Things

Auf wiedersehen

2008-03-11T09:53:00.001-07:00

Bye!

Exactamente

2008-02-19T14:30:00.001-08:00

Merde

2008-02-18T01:05:00.000-08:00

I met with R. a few weeks ago to discuss a project of mine that seems to exist as an indefinite work-in-progress. The crux of the problem is that I can’t figure out what it is about which I want to write. I’ve been ruminating about this for nearly a year now. Yes, it will be about feminist art. Scratch the initial idea I had from May 2007. R. advised me to start from “the center.” No, that wasn’t a cheesy Judy Chicago reference. He suggested I look at an archive and let my argument (or evidence?) emanate from the contents of that archive. The thing is that I am simply not attracted to any one archive. (At least not right now.) I don’t even know how to approach some archives, especially the ones that are filled with objects and materials that number in the thousands. What am I looking for? How can a thread be sewn between a document in box one and an object in box three hundred and fifty-one?

(It’s funny that to hear myself say that, as all I did after college was look through old stuff in order to publish new stuff. Ha.)

These questions came up during a discussion J. and I had over the weekend. She’s in her fourth iteration of searching through this potter’s archive. “This time is completely different; I’m looking at the stuff with a new lens,” she told me. I’m still a little confused.

We talked about a collection of other fascinating things relating to our discipline, as well. We pointed out the strange affinity that some Asian women scholars have to write about rather “conservative” things like Minimalism and airy-fairy theory. I noticed this pattern but I didn’t really feel like interrogating it. I mean, is this observation beyond the project of art history? Well, on the second thought, not really. There’s something there that’s a little more insidious than it appears on the surface, especially after the rise and fall of the whole multi-culti discourse that happened in the 1990s. And do I agree with the “fall” of the multi-culti discourse? Is it really a fall? Did it start with the roster at the 1993 Whitney Biennial and some of those horrible Fred Wilson exhibitions in the early-to-mid 1990s?

(Cue: I still need to read that October interview with the editors from 1993. Oops.)

I have to be honest in that I absolutely recoil at a lot of scholarship that seems to talk about things that are “dirty.” And no, I’m not being racist here. There are certain veins of scholarship that are definitely tainted. (I used the word “pariah” to describe scholars who participate in this brand of scholarship.) The work that is celebrated is, for lack of a better adjective, clean. I may be a little too presumptuous here, but I feel that “clean” scholarship talks about safe things. For instance, why is Kienholz’s work acceptable and funny while say, some of H.’s (I am going to avoid naming people who I pan!) cheesy, sentimental, and just plain ‘ol narrative? Why, goddamnit, are these characteristics bad and why do I, as someone who regards herself as a bit of a “controlled” radical, continue to perpetuate the relegation of “dirty” work?

While J. and I agreed on these same points, I felt totally bad about having them. I felt like I was berating the very thing that has captured my interest—the marginal, the status of the subjugated—from day one. “No, it’s all right to have an opinion, and there’s no way you can defend these opinions with hard evidence. This isn’t science,” J. opined. She’s right. This is not an “I feel” kind of thing. It’s the sense I get from understanding the lay of the land of the discipline through shit, years of interfacing with it. If I want to base a paper on this type of observation, I can! And yes, I might not provide convincing evidence by way of hard facts, but I can collect enough similar opinions to form a consensus in support of my argument.

Actually, it’s funny. Driving on the way to my parents’ house this evening I thought back to what R. advised me on: To start from the archive. I went back to the list of omitted artists for the show I worked on and remembered one that really stuck out. The artist was a Taiwanese woman who painted bananas in the late 1970s! It piqued my interest because I thought that was such a strange image to paint within the context of Asia or China or Taiwan during the time. I’m not sure what informed her to paint those images. The style was definitely not still life and it, in fact, had a bit of an Andy Warhol/Velvet Underground album cover feel to it. I remember asking the artist about the painting and she insisted that it had absolutely nothing to do with feminist art. Funny since it has been historicized (albeit meagerly) as painting with feminist undertones.

So I guess this is where I’ll start. There is a little bit of everything in this project. It involves a body of work that is a tad devoid of politics, which might allow it to the side on the end of “acceptable” while it flirts with the obscene, which makes it a little “dirty” and politicizes it. I wonder what the conservative art historical camp would think about my topic. But really, why should I care? S. put it the best way on Saturday: “Every time I hear people speak, I realize more and more that they are full of shit. I am comforted by the fact that I’ll probably be full of shit, too.” We can all live in a harmonic pool of shit.

On a side note, I'm glad Z. convinced me to rehash this blog. It does serve as a good outlet for me to flesh these thoughts I otherwise wouldn't document anywhere else. Thanks [pants] for being such an attentive and appreciative audience. :)

Parce que . . .

2008-02-16T12:08:00.001-08:00

you encourage me. :)

Yes

2008-02-09T16:17:00.000-08:00

"Work and thinking that does not employ and subscribe to traditionalist scholarly archives and methodologies are increasingly viewed as being utterly without merit. Work that attempts to index the anecdotal, the performative, or what I am calling the ephemeral as proof is often undermined by the academy's officiating structures. This is true despite the fact that, on the level of publishing and not much else, alterity is currently in vogue." - José Esteban Muñoz, "Ephemera as Evidence: Introductory Notes to Queer Acts," Women and Performance (1996), 7.

