Toothpick Labeling

And then there was one.

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 17:56:00 +0000

I'm ditching the 30 Days Meme. I completed two out of 30 entries, and I've rapidly found that that particular list of prompts just isn't doing anything for me. Scrapped. Gonna try my hand at going back to writing my own free-form narrative, even if I have to write about shit I don't wanna write about. I've been ambivalating enough for the last year-plus. I need to get back to the Breeness of it all.

Two things you probably know if you know me In Real Life, but don't yet know if you only know me via Toothpick Labeling or Limburger, my previous personal blog:

1. I got bit really badly by a dog in September, and now I've got a killer motherfucking scar on my left hand. By the grace of randomness, luck, and privilege, I've got most functionality back, and a family who can help me cover the medical bills.

<--How it looked two days after the bite.
How it looks now.-->

So, there was that.

2. Astrid and I broke up about a month ago. You, the reader, met Astrid nearly seven years ago, when I wrote about our first date. Since then, those tentative and doubtful and sexy beginnings became the longest relationship for either of us, the longest shack up, the deepest intimacy, and ultimately the most slow-motion, excruciating breakup in my life. The last year and a half have been fucking painful. Now that we've broken up, we both feel a lot of relief, release, and freedom to find ourselves in different ways. It's actually been, on the whole, easier between us since we made the decision to end it.

And here's the interesting part: we still live together. Tune in next time for more!

Day 02 - Your first love, in great detail

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 21:13:00 +0000

We were teenagers. J. and I had developed a deep and deeply romantic friendship and it was completely platonic. [Except for that dream I had about marrying her. And the dream she had about me joining her in the bathtub. (I think Tom Petty was there, as well.) And that time we went camping with her mom and stepdad, and I was giving her a back rub on our sleeping bags in the back of the truck, and it was freezing, and it was the middle of the night, and I straddled her, laying my hands on her warm back, and she said,

“Mold me like clay,”

and I was so sexually aroused and so scared that I jumped off of her and had to wait til my heartbeat regained its normal tempo.]

J. was the first friend I came out to. Our heart-and-mind connection was beautiful and hilarious and mutually doting, and she was one of the first people in my life I had those epic conversations with about the nature of the universe and the nature of tiny, seemingly inconsequential things that were actually totally profound. We had been close friends for several years before I woke to the reality that I was utterly in love with her. I existed til then in that liminal passageway between the conscious and unconscious knowledge of my desire for other girls; our friendship and the erotic energy between us lingered in that blurry borderland between fantasy and reality, mutuality and unrequition.

I finally gathered the nerve to write her The Letter in 1991. We were both 19. She was in a relationship with a significant boyfriend, and had a good deal more sexual experience than I had at the time. In fact, my own exploration with boys to that point had been marked by a couple darkened living room gropes and botched attempts at fellatio. J. actually knew what being in a relationship meant, what love meant. Here I was, a 19 year-old who'd never even gone on a proper date, declaring my intense love and desire for J. in a letter laden with angst and written with such urgency and self-absorption that I almost forgot she had a serious boyfriend (a guy I really dug, by the way, and had no intention of hurting). There was urgency on her part, too, because when she received the letter, she immediately called me and we made plans to rendezvous at Denny's in Fremont (a reasonable half-way point between her house in the East Bay and mine in the South) to discuss these Weighty Issues.

I don't remember the finer details of our conversation that night, or if we ordered chicken strips or “Moons Over My Hammy,” but the gist of it was this: she had a boyfriend, and being with girls wasn't what she could do. But oh-my-god-if-she-didn't-have-a-boyfriend...could she maybe, possibly, fall in love with me too?

J. turned out not to be my first girl kiss, to my displeasure, though I was so looking forward to holding her and pressing her lips to mine in the vinyl booth of that most romantic of generic American diner settings. We shortly drifted apart into the adventures of our own early-20s lives and touched base now and again. I'm so happy to say that we reconnected over the years, and that we still totally adore and admire each other. Things turned out exactly the way they should have for us both.

But damn, that would've been something good.

Day 01 - Introduce Yourself

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 21:34:00 +0000

Hi. I'm Bree. Only, I'm not actually Bree; Bree is a pseudonym I've been using since I started blogging about eight years ago. Actually, it's a pseudonym I created around 2000ish when I had a brief and fairly dull foray into cyber chatting in those lonely little virtual chat rooms when people were still on IRC channels or some such shit that I didn't understand then and don't understand now. So I've gone by Bree in some circles for 'bout a decade, plus/minus.

I grew up in San Jose and Los Gatos, California, suburban sprawl about fifty miles south of San Francisco. Most of you reading this blog probably already know that. Maybe I should introduce myself in a more enticing way. Let's see now...well, I'm pushing 40, I'm a big ol' dyke (who makes infrequent exceptions for an occasional boy as long as he's fey, geeky, and submissive enough), I took the Meyers-Briggs personality type test when I was 17 at Jewish youth group camp, and was revealed to be an ENFP, and I think it's still pretty accurate.

What else? I wear two career hats, well, really one job hat and one career hat: my money-earning work is bookkeeping, basically paying other peoples' bills and balancing their checkbooks (something I've pretty much never managed to do for myself) and my career path work, which hasn't quite made me money yet, is as a psychotherapist. I'm an intern working in private practice in Berkeley, and I mainly work with queer and trans folks, and individuals and relationship partners who are in polyamorous relationships or who are identified with alternative sexualities in some form.

I think a lot about death and grief and loss.

I really enjoy the minutia of consciousness and perception and exploring the endless mental and emotional crevices of experience and memory and fantasy and nostalgia and here-and-nowness.

I enjoy documenting things. One day a year, I try to document every single thing I do from waking until slumber on my Facebook page. Hundreds of Facebook friends seem to be fascinated by this myopic, indulgent navel-gazing exercise, or at least are polite enough to make comments every now and then. For seven years running, I blogged about every movie I viewed, every book I read, and every noteworthy experience I had in a series of annual year-end wraps. You can read the last one right here.

I have several friends in the world who I cherish and who I feel deeply emotionally tied to. I really adore my family. My nieces and nephews are some of the smartest, kindest people I know. I live with my girlfriend Astrid and our dog Dorrie, a pit bull-border collie mutt, who I'm totally in love with. Astrid and I have had a really tough year together, and I've scarcely blogged about it. Maybe I'll share more of this process later. Maybe I won't.

My mom died about a year ago, of lung cancer. She was 73. My dad died 37 years ago of a heart attack, when he was just 43. I'm an orphan, I guess. I miss my mom, and I also feel just a shred of a bit more freedom to move about the world as myself since she's been gone. I feel lighter, but also somewhat guilty about this. I can't imagine my life without my sisters.

I'm slutty. Usually more in my imagination than in actuality, but I do get around some. I really enjoy riding my bicycle. I eat a lot of meat. I listen to quirky emotional indie rock. I like excruciatingly cheesy pop culture. I can talk a blue streak, and I often get bored of the stories I tell over and over, but also I often remain freshly amused by myself.

That's some of me.

30 Days Meme

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 03:42:00 +0000

I need some writing prompts to get back into this personal blogging thing. My friend Dax is working on this very involved meme at the moment, and I'm thinking I'll follow suit. I've tried to figure out where the meme came from, but can't quite trace it. Anyone know where it started?

So, in 30 blog entries (doubt they'll be written on consecutive days) I will submit to you these mini chapters about, you guessed it, me.

~~Day 01 - Introduce yourself~~
~~Day 02 - Your first love, in great detail~~
Day 03 - Your parents, in great detail
Day 04 - What you ate today, in great detail
Day 05 - Your definition of love, in great detail
Day 06 - Your day, in great detail
Day 07 - Your best friend, in great detail
Day 08 - A moment, in great detail
Day 09 - Your beliefs, in great detail
Day 10 - What you wore today, in great detail
Day 11 - Your siblings, in great detail
Day 12 - What's in your bag, in great detail
Day 13 - This week, in great detail
Day 14 - What you wore today, in great detail
Day 15 - Your dreams, in great detail
Day 16 - Your first kiss, in great detail
Day 17 - Your favorite memory, in great detail
Day 18 - Your favorite birthday, in great detail
Day 19 - Something you regret, in great detail
Day 20 - This month, in great detail
Day 21 - Another moment, in great detail
Day 22 - Something that upsets you, in great detail
Day 23 - Something that makes you feel better, in great detail
Day 24 - Something that makes you cry, in great detail
Day 25 - A first, in great detail
Day 26 – Your fears, in great detail
Day 27 – Your favorite place, in great detail
Day 28 – Something that you miss, in great detail
Day 29 – Your aspirations, in great detail
Day 30 – One last moment, in great detail

Ugh.

