolded, translating the sounds we heard in the natural setting of the Boulder Creek into sounds humans can make. One person took dictation while the other person made noises (not words necessarily) creating a soundscape. The next day we read these "sound poems" out loud to dogs. Seems strange right? But dogs respond to sounds. Not words. Even those dogs that are very well trained are responding to various forms of vibrational patterns that words make coming out of a human's mouth. Often to train a dog it requires more then simply saying a word. It requires saying it in a certain way, raising or lowering pitch, tone, speed. That is what dogs respond to.

So why are humans so out of touch with these vibrations? Because we have been socialized that talking with animals (as many of us do as children) is something only crazy people do. As both Rael and Julie say we have lost our ability to listen often relying on sight as a primary sensing skill. If you think about it humans can see many things at once and even notice the amount of things they are seeing, while only able to focus on one sound at a time. This is of course not true for all humans, there are always cultural factors playing a role into one's ability to do anything as well as ability. Those who are blind often have very keen other senses out of necessity.

The point however, is that if we think of communication as vibration, we hear a lot more, and open ourselves up to the possibilities of communication in a new form of language, one not limited to words. And I LOVE words. But I am open to experiencing beyond the word too. And I am also a person who usually says we cannot exist outside of language and I believe that, but maybe we need to be more open to what language is and work on erasing the hierarchy of human language, not only the language of dominance (white, masculinist, heterosexist, upper class) languaging over those of "others," but also the hierarchy of human language over language of animals, nature, etc. Not unproblematic, or uncomplicated, but I am open to being in conversation with this idea. I may not get Rael on his own, but I get Julie's translation of him and the practical use of his book for performers who work with vibration and silence to create meaningful performances.

Rebecca Brown: Excerpts from a Family Medical Dictionary

My latest read took me to Rebecca Brown's, Excerpts from a Family Medical Dictionary an amazing book about a woman, the author's care-taking of her mother after she is diagnosed with cancer until her death. One thing about this book: You know how it is going to end. What I will say without giving it away too much, is that despite knowing the ending, it concludes itself in a beautiful and poetic way. In many ways I am jealous of the author's/character's ability to be so matter-of-fact about the dying process and to complete the anointing process.

The book is split into sections/chapters divided by different terms that the author follows with a narrative/explanation of her mother going through the experiences of these terms. A couple of my favorite sections are "Twilight Sleep," which Brown describes as anesthetized space where one is not put "completely under" as a patient may need to be awake during a surgery. My other favorite scene, "hydrotherapy," gives a lovely glimpse into how the history translates into the present of the narrative. It reminds me of my mother and how we only had a bath tub until I was in middle school, reading in the bathtub a favorite pastime for her as well.

I love this book because it is not a survivor story. It is a story about profound loss, not coated with roses and daydreams. While it is a representation of her story, it is also my story, I read my dealings with death into the narrative. I locate my white lesbian body within the body of Brown, also a white lesbian. And although she is writing about her mother's ordeal with cancer, I see my stepfather and my great-grandmother-two more stories about not overcoming disease. It is not a progress story, they are not progress stories.

And that is most of all where I find myself, straddling a line of coping with death and falling apart. Recently I have been attempting to write through the death of loved ones...to share an excerpt of this process:

My great grandmother and step-father died the same day a year apart exactly. August 27. I pretend this day does not exist, cross it off calendars with black permanent pen. I was asked to both write and deliver eulogies at both funerals, the last pieces of significance for me. I didn’t want to unveil anything else, afraid of being haunted by memories. It is recommended I create an alter, acquire a marigold skull, light candles, burn incense, work through loss. I wonder what doing all of this in combination with writing could reveal? A divinatory moment about profound loss I suppose.

I have been thinking a lot about witnessing the death of the other and not witnessing one’s own death. Laying in bed, encouraging last breaths, holding bruised hands, it is hard to separate myself from the isolation of death. Death of language. I witness the demise of the other, am forced into writing and performing it in various ways, simultaneously feeling as though I am staging my mortality. In writing life I always feel I am writing death, writing without witnessing the ultimate mystery.

Reading the work of Brown I am inspired to continue to work through the death of the other, being a good seer in the world, and trying to bear witness to what I can of my own death.

The Shoppe and Lovely Confections

With my recent move to the hipster-esque area of denver known as East Colfax/City Park area I now have two amazing cupcake bakeries at my disposal. Despite my avowal to limit my sugar intake, I have still managed to squeeze these little folks into my life.