Peng Ang

2008-02-07T15:09:00.001-08:00

Things I'm wondering:

Why doesn't Edwards endorse a candidate already?! Is he out of his mind?! Some Republican dropouts were at least smart enough to rally behind the leader (McCain)! Why aren't the Democrats as strategic?! C'mon people, this isn't about pride, this is about preventing World War III! McCain's going to wreak havoc throughout the world if he wins! Do you really want that?!

Maybe I shouldn't make this point more visible than it is, as it may give more reason for hardcore conservatives to side with McCain, but the dude's pretty against abortion. He's not really in the grey at all about it. The conservative right tends to dismiss McCain for his supposed moderate tendencies, but the truth is McCain leans rather right on the conservative lynchpin issue of abortion. Shhh, just don't tell them that!

On a totally unrelated note, Happy Chinese New Year! Many families that live in my apartment complex are lighting incense for the occasion. My mom called me yesterday imploring me to return home for a celebratory dinner, but I simply couldn't. I gave preference to work over family stuff. I didn't feel too guilty in the past for privileging work over non-work, but I did this year. I've always thought about the conflict of living as an Asian participant in a Western society while maintaining traditions and roots that are still connected to Chinese practices. I would sometimes think the conflicts were exaggerated or that they didn't really exist--that, as an Asian person, I just "made up" the issue to scrutinize the range of my criticality.

My regard for Chinese New Year brings this issue to the fore. The Western calendar does not accommodate a new year beyond that of January 1. Since it does not designate days off for religious holidays that span other religions (Chinese New Year is closely associated with religious practices), I then have to abide by the demands of the default. That translates to Chinese New Year falling on a normal work day. In a small sense I am forced to choose my "western" identity as that of say, a graduate student, over my cultural identity while those who identify as Anglo-European in the west (duh) enjoy the convenience of having their identities coincide with normative practices.

I'm not really saying this is a problem, per se. It's more an issue of being aware of the fissures and disruptions in how things are supposed to work. And indeed I'm looking at this through the perspective of a Chinese person living in the United States so it's specific to this case. An American living in China would obviously encounter the same conflicts, except reversed.

In any case, my neighborhood is beaming this time of year. I saw a little toddler dressed in festive garb--red silk coat with a little black cap--on my way back from my biking excursion this morning. I'm not a huge fan of children, but it was just so absolutely lovely to see that kid play while his grandparents watched him. Witnessing that sight reminded me that Chinese New Year doesn't exist only as a dumb Facebook application. Rather, it's totally real and sacred.

(You can swallow your barf now. :))

Race

2008-01-31T22:16:00.000-08:00

I heard Terry Gross’s interview of Adrian Tomine on tonight’s edition of Fresh Air. The interview brought me back to high school. A nerdy friend of mine introduced me to Tomine’s work back when I was a sophomore. I didn’t know Tomine was Asian at the time, so his identity didn’t play a part in my reception of his work. The work seemed devoid of anything racial; the topics Tomine addressed in his comics dealt more with growing pains than it did identity politics.

I bring Tomine up because listening to him talk to Gross about the narrative of his artistic evolution and his growth as a person reminded me of the days when I was entirely invested in thinking about identity politics as a kid in college. To be honest, I don’t know exactly what happened to those days. There is nary a day that passes that I even think about identity politics anymore and I think this is a problem. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that I don’t exactly experience discrimination on a daily basis (or maybe I’m just not sensitive to it anymore?). I let a lot of things slip. Things that I dismiss as benign but may be more loaded with racialized meaning. I went back to a few things I wrote as an undergrad in my expository writing about identity politics:
----
What does “Asian” mean to me?

“Asian”, in the contemporary understanding of this term, represents people from the continent of Asia. This term becomes more complex when it applies to those with a history of Western colonialization in their respective nations, particularly India and the Philipines. “Asian” at times includes Indians and Philipinos and at other times Indians will claim their own label, abandoning “Asian” while Philipinos adopt “Pacific Islander.” “Asian” then becomes rather ambiguous upon closer analyses of these inconsistencies. I believe the term “Asian” to be equivalent to the term “white” in that it clumps people originating from specific continents (in the case of “Asian”, Asia and in the case of “whites”, Europe) into all-encompassing categories. It makes simplistic disparate cultures that occupy these territories. I think of it more of a term of convenience (which is socially or politically constructed) than a “legitimate” or scientific term.

What does “American” mean to me?

This term designates individuals who possess American citizenship and thus abide by the laws and regulations of the land. “American” individuals commonly denote those of Anglo-European descent and those who do not identify with an Anglo-European background are often considered “other.” Thus, “American” connotes a European-centric ideology both socially and politically. “American” theoretically should symbolize freedom, democracy, and the pursuit of happiness, et. al., but more often than not it connotes things more intrusive and negative –imperialism, world domination, and military prowess.
---
I read this stuff and I smile. Ha. I wrote an abstract called “The Silverlaking of Chinatown” upon which I never expanded. God, I was so naïve.