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 16:59:00 +0000

Pain/Pain

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 16:32:00 +0000

Here's a rare thing: a poem I wrote in 2009. Just came across a paper copy in my stuff, and searched on my computer for it; my document must've been among the data I lost when my laptop got stolen a couple years ago. Glad I found this! Enjoy!

Pain/Pain

Breathe into the pain.
"I haven't got time for the pain," says Carly Simon.
P-A-I-N is French for bread.
"French toast" is called pain perdu, to the French.
Frenchy is a character from Grease.
"Grease is the word," but there is no word for the kind of pain I'm in.
I am in pain, I am pained. I am pained to find words for the pain.

Grease is viscous. It lubricates things.
Smear it on your motor bearings, but don't smear too much.
Oil works pretty good, as does butter.
Watch the butter melt and sizzle in the pan | in which you place the pain perdu.

I've lost my toast. Has anyone seen my toast?
$5.00 reward for the recovery of my lost toast.
My toast has been subsumed by a viscous batter of egg and milk.
The batter is viscous, and might as well say it: the batter is vicious.
The batter has viciously taken away my pain, but it hasn't taken away my pain.
My pain is gone.
I am pained to say, my pain is gone.

© 2009, 2011 bree_zip@yahoo.com

Death and Birth

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 03:44:00 +0000

Dream last night:

I'm with my mom. We're both naked. We're walking through a botanical garden. The entire ground or floor of the garden is covered in a gelatinous, translucent green goo, and we are sloshing through it with our bare feet. Mom tells me I've been here before, many times, but I remember only one visit as a teenager. She says we used to come here when I was a little kid, but I don't recall it. It seems familiar in a distant way.

The room starts filling with water, up to and over our heads. We're bobbing, swimming through, and then get released into another room, dry, all the water drained out, the floors and walls are all white. We're still naked, but more conspicuous walking around. I'm aware, self-conscious, but still calm. I try to put on a pair of shorts; they're made of sheer plastic, like packing film. Mom recedes deeper into the room.

Obsolesced?

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 18:54:00 +0000

I wonder if I've run the course of personal blogging. Microblogging on Facebook and managing my music blog have subsumed much of my focus and energy for broadcasting my thoughts to the world; but less obviously (or more) my life over the last year, at least, has been in enough private tumult so as to intimidate me from sharing the details in this forum. This is the piece of my experience that warrants more exploration, rather than less, and I hope that I can gather the courage to share some of it with you here at TLab. I don't wanna let the blog go, if possible. I need to nudge myself gently to write here more.

Almost 2011, and a Rap on the Wrap

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 23:50:00 +0000

First of all, I'm still pronouncing "2010" as "Two Thousand Ten," and I think I'll likely pronounce "2011" as "Two Thousand Eleven." What about y'all? For some reason, "Twenty-Ten" and "Twenty-Eleven" sound like marketing copy to me, yet I know it's inconsistent, 'cause I certainly didn't refer to "1999" as "One Thousand Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine or even the slightly less cumbersome "Nineteen Hundred Ninety-Nine." For a helpful look at this issue which is essentially a digression from my main drift today, please listen to Grammar Girl's podcast on the topic. Seems I'm out of the norm on this one, which isn't surprising in the least.

Speaking of norms, it is around this time of year here at Toothpick Labeling that we are all frothing at the mouth, chomping at the bit, ready to jump guns, cross lines in sand, and loads of other appropriate (or not) overused metaphors in hot anticipation of my annual Year-end Wrap. For those of you not in the know, every year for the last seven of 'em, I've written up a summary of how my year has gone, including a fairly detailed collection of reviews of all the culture I've imbibed, films I've seen, books I've read, shows I've attended, yadda yadda. Every year since 2003. Except, I'm afraid to report, for the year 2010.*

Why have I skimped on preparing a Wrap this time? Well, I'll tell ya. In the first half of the year, I had actually planned to continue my tradition of yearly review by setting up a Word document as I normally do with the general categories of the entry all lined up (personal stuff that's happened, books, TV shows, films I've seen in the theater, films I've watched on DVD/online, live shows, music I've acquired, and resolutions for the year). I began filling in those categories as I ticked off events, milestones, and cultural consumption during the first few months of the year. I also set out a new and ambitious plan to begin reviewing stuff in the blog more or less as I finish a book or after I've seen a movie so that my work on the Wrap would be a lot less daunting at the end of the year. I was really happy with that commitment I'd set out for myself.

A collage of images from Wraps-Past. Clockwise from top left: Dorrie the Dog; Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler; some of our friends from Buffy the Vampire Slayer; an ostrich in the Santa Inez Valley; The L-Word dykes; the Van Tussles vs. the Turnblads in John Waters's Hairspray; Gandhi; laughable lotus climax from The Fountain; King Crimson's album In the Court of the Crimson King: an Observation by King Crimson; the cast of Nine to Five.

But then in April, Mom got diagnosed with cancer, and by May she was dead. And, although it seems trivial in comparison, just a few days after Mom died, my apartment got broken into and my laptop was stolen, and along with it, the not-backed-up document containing all my 2010 Wrap info. Added to that, there's been a lot of relationship wrangling and the constant stress of being underemployed and trying to build my therapy practice.

It's hard for me to break with traditions, especially with expectations I set out for myself, but it became clear at length that I would have to ditch the Wrap this time. I've had bigger fish to fry emotionally and energetically this year. I'm sure my readers can understand this breech of protocol, and, to tell you the truth, letting myself off the hook from the exacting task of tracking every freakin' thing I do all year has been liberating in the extreme.

I can't promise I'll get back to doing a Wrap for 2011, but it's possible. It's also possible I'll be focusing my energies on ever-newer, more up-to-the-moment relevant projects that hopefully will feed my soul in different ways. If you're nostalgic for my Wraps of yore, you can check 'em out by clicking any of these handy hyperlinks: 2009, 2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003

Here's wishing you and yours a happy Thanksgiving, a warm and wonderful holiday season, a fantastic New Year, and the hope that all our energies will continue to be focused on what's important, inspiring, loving, and fruitful. I am, and I trust that we all are, exactly where we need to be.

Peace 'n' love,
Bree

*The author understands if you read that as "Twenty-Ten" and won't like you any less for it.

In pencil, on a paper placemat

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 01:02:00 +0000

This was a list I wrote myself around July of this year. I'm not feeling as unstable as I was then, but it's a meaningful period piece.

Reasons to be kind to myself:

I'm in mourning.
I feel lost and abandoned.
I'm hungry and haven't had time to take care of myself today.
I'm worthy of love.
Astrid loves me.
I'm a good person.
This is temporary.
I'm okay.
I have a family and friends who love me.
I deserve kindness.
I am learning how to be a good therapist, and it's okay not to be perfect.

Wishes, Goals, Bookshelves

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 05:03:00 +0000

Astrid and I are navigating a lot of complexity together. We're doing well, moving through it, communicating our feelings and our needs to each other, and above all, trying to balance the here-and-now with the yet unknown future, or trying to manifest in the here-and-now the kinds of futures we desire for ourselves as individuals and for our lives together. To that end, beyond the verbal processing, the treating each other with extra attention and kindness, the connecting and reconnecting through talk and touch, we are engaged in a goal-setting exercise which we've been refining over the last week or so. We outlined our life values as individuals, listed our wishes. What does each of us want to manifest in our lives, the materialistic and the altruistic, the personal and the professional, the creative and the logistical? Today, we organized our wishes into goals, identified the areas of our lives the goals fit into, and assigned a timeline to each. Mine run the gamut from the microscopic-mundane:

Clear out the bookshelf in the dining room (personal goal). Timeline: immediate

to the long-ranging and grandiose:

Write and publish a nonfiction book (career goal). Timeline: 5 to 10 years.