The Shoppe located at 3103 E Colfax is my favorite cupcake place thus far for a multitude of reasons. They have several flavors every day and come in mini, regular, and jumbo size (unlike most stores which only have a few flavors each day.) The mini cupcakes are like a perfect amuse bush. I chose the strawberry-rhubarb as the tangy sweetness is one of my absolute favorite things of life. The whipped cream icing was delicious (this coming from a girl who hates whipped anything really!) And the woman working the counter was radical and helpful as well. She offered her favorites, and told us which ones she wasn't fond of also. They even have vegan cupcakes, not that I probably would or could eat one but I think stores' attempts at vegan and gluten-free baked goods is promising.

The atmosphere is pretty hipster-y, with eclectic or eccentric art on the walls, bright pink and white contrasts, and what appears to be a small boutique at the front of the store. What I do enjoy about this place is that it feels like the kind of place you can go and sit, with real plates and silverware.

Lovely Confections at 1489 Steele St. is also a tasty bakery with a cupcake selection and some other items as well. During the Sex and the City Two movie (which I still have not seen!) craze the owner made a couple of cupcakes dedicated to the show/ladies of SatC. My favorite at this place is the Strawberries and Cream and Red Velvet. Very traditional cupcakes, they are made with local and organic ingredients, which is to be appreciated! It appears they only come in regular size, with a huge layer of frosting. Tasty and pretty to look at too.

My beef with the place is that the first time I went in there they were sold out, which was fine, the sign on the door actually said the shop was closed but I saw people going in. So I eagerly entered the store too to be greeted by the owner who was sitting with a group of folks on the couches, an quickly told me she was sold out for the day. It looked like they were conducting some secretive cupcake baking mission to take over the world. It didn't feel like a warm and welcoming atmosphere. But I went back again, they were almost sold out this time, and had only a few left, so my fried and I took off for The Shoppe. I have heard from others that tey feel the place is a bit yuppy-ish and pretentious. I am however, willing to give it another chance.

Summer of Books: The Pink Institution

In light of my creative writing class and my overall need to feel human again (see PhD Culture for a brief overview of my life the past three years, although the intensity has increased within the last year, the first year of my actual PhD program) I am going to be reviewing books. Actual fiction books, some old, new, experimental, academic (maybe). In doing this I hope to revive my "soul" a little.

This also comes in light of some news that I have some sort of disc issues/boney growth in my back that may require surgery, but definitely will require taking it easy (thus, no hiking for awhile). Just until they figure out what is up and a long-term plan. So frustrating as I was just starting to feel better. In attempt to keep writing I am challenging myself to keep reading.

The first book I read was The Pink Institution by Selah Saterstrom

Saterstrom was my creative writing professor this past quarter and I find it to be important to know people's work, especially when working with them. So I bought this book in an attempt to be more familiar with creative work and the folks producing it.

I find this to be a fabulous book, not solely because I know her. Saterstrom's use of language paints a horrifying multi-generational tale of relationships between white women in the South and their relationships with men. In many ways it is a tale of epistemology and ways of the body knowing. How do white women and girls learn to deal with abuse, alcoholism, sexuality, and pass this knowledge on to their daughters? How do the women's bodies within the narrative learn to negotiate complicated and problematic relationships and historical legacies?

Saterstrom's syntax is revelatory of the ghosts that live in and between language. The gaps between words in the first section demonstrates the haunting of language, what is not said/written leaves a rich subtext that is as prolific as the words that grace the page. My greatest love, as with most great books, is no immediate or satisfactory resolution, except to read it again.

It is short yet complex, written in the style of vignettes for multiple sections, that start to unravel the density of the narrative, which is never completely undone or made transparent. This forces the reader to actively engage in the text not idle through it as mindless entertainment.

I am immediately drawn into the section when the narrator "I" becomes present, not because I am concerned with it being the author but because it allows me a place to enter the text. What parts of this "I" story are my own similar, yet different narrative. As a woman who has been alive as a part of a 4-5 female generation family myself what are family and personal stories we circulate, which ones do we keep hidden? Whether the text is semi-autobiographical or not isn't the point (although context is always important), the meaning drawn out is important.

The narrative is one of those stories that needs to be told, heard.

Where do ghosts live?

The body?

Only in the mind?

"Complicated"

Digging on this song right now:

Complicated, Yonder Mountain String Band

There is fire
And there's light
The sense of something
Coming down this telephone wire
And there's wrong and there's right
That's the closest thing to clarity tonight

There are songs I've seen
That can make somebody feel
Like things are better than they seem
That there's time
Yes there's time tonight

In my own defense
I don't believe that I
Was born this complicated

You can say
Something
Wait until the people cheer
Then give them the refrain
And the band plays those blues away

In my own defense
I don't believe that I
Was born this complicated

Its a frame of mind
its a surfacing you notice
from the corner of your eye
You can see for miles
With an inner light that's guiding you home

In my own defense
I don't believe that I
Was born this complicated
This complicated
This complicated
This complicated