I don’t know what to do with racism anymore. I wish I was more pissed off, but I’m not. I know racist remarks and racist jokes, as cliché as they might be, do perpetuate stereotypes and hatred. Why don’t I get as pissed about them as I used to?

La La La La

2008-01-24T23:29:00.000-08:00

The first thing that came to mind this morning after I woke up was the question, "What is relevant?" My thoughts may have resulted from the strange dream I had last night involving my therapist (she's appearing in my dreams, egad!), as I tend to interrogate the relevance of what I do in almost every session we have together.

Last night A. asked me about the issues we’d be addressing one of my classes and I couldn't give him a clear, succinct answer. To make matters worse, I couldn't even find the motivation to defend the significance of such a class. Afrofuturism? The archive? What does this have to do with anything? I conceded to the fact that I wasn't exactly sure how to articulate the concerns of the class or how it related to anything beyond itself. "People just think of random shit and decide to tailor an entire seminar around it," I testified to him. A. didn't challenge my blanket statement. He went through the ringer of academia and knows exactly what I was describing.

What, then, is relevant? Are things only relevant if they directly affect change—be it social, political, economical, religious, or environmental—in our world? Or should we not regard these huge problems in such a broad, general way? Is something relevant if its purpose is to understand the tiniest nuts and bolts of a problem? Finally, are things relevant if make us happy? And if that’s so, is that selfish?

I listened to NPR on the way down to campus earlier this week and heard a segment by CBC about the humanitarian crisis in Zimbabwe. The life expectancy for both women and men hovers around the age of 40. That, to me, seems like a situation that is unquestionably relevant.

To use this as an example, how do we then quantify the type of work related to this Zimbabwean conflict as “relevant” or “not as relevant?” Is the work of the CBC journalist relevant? After all, she did make public a crisis that has, over the last decade, dwindled in obscurity over the past decade. Would the fieldwork of the doctors working under Doctors Without Borders be more relevant? Would the work of a scholar who examines the connections between racism and media’s neglect of this situation be equally relevant?

Things are obviously not so black and white. They are clearly inter-related and inter-dependent. The trouble I’m confronting lately is how to quantify what I do (obscure scholarship, essentially) against everything else that’s going on out there. And, needless to say, there is a lot. It feels a little indulgent to be concerned about such micro-sized matters when catastrophic events are happening throughout the globe.

I understand that not everyone can do something that changes the world. It’s a group effort. I’m just not comfortable with resigning to being a minor part of the puzzle. I don’t want the spotlight; I just want to affect change.

Other things that came up to mind this week during discussions and experiences:

J. is a medical student at my school. She studied art at the fanciest private college in the US. While she still dabbles in art and follows such things as the Whitney Biennial roster, the bulk of her time is spent at a largely low-income hospital in East Los Angeles. She tells me she’s so shocked and saddened by the inability of health care in America to educate people about preventative healthcare. Many of the patients she sees have conditions that could have easily been prevented. Instead, they are now prescribed dozens of medications as “quick fixes” for decades and decades of neglect. She feels that her tiny position our grand, complex, and more often than not hugely flawed health care system is irrelevant. She knows exactly what needs to happen, but she can’t enact much change within the system.

Z. and I visited Denver this past weekend. It was a thoroughly fun trip. We saw the Denver Art Museum and the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, among other things. As fun as it was to frolic through the nuanced spaces at the DAM, I was much more satisfied at the inclusivity and diversity of the patrons at the Museum of Nature and Science. I made a comment to Z. about this. I overheard fathers explaining the myth of dinosaurs to their children in Spanish, people of all ages genuinely interested and curious at the displays, and the general inter-active orientation of the exhibits. (Does this sound like a description of a multi-culti paradise?! Eew! Soapy bath, soapy bath!) People can relate more to the programming at a place like the Museum of Nature and Science, whereas the abstruse work in the new addition of the DAM might be a little off-putting. Perhaps it’s easier to relate to things that exist in the natural world than complex theories manifest in often strange-looking objects. Essentially, the egalitarian nature of natural history museums appears to appeal to a wide- ranging audience while fine art museums tend to attract a crowd drawn from the same demographic.

Knowing this, I’m really excited about Z.’s project. He’s doing something relevant and I get to live vicariously through his efforts! (Sort of!)

Other stories I need to flesh out tomorrow:

I am thinking about the notion of personal independence. This relates something I heard Noam Chomsky say in a documentary. Perhaps the US promotes personal independence as a way to discourage collectivity.

M. and I had a discussion about architecture and a Soviet monument to Stalin in Georgia. I was fascinated by his intense enthusiasm about such an obscure structure. He wants to make a documentary about it. His curiosity about it lead me to think that as unknown a site as it might be, it is somehow relevant.

Perfect

2008-01-23T12:39:00.001-08:00

For all us breakfast lovers.

2008-01-14T09:08:00.001-08:00

I hate waking up to the sound of swirling helicopters every weekday morning. Yes, there is traffic along the 110. Yes, it is guaranteed to be an occurrence every weekday. But no, you don't have to track it via helicopter! Gah!