I'm pleased to say I've already knocked out the bookshelf. It was a catch-all that caught everything from random shoelaces to no less than three bike U-lock mounts (never used) to a baseball mitt (last touched nearly three years ago) to my grad school readers and binders that had been collecting dust since graduation in 2008 to outdated telephone directories (why do they still make those things?) Now it's cleared out, dusted, virtually empty, waiting to be filled with objects that are more relevant to our lives now, useful and in use, a dynamic space rather than a dead one.

'Cause that's the point, really, to occupy the space of our lives with vitality and movement, rather than stagnancy, dust, the dead-end of inattention and the taking for granted that we just move from day to day without sight of our dreams, what we really want from this life: bookshelves of our own and bookshelves to share.

The Wrath of Lacan

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 21:32:00 +0000

I'm very excited to present to you my first attempt at an animated sketch. This dialogue is based on a recent conversation among friends over a few glasses of wine and/or whiskey.

Tech brought to you by xtranormal.com. The URL for this video is at http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/6811497

Shouts out to Nan, DJ, Astrid, and April. Thanks Astrid for editorial feedback.

Mundane tasks, you know, like making life insurance claims...

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 22:23:00 +0000

Today's a pretty typical day for me. Mondays are my days off, and so I often do stuff like walk the dog, do the dishes, pay bills, goof around on Facebook, work on the blogs. But I had a task on my list today that was layered with immense pain, even though I ended up executing it with a reasonable level of business-as-if-it's-usualness. As the title of this post alludes to, the task was to start the process of filing the life insurance claims for the policies my mom left my sisters and me. I took this on as one of the many tasks that the three of us are sharing in the shadow of Mom's death. The phone call was surprisingly easy, even though what it symbolized is not. All we need to provide is the death certificate and some rote forms, and then we've got some money to use to pay off Mom's creditors and make the arrangements to sell her mobile home. Hopefully the house won't suck up too much money, so that there'll be some left over for the three of us to use, but the truth is, mobile homes don't sell quickly, and we have to pay space rent on it every month til it sells. The enormity of the meaning of these perfunctory business transactions is that I will never see my mom again, I will never hear her voice again, I will never have to hear her say, "Why don't you ever call me, you rotten kid?" again, whether she's joking or not.

If you thought April was rough...

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 05:05:00 +0000

...May's been no cake walk either. Most of you who know me in "real life" already know what's been up with me since my last blog post. But those of you just tuning in for the first time, or for my blogospheric friends out there, I have some news to share with you. On May 14, less than a month after her cancer diagnosis, my mom died in San Jose, California. She was 73 years old. This entry might come off as clinical or cold or glib; forgive me, but I'm not in a melancholy mood today, and I'm interested in staying that way. This isn't meant to be a cathartic entry for me (although one doesn't know the outcome until one goes ahead and writes); rather, I'd like simply to let everyone know what's been up, so that I can move on to more nuanced posts if I feel like it, or more trivial posts if I feel that way.

My mom was admitted to the hospital after her very first meeting with the oncologist. The cancer doc called in the bone doc, because he was very concerned about a mass that had spread to her left femur. The orthopedic surgeon and the oncologist agreed that surgery to implant a rod would be the best insurance for my mom's comfort in her last months of life. Her cancer had metastasized, spread to her bones, and she was terminal, but also in danger of shattering her leg. We all agreed it was the best course of action to get her the surgery, but she was terrified. The surgery itself went as planned, and she was healing up on morphine, by turns out of it and cranky. At one point, she told a nurse that she didn't like her voice, that it was grating to her, and then she turned to the other nurse and said, "I'll talk to you instead." Her orneriness was kind of a good sign, though. Unfortunately, the bed rest and immune system weakness led to pneumonia, the pain drugs further weakened her breathing, and on top of that, her chronic pulmonary obstructive disease, from the smoking, also depleted her ability to get enough oxygen into her blood and increased her carbon dioxide output. A particularly know-it-all-like respiratory therapist put it this way: "her lungs are not allowing her to exchange gases properly." He offered this pat description every time we asked him a different question about her condition. After days on a bipap machine, which forced air into her lungs, the fluid wasn't clearing out and her oxygen and carbon levels continued to plummet/spike respectively whenever the mask was taken off. She was verbally unresponsive at this point, basically just sleeping, occasionally grabbing at the mask to take it off. So C. and J. and I made the decision we knew Mom would want us to make. We decided to take her off the bipap machine and wait for her to die.

Imagine that: I'm feeling more emotional than I'd wanted to at the outset of writing this entry. I'll say one more thing. We held the memorial for Mom two days later, at the funeral home and cemetery where my father and my grandparents are interred, and where my cousin is buried. I enjoyed the ceremony, as much as it's possible to enjoy such a thing, and I think Mom would have enjoyed it, too. Several friends she'd known for thirty and forty and more years spoke, and some dear family friends played guitar. I hope she would have liked it. She was well-loved, my mom.

I'm writing this. Does that make it real?

April Overload

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Wed, 05 May 2010 06:16:00 +0000

April was incredible: more than I asked for, in good ways and pretty terrible ways. Here's a handy-dandy timeline of my life over the last four or five weeks:

April 1: I ran into my ex-girlfriend N. for the first time in nearly four years. It was sweet, and it was bitter, and I don't really know what to say about it.

April 2: Astrid and I took a guy home from a bar together. He was Quebecois, and quoted Baudelaire in bed. Astrid and he had outrageous chemistry, but it was damned fun for me, too!

April 3: Astrid and Montréal Boy had a second glorious date together while I hung out with pals for the evening, then dropped from exhaustion.

April 4: My mom called me in the morning. Her doctor found a mass in her lung. As I adjusted to this news, Astrid and I joined pals for an invigorating hike in the freezing rain on Mount Tam.

April 6: Astrid and I celebrated the fifth annual Orbit Day: the anniversary of our first date!

April 11: A dear friend of astro-b's was in town for the weekend. He's geeky-sweet, just what I like in a boy. I suckered him into bed with me, eventually. I guess April was the month for my latent bisexuality to emerge. Grin.

April 20: We learned that the mass in Mom's lung isn't the only one. She's got "suspicious" masses in or near her liver and kidneys, in her bones, between her shoulder blades. Everywhere. We're still waiting for the biopsy results.

April 29: Evidently my clinical supervisor had an intense April as well. She informed me that due to a personal crisis in her family, she would need to resume seeing clients on Fridays, which has been one of my two full days to use our shared office space. In other words, my internship and my weekly schedule are going to be altered in a major way.

Shit howdy, I'm glad it's May.

Both/(And)

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 22:50:00 +0000

The undulations of my moods lately aren't severe, just ripples riding sometimes higher in anxiety and sometimes lower in listlesness. There are some good days too, to be sure.

Lots of the money stress, still. Still. Some relationship ennui has come and gone, the way it does with long standing love. Dr. Mario has been brought out of its 1 1/2 year slumber in order to nurse Astrid and I through our collective anxiety about not accomplishing real things. My private practice is finally turning a "profit" if that's what you call around $400 per month. This is truly a good, good thing. But with just one tiny bookkeeping gig in addition to the therapy work, I'm still making just enough to pay rent and that's absolutely it. I've blogged enough about all this before, so I should get on to other things. Like that I'm hungry, and I should probably eat some lunch.

xo
Bree

Hot Tub Time Machine (2010) **½

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 21:56:00 +0000

There were certainly some laugh-out-loud gags, and fun cameo/supporting cast choices (particularly the meta choice of Crispin Glover as a bitter bell hop), but for the most part: tired plot, tired homophobic and sexist humor and characterizations, and an utter lack of creativity in utilizing the time travel premise. And the most cloyingly conventional and predictable resolution ever. This movie gives us one gift: a prominent role for Clark Duke, who plays 20 year-old straight man to a bunch of sad-sack 40-somethings. I'll look forward to seeing his career develop.

Don't Hang Noodles On My Ears

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 17:18:00 +0000

Here are some English idiomatic expressions and what I believe to be their Russian equivalents. At least, these are my guesses. I'll have the real answers, if they differ from mine, in a bit. Venture your own guesses at Dave's blog.