Protracting the Theme: New York Loves Adam Borowitz and Adam Borowitz Loves New York

2008-01-10T13:39:00.001-08:00

"RARELY AVAILABLE corner unit in circular building. Dramatic floor-to-ceiling walls. Breathtaking, massively proportioned mortgage. This one won’t last: moisture-drenched BR was formerly home to one of New York’s oldest families of termites. Original mold throughout. Architect-designed, carpenter-built, and painter-painted, this 400 sq. ft. jewel box has been lovingly overpriced at $2.8M. Specious!

EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE, every move you make, we’ll be watching you in Manhattan’s first 100% glass building, the Residences at the Voyeur. Enjoy astounding views of Manhattan while Manhattan enjoys astounding views of you. No doors, no drapes, no problem! Just 1800+ sq. ft. of exhibitionistic living space, custom-crafted for your see-thru life style, perfect for sophisticated entertaining or just making sex tapes. Sun-drenched living room, sun-scorched master suite, and sun-ravaged kitchen will have you checking yourself for moles. We see you living here, and so will everyone else. $3.4M.

IN XANADU DID KUBLA KHAN a hedge-fund manager’s 3 BR, 4 BA pleasure dome decree. The West Village, Chelsea, and the meatpacking district are all a coke vial’s throw from this molten-hot trophy building that boasts New York’s highest concentration of douchebags. Just minutes from downtown’s chicest restaurants and just hours from being seated in one. Don’t miss out on the chance to have some dude from Merrill vomit outside your doorway while his skeletal girlfriend screams, “I know you’re doing my sister, you dick!” Recently indicted seller highly motivated. $4.25M.

BRING YOUR ARCHITECT and tell your architect to bring his contractor, plumber, demolition team, and hazmat squad to help carve your dream home from this former Superfund site, listed in the National Register of Condemned Properties. Sequestered in the up-and-coming neighborhood of NoHaSoCa (North of Harlem South of Canada), this almost habitable charmer-in-waiting just needs a little TLC and the removal/disposal of several tons of toxic waste. Perfect for growing family or growing an additional limb. $4.825M.

NEW CONSTRUCTION so new there’s just one word for it: nonexistent. Welcome to the world of the Tabula Rasa, Manhattan’s most hypothetical luxury building. Still just a twinkle in the developer’s eye, the Rasa will be ready for occupancy possibly in early 2012 and possibly never. Theoretical lobby with putative elevator leads to five notional floor-thru lofts. Or not! Move into the artist’s conception of your dreams. Each unit is a perfect white canvas, allowing you to let your imagination run wild and your checkbook run dry. $5.6M.

LUX CPW HI/RI FSB PH: 4K+ sq. ft., 4 BR/5 BA, MBR W/WBFP, WIC. W/D. S/E/N EXP. EIK w/Miele, Poggenpohl, Gaggenau, SbZro. Ask $∞. Incmprhnsble! ♦"

- Adam Borowitz, "Rarely Available," The New Yorker (January 14, 2008).

C. and I were just talking about this last week.

2008-01-07T01:07:00.000-08:00

"Like most fairy tales New York’s embrace of architecture has a dark side. If many of these shows pointed up our rich architectural past, they also served to remind us that the majority of today’s projects serve the interests of a small elite. And this trend is not likely to change any time soon. The slow death of the urban middle class, the rise of architecture as a marketing tool, the overweening influence of developers — all have helped to narrow architecture’s social reach just as it begins to recapture the public imagination. From this perspective the wave of gorgeous new buildings can be read as a mere cultural diversion." - Nicolai Ouroussoff, "Manhattan's Year of Building Furiously," New York Times (December 23, 2007).

This is obviously happening on a grand scale in Manhattan. Luxury lofts made up nearly half of the list Z. compiled for our recent trip to the city. Impressive and alluring as they were to us and are to the denizens of Manhattan, the existence and continuing development of this type of housing further reinforces the fact that Manhattan (if not all of New York City) is going toward the way of the very rich.

Z. quoted something to the tune of ~~$10K~~ $3K/per square foot for the 40 Bond loft by Herzog and de Meuron. It's as if the city is holding a contest for who can charge as much per square foot and which architect will be hired to contribute to the seduction by space.

In the future, Pomme Frites (oh, what a grand stand!) will probably cease to exist. It's not terribly far from 40 Bond.

Ouroussoff's assessment of this recent trend in architecture as "cultural diversion" is a little scary. There's a lot to unpack in his phrasing. Do these buildings that serve an explicit function--to house--configure themselves in the public to be mere symbols of/for the extremely wealthy? Because they are, on the most part, only accessible to the elite class, do they then exist as objects, not too dissimilar to art objects that are bought and sold (usually by those belonging in the same elite class)? Do we just admire them from afar?

Because architecture is often regarded as a possible catalyst for social change*, these types of questions must be asked more often, especially in our times when the top 1% of Americans own over a third of the country's wealth (and they're only getting richer!). It is unfortunate that the US is unwilling to employ designers of excellent repute for affordable housing projects and other public/civic spaces that just might benefit from good planning. European models are light years ahead of us in merging good design with progressive social objectives.

There is, of course, more to talk about here. The complexities of such a statement are infinite.

*I've resigned myself to the idea that the visual arts cannot really instigate any immediate change. The process of change is more organic and dependent on inroads made in discourse, especially in the way it relates to visual culture (and not just "fine art"). It takes years, if not decades, for the type of discussions made in academia to be recognized in mass culture. This is too bad, but is the nature of the beast.

2008-01-04T10:21:00.000-08:00

Wow, it kind of sucks to feel like shit.

Hello, therapy!

Lack of Updates

2008-01-02T00:26:00.001-08:00

Just got back. Am tired. Collecting things. More soon.

Red Velvet

2007-12-18T01:47:00.001-08:00

I'm beginning to realize that my life is comprised of a nice collection of these quiet moments. It is quite nice.

Purty

2007-12-18T01:42:00.001-08:00

Sweetheart.

Indeed, I am Kind of a Freak

2007-12-18T01:39:00.001-08:00

Who the hell makes their own candied walnuts? My hands are burning.

I Wonder Why I Always Fall Victim To These Conversations

2007-12-17T15:41:00.001-08:00

Me: [In the weight room at the gym, benching 70lbs.]
Gross Dude: [Smiles at me.]
Me: [Thinking: That dude was pretty gross.]
Gross Dude: "Hey, you're tall! Are you Korean?"
Me: "No, I'm Chinese."
Gross Dude: "You are unique. There aren't too many tall Chinese girls. I usually date tall Korean girls, and you are just that type."
Me: "Auh, sure . . ."
Gross Dude: "What do you do?"
Me: "I'm a student."
Gross Dude: "I'm a M.D., but I am thinking of going back for my M.B.A."
Me: "Yeah, go fer it . . ."
Gross Dude: [While pointing at my boobs] "I noticed you from across the room. You seem smart but with a hint of innocence."
Me: [Thinking: You are a fucking idiot. What am I, an anime character? Stop looking at my boobs.] "What the hell does that mean?"
Gross Dude: "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Me: "Yes. [Now I am sounding a little irritated.] I am happily coupled."
Gross Dude: "Do you believe in friends?"
Me: "Sure, whatever, dude."
Gross Dude: "Would you give me your email?"
Me: "Sure." [Gives him fake email.]
Gross Dude: "How about your number?"
Me: [Thinking: 1-800-you'reafuckingcreep!] "No, I don't give out my number."
Gross Dude: "What kind of food do you eat?"
Me: "I fucking eat buffalo."
Gross Dude: [Looking confused.]
Me: [Thinking: Of course he's confused.]
Gross Dude: [Pointing at my boobs again.] "I'm a little older than you, but I like girls your age. What are you, 26, 27?"
Me: "Auh-huh."
Gross Dude: "Yeah, I don't like older women. I like them young. I travel to Asia often and . . . "
Me: "Molest girls?"
Gross Dude: [Laughs] "No!"
Me: "Auh-huh."
Gross Dude: "So would you like to go out to dinner?"
Me: "I think I said something to the effect of 'I HAVE A BOYFRIEND' earlier."
Gross Dude: [Obviously pretends he didn't hear that.] "I'd take you to a Yao Ming basketball game too!"
Me: "Whatever, man."
Gross Dude: "Let me write down your email address."
Me: [I run away to another machine, trying to escape this fucking weirdo. He finds me and hands over his contact information. I take it, walk toward a trash can, and toss it in his presence. Ha.]

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!! He was a fucking caricature of a old prowler dude. I thought those only existed in movies. I feel raped.

Truly Amazing

2007-12-13T02:50:00.001-08:00

Who could ever replace Björk? There's nothing out there that matches the sound of her voice. I mean, this woman seeks instruments/tools that can replicate sounds she envisions in her head. Genius.

Why are the crowds for these internationally known, big time musicians so weird? K., J., R., and I were flabbergasted at the erm . . . diversity we saw tonight. There were bouffants, hippies who wore too much patchouli, businessmen, senior citizens, and then some. The range was nice. I think they were all from the valley.

I've now a bit of time to write about anything but I'm finding I actually don't have much about which to write. I'm just filling up my calendar with various dinners and desserts with people I haven't seen in awhile. It's so nice to finally be free!

Oh vacance soon! Meow meow meow meow meow meow.

Almost Done

2007-12-08T08:45:00.001-08:00

2007-12-06T14:36:00.000-08:00

I just realized I never finished the blog entry below. I talked to Z. about it a little last night and I think I still have to get all my ducks in a row before I can justly observe.

Anyway, the following below is a conversation I had a cosmetics counter. I thought this was too good to not share:

Michael, after he shuttled me to have a "free consultation" [!] with someone named Kate, a "Hollywood stylist" (haha, who the hell is this woman? I fucking looked her up!): "Isn't Kate great? I mean, she's like edgy, which is cool. And she's pregnant and stuff, too!"
Me: "Auh . . . sure."

I don't know how edgy translates to cool, or why it would even matter. I also can't figure out the purpose of that sentence. It said nothing . . . a totally vacuous utterance.