Super-Quick White Bean & Tomato Veggie Soup

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 20:25:00 +0000

Have to share this recipe from last night's dinner. Astrid and I had a long day at Fort Funston with the dog and were too exhausted to cook something elaborate, but are also too broke to treat ourselves out right now. We stopped by Arizmendi to get some yummy bread for sandwiches, but ended up with a crunchy, crusty sourdough loaf instead. Astrid said it'd be good with soup, and thought of the combination of white beans and tomato. This was the inspiration for the following totally ad-hoc recipe, full of shortcuts (canned beans, canned tomato, bouillon cubes). We had delicious soup in about an hour.

Ingredients:

1-2 T oil (olive, canola, whatever)
1 yellow onion, chopped
2-3 stalks of celery, chopped
1/2 a red bell pepper, chopped
2 garlic cloves, smashed and minced
8-10 mushrooms, coarsely sliced
1 turnip, diced
2 veggie bouillon cubes dissolved into about 6-7 cups hot/boiling water
small handful of fresh marjoram or other herbs (about a tablespoon dried)
2 cans butter beans or cannellini beans, drained
1 large can of whole peeled tomatoes, coarsely chopped, with juice
fresh parsley for garnish*
fresh-milled black pepper to taste

* (This is a totally Throw-All-the-Old-Veggies-You've-Got-Into-the-Soup situation. I think the onions, garlic, and celery are essential, but otherwise anything goes. Zucchini or dark leafy greens would be fantastic.)

Method:

In a large pot, heat a glug of oil on medium flame. Throw in the onions and move them around while they cook to milky/translucent. Add the garlic, celery, red bell, mushrooms, turnips or other veggies. Sautée all.

While veggies are sautéeing, boil water separately for the bouillon. I used the kettle - it's a quicker boil than a pot. Place the bouillon cubes in a large glass bowl or measuring cup that won't crack from the hot water. Add the water to the cubes and mix around to dissolve, then pour the broth over the veggies in the pot.*

Add the herbs, drained beans, and tomatoes with juice. Turn the heat up to high and boil. Then turn down to simmer for as long as you want. At least a half hour.

Garnish with some fresh parsley and dunk some crusty bread! I didn't add any additional salt besides the bouillon cubes. Salt to your liking - it'll depend on how much water you add. The flavor of this soup is very similar to minestrone. If you wanna go that extra mile, add some cooked pasta and some grated Parmesan, then mangiare!

*If I'm not making a veggie stock from scratch, I prefer to use a good bouillon cube or paste than one of those ready-made liquid stocks in the aseptic-pack cartons. Three reasons: 1. cheaper; 2. less packaging waste; 3. I find that a bouillon imparts a clearer, more pure stock flavor than those thicker liquid stocks. Most of the vegetarian ones are high in carrot flavor, which provides more sweetness than I like.

Avenue Q

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 02:02:00 +0000

Avenue Q at the San Jose Center for the Performing Arts, January 16, 2010 ****

My whole family went to see this performance together. Our section of the audience ranged in age from 72 (my mom) to 24 (my youngest nephew Zach) with cultural tastes as divergent as Sinatra and Sigur Rós. Everyone got something out of the show, though unfortunately the acoustics and sound weren't great, so mom had trouble hearing it.

It's always something of a thrill to partake in a cultural production that captures some kind of essence of what I consider to be "my sensibilities." Having been born in a particular time and place, 1972 in the United States, I straddle the fence between Gen X and Gen Y, not old enough to remember the Vietnam War, but a student marcher against George Bush, Sr.'s invasion of Iraq. Old enough to have written real, paper letters to my friends through high school and college, but also an avid blogger, chatter, texter.

Avenue Q gave me the same sense of, "Yes, that's it, exactly!" as did Douglas Coupland's Generation X, Richard Linklater's Slacker, Roche Troche's Go Fish. These works made me bask in recognition, "This is me, these are my friends, this is my specific experience!" Avenue Q, with its broken fourth wall (floor?) puppeteering, takes on issues both timely and timeless (racism, queerness, internet porn, being unemployed with a humanities degree, finding life's purpose). It eagerly inhabits stereotypes while smashing them at the same time. My only critique is that the major narrative thread (boy meets girl, boy and girl fuck, boy hurts girl, boy tentatively wins girl back), a structure that may hold all the outrageous action in place, is still maddeningly conventional for such an iconoclastic production.

500 Days of Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 00:43:00 +0000

500 Days of Summer (2009) **½
I recently sat down with Astrid, Calisto, and Dave to watch the much-acclaimed 2009 indie romantic comedy 500 Days of Summer, staring Zooey Deshanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Knowing that I already liked the casting and the concept (the story of a doomed Gen-Y relationship told, Memento style, chrono-illogical) I set my expectations-meter to about medium, figuring that I'd enjoy it, but it wouldn't quite live up to all the hype. I'm sad to report that the hype is indeed way wrong. What it's got going for it: engaging performances by both leads and a story predicated on the self-determination of a free-spirited woman, at least, until she loses her self-determination. What it's got against it is cliché-heavy dialogue and a plot that succumbs to rom-com conventionality where it ought to have broken with tradition in order to convey any shred of emotional truth in the end. The fairy-tale conclusion fits in with the film's pretty set design and cinematography, producing a contemporary Los Angeles so white and white-washed it looks like Harvard Square in the '50s.

What's that star rating mean, anyway?

More on John Mayer

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 17:43:00 +0000

Since John Mayer's Playboy interview and my response, I've continued thinking a lot about all of it. I've wondered about my motivation to respond, if my blog entry was in some way an apology for my own racism. I know that I'm blinded by my whiteness in probably countless ways; but I also know that I'm trying to be accountable for that.

I was moved to write about the subject of oppressive language and about Mayer's comments after I got riled up by the anti-Semitic incident on BART. Enduring Jewish hatred is comparatively rarer for me than the fatphobia I encounter on a daily basis; maybe that's why it stood out so. I'm also less attuned to it than I am the societal homophobia I live with as a queer woman, though in my geographical (the Bay Area) and subcultural (progressive, queer) realms, I don't experience much overt gay bashing. In no way am I insinuating that my oppression is like or equal to the racism endured by people of color; I'm just contextualizing where I'm coming from and thinking about why those jokes stung as badly as they did.

Another piece of it was wanting to write honestly about how my own white privilege influences my tastes and the way I conduct my life. How is my world affected, and how do I affect other people around me in the context of my white skin, my status as the holder of a master's degree, the way I "read" to people and the way I "read" others? Part of it, then, was about wanting to add my own hopefully different, hopefully more nuanced, view of Mayer's remarks than I was seeing online, the bulk of which have see-sawed between the poles of "He's a racist asshole!" and "Don't be so sensitive!"

Here are two noteworthy celebrity responses. Below is a classy and concise tweet from film critic and all-around amazing human, Roger Ebert:

Ebert, a white guy, has been married to an African-American woman, Chaz Hammelsmith Ebert, since 1992. She's an attorney and vice president of EbertCo. Apparently, he used to date Oprah, too. Who knew? When I read recently that his partner's name was Charlie, I thought the guy was gay! But I digress.

A more in-depth and truly moving response is from comedian and Korean-American progressive bi activist Margaret Cho at her blog. She titled the entry David Duke Cock.

What I do know, is to say you have a ‘David Duke cock’ is demeaning to women of color. What I know is it’s a slap in the face to all beautiful women of color. And I must say, it’s hard enough to be a woman of color in this world and feel beautiful. It’s hard enough to live in this skin and feel good without having rock stars saying that you are not worthy. We feel unworthy enough.

This passage really cuts to the heart of how damaging Mayer's words can be for women and girls of color who are (or were) his fans. I wonder if my intellectualized debate missed this point. A commenter on Cho's blog also put it bluntly when they said (paraphrase) that David Duke is a symbol of hatred and death - and that's the identity you're owning for your dick? Put in those terms, I can really see that even if Mayer insisted that his heart is more open, the alignment in some way with such hatred suggests this utter unworthiness that is hurtful regardless of intention.

Another passage from Cho's post really moved me:

It’s sickening to think that we can exist in a world where these words of hate can be cast off quickly without repercussion or blame....It infuriates me because I can’t cast off my ethnicity with an apology. These are people who have never been discounted because of their race. They’ve never been left out of a comedy show because they’ve already got an [A]sian or a gay or a woman. They’ve never been passed over for a part because the producers decided not to ‘go ethnic.’