It's incidents like these that make me want to hide away in Lascaux for the rest of my life. But on the other hand, imbuing EVERYTHING with fucking Marx and Hegel also makes me want to do the same thing. Oh, where are you, happy medium?

Here's another empty phrase: I sneezed about twenty times today.

Celebrity, Projects, and Other Things

2007-12-03T22:53:00.001-08:00

I have neglected this little outlet as of late. Any neuron activity I manage to have on reserve goes directly to my papers, all of which are due next week. But all my presentations are over and done with and I felt like writing here as a little present to myself. It's so exciting to be able to do expository (and not rigorous, academic, sourced, intensely researched, defended, well-structured; all right, you get the point) writing about stuff about which I've been thinking. And before I go into what was on my mind today, I just want to say that I was actually doing very cursory Google searches in hopes of defending the observations I'm about to make. The thought of footnoting everything I type in a casual, freeform blog actually kind of made me tired. So I'm just going to write about my observations. I'm sure there are tons of sources that I can cite if I did the research, but I'm going to trust my eye and the survey(s) that generate out of what it is able to see.

So this morning I got an email from Z. alerting me about the press coverage on a project in which he was involved. The article appeared in the New York Times and had a famous actor's name splayed all over it. The accompanying video he sent me was a small vignette from this morning's hugely popular (so popular that I even know and sometimes tune in during my gym visits!) lifestyle show. The project was ambitious and, because of this actor's association with it, will most likely be successful. In fact, Z. informed me about the media circus surrounding the project. And this thing wasn't a movie premiere or the uncovering of adulterous behavior between two "it" people, no: It was the unveiling of a charitable project to restore a section of New Orleans.

The project is innovative and the architecture--designed to be both environmentally sound and structurally premonitory--is humble. The designs are made under the conditions of a strict budget ($150,000 per unit, with the hopes of building 150 units) and limited space (1,200 square feet). In the context of rebuilding a devastated area, the project...

[Oof, I feel kind of warm/sick. I hope to continue this tomorrow. I have thoughts that may runneth over...]

Thank Zeus

2007-12-03T07:21:00.000-08:00

This place has been quiet as of late. But to give a window into the madness: Right before I woke up this morning, I dreamt I overslept until 11.16 a.m. I woke up to find that it was 6.45 a.m. and was a very, very happy girl.

Geezus

2007-11-25T20:16:00.001-08:00

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Insomnia

2007-11-14T03:09:00.001-08:00

I've been reading bits and pieces of Michael Pollan's book during my gym time. It's such a fascinating read that over the last few visits to the gym, I've managed finish nearly half of the 500 page book. The writing is clear, the information is simultaneously abhorrent and alluring, and, in the end, it makes me deathly afraid of corn.

I am now hyperconscious of things like dextrin, maltodextrin, dextrose, fructose, excipients, glucona delta lactone, monoglycerides, monosodium glutamate (a Chinese staple!), sorbitol, sucrose, xanthan gum, and even sodium bicarbonate, a necessity in any baker's pantry! All of these things are derived from corn. We in the United States eat a more homogenous diet than any other nation (both industrialized and not) in the world. Even Mexicans whose diet consists mostly of whole corn have more diversified offerings at their dinner tables.

Reading Pollan's research and exquisite narrative of the food chain makes me think hard about possible solutions that would minimize my own participation in industrial farming methods vis-a-vis buying products produced in such a way. Industrial farming is intimately linked with the--surprise--military industrial complex! (A link shorter than you'd expect. Farm = the military? I think it breaks down to about three or four connections.) Methods used by industrial farming are so warped that, my god, the manure produced from the cows on these industrial farms aren't even useful because of the high levels of nitrogen concentration. They'd literally kill the soil they're supposed to feed. And we're eating the meat and drinking the milk of these cows that produce this (literally) shit?

Someone once said to me, "It's impossible to produce enough food using sustainable or 'organic' methods." I don't remember what he said, exactly. I do remember not being able to defend a position that opposed his because I didn't yet do the research nor did I know about any numbers behind what I wanted to defend, but couldn't. But after filtering through some of Pollan's own intensive research, sustainable farming methods do, indeed, sustain the most FOOD PRODUCTION PER SQUARE ACRE. Joel Salatin at Polyface Farms in Virginia proves just that.

The ratio between calories required to produce another calorie of energy is also more even, whereas in industrial farming the ratio between calories in to calories out is much, much higher, almost 4:1. I am not giving the full story here, but translating that, it takes approximately four calories of energy to produce one calorie of food consumed when it comes out of industrial farms. Amazing, isn't it?

A quote:

"If where you stand is in agribusiness, processing cheap corn into forty-five different McDonald's items is an impressive accomplishment. It represents a solution to the agricultural contradictions of capitalism, the challenging of increasing food industry profits faster than America can increase its population. Supersized portions of cheap corn-fixed carbon solves the problem of the fixed stomach; we may not be expanding the number of eaters in America, but we've figured out how to expand each of their appetites, which is almost as good. Judith, Isaac, and I together consumed a total of 4,510 calories at our lunch--more than half as many as we each should probably consume in a day. We had certainly done our parts in chomping through the corn surplus. (We had also consumed a lot of petroleum, and not just because we were in a car. To grow and process those 4,510 food calories took at least ten times as many calories of fossil energy, the equivalent of 1.3 gallons of oil.)"

Oh, so the ratio is higher than I remembered. That's great!

I am not preaching, but this really makes me think about how we (and I, just to personalize it) live. My older sister, upon a discussion of the value of organic food, asked me why I sometimes still partake in the eating of junk even though I know what's going on out there. "Because I know it's so embedded in the system, so I sometimes don't want to fight it." "Then why do you even read into this stuff?" she asks. I respond, "Just because I sometimes don't care, doesn't mean I want to remain IGNORANT about it."

But, the truth of the matter is, I'm not happy about interstitial moments of caring and not caring. I want to care and be conscious about things like this (and green issues, in general) all the time. I want to live in a system that's self-sustaining; that its sustainability is as embedded into the system as wastefulness is embedded into the currently functioning system. How do I do that? How do I, as a little person against big industry, resist? And it's not only that, but how do I resist successfully?

You can't do it through patronizing Whole Foods. The pastoral language used to market overpriced goods just covers up the technicalities that make organic products like those sold by Whole Foods pretty much the same as conventionally/industrially produced food. You can't do it through buying Cascadian Farm products. General Mills, one of the largest processed food producers in the world, owns Cascadian Farms. Gene Kahn, who founded Cascadian Farms in 1972, now participates in product development at General Mills! How's that for giving it to the man? The small guy eventually becomes the man!

How the fuck can you do it, then?

I return back to my memories of Berlin. I reflect on not owning a car for the months I was there. I rarely even took the train anywhere. I biked everyday for every event (from Berghain to the biergartens!) and shopped for groceries at Turkish markets that pretty much only sold locally grown and seasonal produce. There was, of course, the Aldis and Plus-es that bought many of their products from the same industrial farms against which Pollan's book riles. But there was something in Berlin that made me feel more a part of a system that didn't further exacerbate the already desperate state of, well, it's-all-going-to-shit-ness. I was a citizen that consumed less and even though I wasn't plugging in numbers to find if I was, indeed, consuming less (less petrol, less food, less whatever), I think my instincts as a living, breathing human being living within an ecosystem told me that that was the case. And I was infinitely happier knowing/feeling this.

So, what do you do? Do you surrender to the system and accept it as the status quo or do you try to do whatever you can, as futile as the effort may be?

Whenever I think about these things--issues of sustainability, about not fucking up stuff for the future--I think about living in a completely different environment where I just wouldn't have the option to partake in this mess. This environment definitely couldn't be a big city. This presents a problem: For me, to not be a big city would be depressing. Would I be happy accepting my green-consciousness only to a certain degree (and not all the way, not all gung-ho!)? Between the white and black, are gray areas concerning this matter acceptable? I am just not content with the idea of conceding to what's already supposedly "built-in."

This makes me think about those farms in the south of France. God, the bucolic life is nice sometimes when it's a concentrated and dedicated effort to just produce food that's not just a product, but a fucking treasure.

I mean, god, it's November 14 today and it's 90F in LA. This is the shit that keeps me up at night. This and the loads of more writing I'm due to do this week. Which takes me to the 'Tute, a commute during which I will pump more carbon dioxide into the air. I'll print out my drafts from printers that will emit additional toxins into the air using paper that will contribute to the destruction of more trees. There seem to be holes in every argument about sustainability. I think these holes are there because there are so many large entities out there that try to counter movements that might result in the downfall their own livelihoods. These entities embed themselves so deeply in our lives that it renders most of us all dependent. Will we all be forever hypocritical as long as these systems are around?

I am so overwhelmed.

Delusional

2007-11-13T12:31:00.000-08:00

T. forwarded me this article asking "is this you?" Anybody who knows me at all knows I am totally delusional (and the crazy part is that I acknowledge my delusions yet I perpetuate them by subscribing to my own insane ideas!) about how I perceive myself. Some rich quotes from the article:

- "'It's like we have this trick scale,' says Valerie Young, a traveling expert on the syndrome who gave the workshop at Columbia. Here's how that scale works: Self-doubt and negative feedback weigh heavily on the mind, but praise barely registers. You attribute your failures to a stable, inner core of ineptness. Meanwhile, you discount your successes as accidental or, worse, as just so many confidence jobs. Every positive is a false positive."

- "According to Ms. Matthews, a person with impostor syndrome typically experiences a cycle of distress when faced with a new task: self-doubt, followed by perfectionism, then — sometimes but not always — procrastination.

'The next step is often overwork,' Ms. Matthews says. 'It has a driven quality — a lot of anxiety, a lot of suffering.

'Then comes success," she says. 'So you do well!'

(Pause for a brief sigh of relief.)

'Then you discount your success,' she says. 'Success reinforces the whole cycle.'"

Encounters

2007-11-12T19:17:00.001-08:00

I thought a heard a woman say "bis später" on her cell phone today. I got excited and this short conversation ensued:

Me: "Kannst du Deutsch sprechen?"
Woman: "No."
Me: "Ooops, sorry."