There is an extent to which my heart wasn't as broken over Mayer's comments because I'm white and therefore not attuned to the hatred in the way a person of color, a woman of color, would be. Cho's daily experience in the world as a Korean-American woman is beset by being seen as "the help" or not being seen at all. While I have some experience with foisted invisibility [straight men often don't "see me" (sexually) as a fat woman; gay men in the Castro sometimes barrel right through me as if I wasn't there] my daily life is generally devoid of the problem of serious discrimination and invisibility. In my white privilege, I have the luxury to be mostly unaware of these sorts of indignities. Cho's post is a forceful reminder for me to open my eyes wider.

I do have some critical observations about the post as well. Cho includes the disgusting Michael Richards tirade and Mel Gibson's known anti-Semitism (and I'll add his homophobia as well) into the discussion, grouping John Mayer's comments with them and calling them all "hate speech." I must continue to argue that Mayer's comments were not hate speech, but Richards's and Gibson's were. Why? Because Mayer's use of the "N-word" was in a context of denying his own credibility to use it. Richards's use was intentionally hurtful and pejorative. Gibson scapegoats Jews; and has made vile comments about gay men for which he's remained largely unapologetic.

Mayer expressed a personal sexual taste without demonstrating awareness that his ideas are shaped by racism. While he invoked lynching by naming David Duke, which had the result of being hurtful and insensitive, he was not advocating lynching, and indeed he seemed interested in disavowing his own racism by saying that he should start dating "separately from his dick." Richards threatened a black man who heckled him that "50 years ago, we'd have you upside down..." before repeatedly and directly calling him a "nigger." While what Mayer said was hurtful, I believe the intention and the usage are relevant and set his comments apart.

So, that's about all I've got right now. Please do feel free to leave comments on these entries, even if they are critical or if you disagree or are hurt by my thoughts. I'm really interested in hearing what you, dear readers, have to say. I intend this to be an open dialogue.

Peace and love,
Bree

That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 07:23:00 +0000

On BART today, I overhead some young guys talking a few seats behind me. I caught a vague reference about someone being Jewish, and so my ears naturally perked up for a minute. They were making jokes, their voices hushed. They knew perfectly well it was fucked up, but they started telling Holocaust jokes. Inane jokes, but still awful. I caught the first one: "What's the difference between boy scouts and Jews? - boy scouts like camp." The second one took a moment to sink in before I reacted, "What's the difference between Santa Claus and Jews? - Santa Claus comes *down* the chimney."

Holy fucking shit!

I turned around, glaring at them, and barked, "You guys need to shut the fuck up, seriously!"

They muttered apologies and clammed up immediately. They were teenagers or maybe early 20s, max, and they knew better. I turned back to my book and tried to read, but I was too keyed up, angry, and nervous. I began reflecting on a number of aspects of this interaction, and my response. I immediately went to thoughts about whether I could have handled this more skillfully, whether my angry lashing at them was in the spirit of what the Buddhists call right speech. On contemplating it, while there could have been gentler ways to convey my meaning, I don't think my reaction was in violation of the value of speaking truth and making a correction in the face of what was clearly "wrong" speech or at least unmindful speech. It's like if your toddler is about to walk off a cliff, you're not going to say, in soothing tones, "Honey, don't walk off the cliff," you're going to yell with all your soul, "STOP! DON'T MOVE!" Right speech can be harsh sometimes.

I also reflected on the recent comments that insipid pop-rock singer John Mayer made in his interview with Playboy magazine. The part that's got people buzzing is below. Please be warned, I have not altered the text, and some of it might be extremely offensive to some readers. I'm including it in order to be transparent in my discussion of the remarks. Mayer is commenting on being popular with black fans:

MAYER: Someone asked me the other day, “What does it feel like now to have a hood pass?” And by the way, it’s sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass. Why are you pulling a punch and calling it a hood pass if you really have a hood pass? But I said, “I can’t really have a hood pass. I’ve never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, ‘We’re full.’"

PLAYBOY: It is true; a lot of rappers love you. You recorded with Common and Kanye West, played live with Jay-Z.

MAYER: What is being black? It’s making the most of your life, not taking a single moment for granted. Taking something that’s seen as a struggle and making it work for you, or you’ll die inside. Not to say that my struggle is like the collective struggle of black America. But maybe my struggle is similar to one black dude’s.

PLAYBOY: Do black women throw themselves at you?

MAYER: I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.

You can read the full interview here.

The night of the interview, Mayer made a tearful (if vague) apology to his audience and band at his Nashville show, and has posted an apology on his Twitter feed. Meanwhile, the internet is booming with criticism of Mayer, calling him a racist misogynist, not to mention an asshole and a douchebag. I agree that the man is an asshole, and I think the invocation of David Duke was horrid and incendiary. But I don't think he's racist. This isn't to say that I'm going to run out and buy his records, 'cause I can't stand his cloying lyrics and icky-molasses voice. And, yes, he can be an insensitive prick, and probably deeply offended many people in this interview. But I think there's something that gets shut down in public discourse when we see the "N-word" and freeze up, unable to deem it anything but racist. We can't even say the word, much less have a conversation about it.

On close reading of the interview, we can see that Mayer was actually owning his white privilege by saying that he's not really on the inside with black fans, because he has never been denied a seat in a restaurant based on his skin color. He's not in the in-group, so he can't use the term "nigger."

“I can’t really have a hood pass. I’ve never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, ‘We’re full.’"

The most skin-crawling thing Mayer said, in my opinion, was also the most honest and raw thing he could have said. He's got a "David Duke cock." His heart is all "Benetton," a truly stupid way to say he's "color-blind" or "open" in his heart, like the United Colors ad campaigns, but that he's not attracted to black women. Why did he say this? Was he being incendiary to provoke a reaction, or to appear in some way edgy, or was he being honest about his sexual desire (remember, this is an interview in Playboy).

As a therapist, I would be thrilled if a client were this honest about his/her own racism. It's a far more transparent reaction to the idea of "black women throw(ing) themselves" at him than to have said something like, "oh, I haven't noticed that," or "oh, it makes no difference to me." If we can be honest about our biases, and then put that together with our mixed experiences of privilege and marginalization, then we can be curious about why our sexual or cultural tastes are what they are. Mayer's problem is that he did not attribute his sexual desire to his white privilege and being programmed by a racist and sexist culture that devalues black women. He comes off as offensive and douchey, and I'm sure, as racist to many people. And he wasn't simply talking to his therapist or to an intimate friend, he was talking to an interviewer in a very public forum. Do celebrities have a responsibility to be sensitive to racism and sexism in their language? No, and everyone is very free to think Mayer is a racist jackass.

Maybe I don't find his comments so offensive because I'm white, and lack the history and emotional triggers around the word "nigger" that people of color carry, but I don't think that's the case. If those (apparently white, by the way) kids on BART were telling jokes about black people, I would still have told them to shut the fuck up. If they'd been using the "N-word" I would have felt equally as sick in the pit of my stomach as I did when the chimney image was invoked. But as the song from Avenue Q goes, "Everyone's a little bit racist," and so am I. The overwhelming majority of people I've been in relationships with have been white. Most of the music I listen to, by white artists. Most of the popculture I'm obsessed with, again, lilywhite. Not exclusively, but vastly. Does this make me racist? No. Does it implicate me in our racist culture? Yes, absolutely. My tastes are shaped by my privilege, by what I grew up with, by my fear about opening myself up to difference. Some white people seem to bridge these culture gaps better than I do, and some far more poorly. But indeed, most folks tend to date people in their own race/ethnicity groups, across the spectrum. Can we have an honest dialogue about this, or should we just pretend that it isn't happening, that because miscegenation laws were repealed, that we're living in a "post-race" happily ever after melting pot?

Mayer's quip at the end of the inflammatory section is what sells me that's he's really not malicious. He says, "I'm going to start dating separately from my dick." He's owning that his attraction to exclusively white women (or people. Don't get me started on the queer content in the interview) is unsavory, and he knows better. He also knows better now than to use the "N-word" but it's unfortunate that that censoring will be due to public shaming rather than a real discussion of the fraught (and varied) meanings of that potent, hurtful word.

Super Bowl 2010 Commercial Wrap-Up

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 06:08:00 +0000

This year the theme of the Super Bowl commercial spots seemed to be: "Men need to reinscribe our dudeliness because women are threatening our masculinity."

Example 1: A Dodge Charger commercial in which a blank-expressioned (almost lifeless) man lists off the ways in which he compromises himself (presumably for his woman), i.e. "I will take off my socks before bed, I will clean the sink after I shave, I will listen to your opinions of my friends, I will listen to your friends' opinions of my friends, I will put the seat down," etc. as long as this allows him to (animated, forceful language) "drive the car I want to drive!"

Example 2: A FloTV commercial tag line: "Change out of that skirt, Jason" after suggesting that his girlfriend has "removed his spine" !!

Example 3: In the Dockers commercial, a huge group of men are wandering around in their underwear proclaiming, in unison, "I wear no pants!" Then the ad copy and announcer command men to "Wear the pants" again. This was a very tame version of the revolting print ad component of this campaign, which implores men to "step away from the salad bars" and from their lattés, blaming our "genderless society" for the broken state of our civilization. (Click the ad for a larger image.)

The most politically incindiary of the bunch, of course, was the much-publicized spot from the right-wing Christian advocacy group Focus on the Family featuring NFL player Tim Tebow and his mother sweetly recounting the difficulty she had in pregnancy and the "miracle" of his birth, insideously reinforcing the organization's anti-choice stance.

Unfortunately, Planned Parenthood's response to the Tebow ad wasn't funded enough to air during the big game, but it's nicely done, and you can check it out right here, all you miracle children!

What alarms me most about the Tebow ad, and also about the counter ad by Planned Parenthood, is that the word "abortion" is never mentioned. It reminds me of the confusingly tame ads against Prop 8 that didn't discuss the concept of "gay marriage" or "same-sex marriage," only referred vaguely to "equality." The American public needs to be challenged to talk honestly about issues. We don't need to be fucking spoon-fed euphemistic pablum. This is the same sort of short-sighted politicking that allows the "debate" about health care to be hijacked by people who liken a nationalized health plan to Nazism.

PS - I hope Tim Tebow comes out.

2009 Wrap

noreply@blogger.com (Bree) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 04:36:00 +0000

Before taking a bite out of my seventh annual Wrap, why not try some nicely aged appetizers?

2008, 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003

The Stuff that Occurred in 2009:

* Block-rockin' New Year's party * Pacific Grove with the family for the ~Eighth Annual Asilomar weekend. * Heart-to-heart with my mom about keeping in touch more. * Got a Facebook message from Bianca. It was kind of amazing. * Astrid and I made a major domestic commitment: after living together for close to two years, we finally combined our bookshelves. * I got laid off of my bookkeeping gig at CompuTrap. * Astrid and I celebrated our 2-year Shack-Up-Iversary.* Looked for jobs. * DJ moved back to San Diego. Suck. * Visited with Callie and Jacket, in town for the Lesbian Health Summit. * Zombie pub crawl for Dax's birthday * Mustache-and-unibrow pub crawl for Carol * Lovely birthday dinner for Minoba. * The Bewilder reading/writing group commenced and still goes strong! * The Proust reading group failed. (Sorry Nan and Amie!) * Continued looking for jobs. * Luxuriate Day commenced! * Minoba and I dated, then broke it off, then started back up, then broke it off again. Sigh. * Turned 37! Had another fantastic birthday at Zeitgeist. * Attended a meditation group for the first time ever! * Bought panniers for my bike. * Saw Magna graduate from med school! * Got a couple small bookkeeping gigs. * Began preparations for my private practice psychotherapy internship! Holy shit!! * Saw a bunch of dear friends at a 20th reunion gathering for my Jewish youth group. Thanks again, Facebook. * Saw my niece Halina and her beau M. get married in one of the sweetest ceremonies ever. * My mom's husband got diagnosed with terminal liver cancer at the beginning of the year and died in July. R.I.P. Phil.* Almost my entire immediate family moved into a condo complex together. * Finished my two-year internship at the LGBTQ clinic. * Started my private practice! * Had another fantastic visit with Callie! * Took a vacation to Washington, D.C. and North Carolina with the astrobarry to visit dear old pals. * Astrid and I made another major domestic commitment: we got a dog! * Continued looking for jobs while the private practice slowly, slowly grew. * Can't I have a year without someone fucking with my bike? My back wheel was stolen outside of Safeway, from under the nose of a security guard. *

The Year's Culture Consumption in Review:

My foolproof two-pronged rating system, copyright 2003 (with slight modifications), is still in effect, and is to be interpreted as follows:

Prong #1: The Star System, wherein:

Prong #2: Ranked-order:

In each category, I will rank from top to bottom the book or film or show, etc., that I enjoyed most to least. So if there were a list of department stores like this one:

Mervyn's *** (RIP)
Macy's ****
Nordstrom *****
Gottschalk's **½ (RIP)

…I could justify ranking my favorite department store (Mervyn's) above higher-end stores like Macy's or Nordstrom based not on quality of products or on consistency of customer service, but on my own idiosyncratic enjoyment, nostalgia, and satisfaction. Capische? Onward. (Some spoilers ahead!)

* * *

Books: Non-fiction (or: "Three Books about Nonmonogamy Plus Two Others.")

Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships by Tristan Taormino (2008) **** A much-needed update and complement to 1997's long hailed "poly bible" The Ethical Slut.
Taormino's book adds to the literature on nonmonogamous relationships by surveying more than 100 respondents and giving examples about the many ways in which people do open relationships. Of course, the book contains working definitions of nonmonogamy, polyamory, swinging, intimate networks, etc., but more importantly, this well-organized and thorough volume offers practical wisdom about creating sustainable relationships and "opening up" to the deeply transformative experiences that these relationships present.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers (2000) **** I found the much-hyped, lauded in some quarters/maligned in others, highly self-conscious and conscious of its self-consciousness Eggers memoir to be highly worth reading, appendices and all.

Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open Marriage by Jenny Block (2008) ***½ Another great addition to the lit on polyamory. Block's memoir is an easy and lively read chronicling the development of her own uncompromising brand of sexual and romantic expression, from her days as a horny, curious teenager, to her conventional marriage to a man that withstood the transformation to a polyamorous marriage. More radical poly readers might not gel with Block's life choices, like living in upscale suburbia and her relative secrecy on the poly topic around her child, but these are reflections of the author's authentic self, and presented as just one bi-woman's journey toward realizing her relationship potential in her specific social and cultural context.

Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death by Irvin Yalom (2008?) ***½ Yalom's latest book examines the value of confronting death anxiety in order to maximize our time while alive. Full of invaluable insight from a psychotherapist decades into his career and gracefully navigating the path toward his own inevitable death.

The Myth of Monogamy by David P. Barash, PhD, and Judith Eve Lipton, MD. (2001) *** After reading this book, I now know more about sperm competition and copulatory plugs than I'd ever dreamed of knowing (which is still not much, but hell if I don't flaunt that 'copulatory plug' term). This survey of studies across a vast array of species provides ample evidence for evolutionary nonmonogamy in animals as divergent as fruit flies, cliff swallows, and humans. It is readable and informative to the layperson, and for the most part nonsexist in its language, though the geek-humorous prose rambles at times. I was also disappointed by the last chapter of the book, in which the authors go moralistic and negate the importance of multiple partners in humans by declaring that

"…although 'what comes naturally' is…easy to do, this doesn't mean that it is right. The crowning glory of Homo sapiens is its huge brain. This remarkable organ gives people the ability, perhaps unique in the living world, to reflect on their inclinations and decide, if they choose, to act contrary to them."

And while a discussion of free will, choice, and social impact is relevant in the dialogue about nonmonogamy, it seems sorely out of place in a book debunking biological myths about the dominant relationship paradigm.

Books: Fiction

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami (1997) ***** Murakami blends a spare writing style with rich magical elements to create this engrossing story about an unemployed man who loses his cat, then his wife, in an entangled series of events that span WWII battles in Mongolia to contemporary Tokyo.

Where I'm Calling From by Raymond Carver (1988) **** A compilation of Carver's deft minimalist prose, concerning (mostly) male protagonists dealing with intimacy issues and alcoholism. Best of the bunch, the title story (1983) and What We Talk about When We Talk about Love (1981), a story touted to me by my awesome junior college fiction writing teacher back in 1991 that I finally got around to reading in 2009. Shouts out to Barbara Loren, wherever you are, and sorry I dallied so.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season Eight Comics (2007…) *** Normally I don't enter a continuing series in the Wrap until I'm done with it, but "Season Eight" of Buffy, in comic form, started in '07 and just keeps going, so I wanted to mention I've been reading it religiously. The comic series picks up where the Scoobies left off in the TV series, in a world full of slayers and serious Big Baddies. The artwork is top notch, and many of the narrative arcs are compelling and true to the Buffyverse as we know it. It's a fun fantasy ride for fans jonesing for the old days. And the letters section at the end of each issue is worth the $3.00 alone.

Hotel World by Ali Smith (2001) *** A story of the accidental death of a young woman, a hotel chambermaid, told from the perspective of five different women whose lives intersect around this event in transient and profound ways.

Life After God by Douglas Coupland (1994) **½ Short story collection by the Generation X author and visual artist. A few passages offer some transcendence; I was particularly moved by a story in which dead narrators describe their last moments on Earth as The Bomb hits. Overall, I found the writing to be wan and lacking in depth.

Films in the Theater:
(I was too broke this year to see many films out.)
*Edit 1/29: I forgot to include Star Trek in my film reviews. Sticking it in there now.

Mein Freund Aus Faro (To Faro)(2008) *** Satisfying story about a German woman in her twenties who, through a case of willful mistaken identity, passes as a young Portuguese man. While it's not a technically brilliant film, and the story relies on some well-worn narrative tropes, it's a welcome addition to the growing list of films dealing honestly and sweetly with genderqueer experience. Screened at Frameline 33.

The Wrestler (2008) ***½ This movie prompted a heated discussion among the gang (it was a gathering for DJ's birthday back in January). Some of us loved it and thought it was brilliant (DJ), some of us absolutely hated it (Calisto & Dave). I fell just short of loving it, but I give it a strong recommendation. Mickey Rourke's Golden Globe-winning performance was pitch-perfect, and the emotional resonance of the story felt all too real. I take some points off for a clichéd depiction of the relationship between Rourke's burned out absent father and his bitter daughter (Evan Rachel Wood).

Up (2009) ***½ Sweetly compelling, and often delightfully funny meditation on life, death, and the importance of making intimate connections. As with last year's Wall-E, family-oriented films which offer emotional and/or philosophical sophistication can be satisfying on an archetypal level that can sometimes transcend "adult" live-action narratives. And like Wall-E, this film packs most of its punch in the first 30 minutes before devolving into the kid-pleasing slapsticky schtick.

Star Trek (2009) ***1/2 Somehow the Star Trek origin story with the shiny new cast didn't make it into my Wrap notes! I guess it didn't leave that much of an impression on me. I liked it, for the most part, but I wasn't a fan of the Kirk childhood scenes set to the Beastie Boys. I also thought the future-Spock mind-meld narration about two-thirds the way into the film was completely unnecessary. Otherwise, a compelling story and visually awesome.

Getting Off and Le Tour de Pants at the Dirt and Desire program at Frameline 33 *** Rude queer raunch-fest! A good time was had by all. [Full disclosure: I know the filmmaker and co-stars of Getting Off].

District 9 (2009) *** People raved about this movie, but I was left feeling emotionally flat afterward. Never mind the constant blood shed and brain splattering throughout (I was prepared for that), the so-called rich metaphor for Apartheid and dehumanizing racial stratification was as blaringly obvious as an enormous spacecraft hovering over Johannesburg. I applaud Neill Blomkamp for mounting an engaging and socially relevant action film on a shoestring budget and bringing attention to the dynamics of race and poverty in South Africa. But I would have liked to see the film set in present day, rather than in the Eighties during the Apartheid era: racial stratification and abject poverty still exist. This is a story that could play out in 2009 East Oakland, Hunter's Point, New Orleans, Cleveland, not just in the shantytowns of Jo'burg.

War Games (rerun, 1982) ***1/2 and Red Dawn (year) ** Double-feature revival at the Castro. I'd never seen Red Dawn before, and apart from the fun in seeing the young '80s celeb cast and the cheesetasticness of the plot, it's really just a jingoistic, racist hodgepodge of violence. I still have an abiding love for War Games, but I have to say for the record that Ally Sheedy's character, Jennifer Mack, was written to be such a fucking airhead that it's maddening to hear her lines. She's stuck in as a proxy for explaining terminology to the audience that doesn't even need to be explained, as in:

Jennifer: What are those?
Falkan: Those are launch codes.
Jennifer: What are they for?
Me: Really?

The Muppet Movie (1979, rerun) ***½ Revival at the Clay. Fun stuff, and cameos galore by every '70s celeb you can think of.

Films on DVD/Download:

Synecdoche, New York (2008) **** Had to watch it two nights in a row. Can't remember the last time I did that. Charlie Kaufman's latest, and his first directorial effort is not a perfect film. It rambles almost uncontrollably (like the non-narrative of life). It's morbidly self-fascinated, like I find myself more often than I publicly admit. Sometimes it's just too weird. But then there is the awesomeness of philosophical accomplishment, of the structure of the universe Kaufman has created. It's such a difficult film, it demands so much of the viewer, and fuck's sake, I want to see more movies like that.

Happy Go Lucky (2008) **** Truly great performances by Sally Hawkins as a bright and cheery school teacher and Eddie Marsan as a mentally unstable driving instructor. Subtly wrought scripting and direction by Mike Leigh, as always.

Adventureland (2009) *** Jesse Eisenberg continues to be adorably nerdy, Kristen Stewart proves she can act convincingly, the supporting cast is fantastic, and Greg Mottola manages to add sophistication to his superbad oeuvre. If the resolution of the film had been less sugary, I'd have bestowed another half star.

Burn After Reading (2008) ***½ I've never felt so disturbed after watching a film that is primarily a comedy. The Cohen Brothers mix genres again (see Fargo; The Big Lebowski) to deliver a tale of espionage carried out by dimwits which results in ever-devolving consequences.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008) *** What I enjoyed: the cinematography, Penélope Cruz's fantastically batty performance, and a more nonjudgmental attitude toward nonmonogamous relationships than we typically see in film. There were some flaws, though: the film-length narration detracted from a story that didn't need further clarification, and went some lengths, in Ms. Astrid's astute observation, to erase Cristina's character, portrayed in Scarlett Johannsson's usual bland timbre.

Jonestown: The Life and Death of Peoples Temple (2006) **** Gripping documentary about the community that cult leader Jim Jones built first in Northern California, then in San Francisco, and finally in Guyana, South America. Vividly rendered, disturbing, and rich with complexity about the lives changed and shattered at Jonestown.

Coraline (2009) *** I enjoyed it but felt like it was derivative of any standard fairly tale you've already heard. I did not, however, read the Neil Gaiman book from which the film was adapted. Here is a guest review by Ms. Astrid, who knows better:

"I think the best thing about the movie was the titular song by They Might Be Giants. Go read the book. It's short; you have no excuses."

Muriel's Wedding (1994, rerun) ***½ Always a pleasure to re-watch the ol' gang from Porpoise Spit.

The Double Life of Véronique (1991) *** I love Krzysztof Kieslowski. See the Three Colors trilogy for some absolutely amazing filmmaking, visual direction, symbolism, and compelling women characters. This film, I feel, sacrifices some depth for accessibility.

High Art (1998, rerun) ***½ Still holding steady as my favorite dyke flick of all time.

Colma: The Musical (2007) *** A lot of fun for an extremely low-budget coming-of-age film. Three kids try to bust out of the (almost literally) dead suburb of Colma, California and confront real after-high school life, homophobic parents, love triangle drama, and their own volatile temperaments.

Once (2007, rerun) *** On second viewing, I'm nixing a half star. I'd still say the movie's success is a triumph for indie film, and the ending is a rare example of cinematic restraint in staying true to the narrative instead of handing us a commercially-friendly happy ending. But I have to say that the film relies too much on the music to pull it along and that it lacks sufficient focus on Markéta Irglová's character.

Bandits (1997) **½ A rock band from a German women's prison bust out and become a national phenomenon on the lam. See a deeper review of this shallow but sometimes enjoyable film here.

Midnight Cowboy (1969, rerun) **** Still a piece of master screenwriting and filmmaking, but it's hard to imagine a film being made today with such a torrent of homophobic portrayals, even as it can be coded in some ways as a gay love story.

Sherry Baby (2006) **½ An emotionally flat script that spoon-feeds us every plot point in the narrative detracts from Maggie Gyllenhaal's strong performance as an ex-con addict trying to rebuild her relationship with her young daughter.

17 Again (2009) **½ The big-box video store reeled me in with their shiny promo poster, and I'm a sucker for body-switch and/or I'm young again! comedies (see the original Freaky Friday from 1976 for the best of the bunch). This one has a lot going against it: Zac Ephron and Matthew Perry look nothing alike; we've seen dozens of better films, both comedy and drama, about living a life of regret, and the writing and acting are, on the whole, as broad as you'd expect. But there were some genuinely amusing moments, particularly when supporting characters Ned and the high school principal (Reno 911!'s Thomas Lennon and Melora Hardin) were involved, playing a pair of Star(Wars)-crossed lovers.

La Confusion des Genres (Confusion of Genders) (2003) **½ A bi man is attracted to everyone in his life and ambivalates equally about all. Genders aren't confused in this film so much as the narrative is. The sex scenes are pretty hot, though.

Not Another Teen Movie (2001) **½ Pretty much what you'd expect from a teen-angst genre parody: broad humor, losing your virginity subplots, and some nostalgic references. A satisfying cameo from Molly Ringwald, but you have to endure the movie til the end to see it.

Team America: World Police (2004, rerun) *** Clever, often truly funny, and intentionally offensive spoof on U.S. militarism in the wake of the so-called "war on terror." I appreciate and understand the South Park guys' artistic choice to skewer everyone, left or right, but my own sensibilities are strained by this equal-opportunity bashing. Just as with any extreme relativism, be it political or cultural, if all sides are played equally, any meaning is effectively negated. I'm sure the filmmakers intended the movie to stand alone as a comedy, in which case any "meaning" read into the work can be rendered irrelevant. But the film would be stronger as a political satire, necessitating the choosing of sides, however ambiguous or ineffable that task. Another ding to the film is that much of the humor is derived from racist stereotyping. Whether "self-aware" or not, it's still too offensive at times for my blood.

Choke (2008) ** The tone of this movie is glib, but it takes itself too seriously as a "finding the self" narrative that never finds itself. And for a movie with a lot of sex, it's about as sexy as cold lunchmeat. Sure to be a disappointment after David Fincher's brilliant adaptation of Chuck Palahaniuk's earlier novel, Fight Club.

Lost Highway (1997) * Sorry, Mr. Lynch. I just didn't get this one. Can anyone out there vouch for it or offer interpretations?

TV Shows and Web Series on DVD/download (and one show in real-time):

Battlestar Galactica, Reimagined Seasons 1 through 4.5 (2003-2009) ***½ I would have rated it a solid 4 stars overall, except that the series finale was so disappointing that it detracts from the appeal of the entire venture. If you're a fan of the series and don't mind plenty of spoilers, check out this detailed analysis of the finale from a similarly disappointed (and far more serious) fan. I still recommend the series highly. Every episode is visually compelling, full of complexly flawed (and sexy!) characters, and dramatically tense as hell.

Dollhouse Season One (2009) **½; Season Two (2009/2010) ***½ Joss Whedon's now cancelled show is high on concept but often low on execution, and I'm one among many fans who is disappointed but not shocked that the show got axed. The premise is ambitious: a secretive corporation employs/(enslaves?) humans by wiping out their personalities with neurotech, imprinting them with desirable personalities (and sometimes mad skills!) and using them as operatives to service the wealthy. And because this is a Joss Whedon project, there are lots of moments of real complexity, profound moral questions, and compelling explorations into character arcs. The premise, however, quickly outpaced both the writing (often hammy and convoluted) and the acting (primary foul committed by lead player Eliza Dushku as Echo, unconvincing in any incarnation if it didn't involve ass-kicking). Many supporting players, however, were fantastic, with special props to Olivia Williams as Dollhouse Chief Adelle DeWitt, and Enver Gjokaj as Dollhouse active Victor.

Note: The second season of Dollhouse is wrapped and the final episode airs January 29, 2010. I'm cheating by reviewing both seasons in the 2009 Wrap. Oh well.

Mad Men, Season One (2007) ****, Season Two (2008) **** It took me a few episodes to adjust to the tone of Mad Men. The overt sexism and racism, inherent in the show's early '60s upper middle class white milieu, were hard to swallow until I grasped its subversive message. Now that I'm hooked, there's no turning back on one of the slickest and smartest shows on TV. Well, DVD, in my case.

Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog (2008) ***½ Buzz-generating web musical from Team Whedon. A brilliant self-produced diversion from the WGA writers' strike in '08. Worthy of the hype.

Arrested Development Season One (2003, no rating) A lot of people in my life absolutely love this show. After seeing the first season, I'm still a bit ambivalent. There are moments of absolute comic brilliance (Gob's Final Countdown; Buster and Liza Minnelli, Tobias) but the pacing is so fast and the snark factor so high that I think I would have to watch it through twice to appreciate it fully and give it a fair rating.

Tipping the Velvet (2002) *** and Fingersmith (2005) *** British TV serials based on the Sarah Waters books. Really fun, if campy, Victorian era teleplays with lesbionic themes.

The L Word, Season Six (2009) ** The final season was infuriating, where it could have been campy and self-aware. It tried to be both those things, really tried, and flailed. Jenny is killed off in the first episode, and the rest of the short season is an extended flashback to fill us in on the three months before the deed is done: three months of vapid, pointless subplots that made me hate characters I'd actually come to enjoy over the course of the series. Jennifer Beals's Bette was the only saving grace of the season, acting sane in the narrative chaos.

The Playlist
(The old and newish music I acquired this year.)

Fleetwood Mac - Rumours (1977) ***** Pure pop bliss, even if when the songs are rooted in heartbreak.

The Breeders - Mountain Battles (2008) *** Best Breeders album since Last Splash, though not as monumental. Solid post-punk pop like only the Deal sisters know how.

Buzzcocks - Singles Going Steady (1979/1992) **** The libidinal punk explosion of Pete Shelley and the boys sounds as crisp in the Aughts as it did in the late '70s, and only benefits from its compilation-concentration of catchy tracks.

Robyn Hitchcock - (several albums) ***½ Part singer-songwriter, part post-proto-punk ("post-proto-punk" - did I just coin a really redundant term?), always odd and enigmatic. If you like early Bowie, or Marshall Crenshaw, give Mr. Hitchcock a spin.

This Mortal Coil - It'll End in Tears (1984) ***½ One of those old 4AD acts that I'd always wanted to try out, but had never given a listen to. Moody to the nth. Essential listening for your inner clove-smoking, poetry-writing goth kid.

Radiohead - Hail to the Thief (2003) ***½ Another great return to un-form for the band of many incarnations.

Three Dollar Bill - Getting to Know You (1998) **½ Underground queer pop-punk from Chicago. Check it out if you like homopolitik with your poprock. [Full disclosure: I'm friends with a band member, and got this CD for free. I'm sure the new FCC rules don't apply to this situation, but, you know, just in case. I'm clean.] Post-punk, pop, indie.

Sunset Rubdown - Random Spirit Lover (2007) *** A small handful of excellent tracks, but disappointing held next to the band's earlier, magnificent records. Sonic swirl, surreal lyrics bordering on cutesy.

Live Shows
(Again, way too broke for shows this year. Sadness.)

Mount Vicious at the Hemlock Tavern, SF, May, '09 *** Hooky hard rock that incites political outrage. Beware, you'll be holding up lead singer Conan Neutron for like ten stage dives per show. [Full disclosure: I know Conan.] MV-->

Loop!Station at Café du Nord, SF **** - Lush layers of melodic cello overlaid with equally lush vocals. Thanks to K & M for taking me to the show!

~~Fin~~