Wait, why did she say "no" if she didn't understand what I was saying?!

Some progress!:

At first glance, Reyner Banham may appear to be the unlikely defender of the urban layout of Los Angeles. Born in 1922 in England, Banham studied under the art historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner at the Courtauld Institute, from which he received his Ph.D. in art history in 1952. It is only when we look at Banham’s dissertation under Pevsner that we recognize Banham’s trailblazing tendencies. Based on his dissertation, his first book, Theory and Design in the First Machine Age, published in 1960, featured arguments about technology’s relationship to architecture that was a topic of contention between Banham and Pevsner, whose own scholarship was more in line with the New Objectivity movement and was more based on a preservation of classical aesthetics than on technology. It is with this that Banham begins his record for a transgressive art and architectural history.

Banham’s conception of the architecture autre in his 1966 book The New Brutalism: Ethic or Aesthetic? presents another major point by which to base Banham’s seemingly radical methodology in his thinking and writing about architecture. In this section of the book, Banham writes about noticing “something in the air in the middle of the nineteen-fifties that suggested that a really subversive trend was emerging [in architecture], something that the traditions of architecture could not absorb.” Banham was referring to the movement of New Brutalism, first recognizible in the work of Alison and Peter Smithson, to whom Banham had close ties. It turns out that, during the time that The New Brutalism was being conceived and executed, that he already had a new project in the works: A new view of Los Angeles.

Reyner Banham’s first encounter with Los Angeles occurred in 1965 , when he visited the city to participate in a symposium held by the newly established Urban Design Department at the University of California at Los Angeles. It is clear that Banham was enchanted by the city’s vast, chaotic layout and its apparent intractability at first glance. Banham reported back to The Listener, a magazine published by the BBC in his native England, that Los Angeles “excites, intrigues and sometimes repels [him]” because of its “radical alternatives to almost every urban concept in unquestioned currency.” Banham even goes so far as to agree with the native perspective of Los Angeles, that it “is so wild they should just let it swing and see what happens!”

Stop Hatin'

2007-11-10T16:17:00.000-08:00

"On the other hand, there are many who do not wish to read the book [the one cited below], and would like to prevent others from doing so; they have soundly-based fears about what might happen if the secrets of the Southern Californian metropolis were too profanely opened and made plain. Los Angeles threatens the intellectual repose and professional livelihood of many architects, artists, planners, and environmentalists because it breaks the rules of urban design that they promulgate in works and writings and teach to their students. In so far as Los Angeles performs the functions of a great city, in terms of size, cosmopolitan style, creative energy, international influence, distinctive way of life and corporate personality . . . to the extent that Los Angeles has these qualities, then to that same extent all the most admired theorists of the present century, from the Futurists and Le Corbusier to Jane Jacobs and Sibyl Moholy-Nagy, have been wrong. The belief that certain densities of population, and certain physical forms of structure are essential to the working of a great city, views shared by groups as diverse as the editors of Architectural Review and the members of Team Ten, must be to that same extent false. And the methods of design taught, for instance, by the Institute for Architecture and Urban Planning in New York and similar schools, must be to that extent irrelevant."

- Reyner Banham, Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2001), 218-219.

I will post Peter Plagen's vitriolic retort to Banham's overly optimistic view of Los Angeles in a bit. Despite Banham's naïve attempt to legitimize LA within his community of architectural and urban theorists and critics, I think Banham's treacly take on the city managed to influence a good legion of writers and theorists who surrendered to accepting LA for what it is: Not a "true" metropolis in the way a place like New York or Paris might be true metropoli. LA might "not work" and it might not be able to sustain whatever elements constitute a "true" city, but it doesn't care. Miraculously, many of its residents, like the city itself, don't care either.

There is something more to this. There is something more to why people (like me) who ordinarily do not have the patience for things like traffic and Hollywood culture make exceptions for LA. To give LA--an inanimate object, ha--an air of disregard for everything it could possibly contain doesn't do it, and the complexities within debates about it, any justice.

A good bit about this strange place.

P.S.: I just had to: "Banham . . . jazzes [his study] up with watered-down McLuhan and Robert Venturi (who are genuinely demented enough to actually like such [vernacular architecture] crap) . . . " - Peter Plagens, "Los Angeles: The Ecology of Evil" in Artforum 11 (December 1972), 67-76.

HA HA HA HA HA! This sounds like disagreements Z. and I have about the value of the gaudy-lurid-carnivalesque, or what have you, work of the Venturi camp. Charles Moore (yay!). Michael Graves (nicht so yay).

R.M.

2007-11-09T18:21:00.001-08:00

There's something really seductive about this work. Whenever I came across it in the past, I always did wonder what it was that suspended it exactly at the intersection of two walls. Is there a hollow space underneath that triangular shape? Is it just a flat surface, in other words, a true triangle, or is it "filled" from behind, which changes its properties and aligns it closer to a polyhedron? What really makes this a triangle, anyway? Are we just designating it the term "triangle" because the form conjures up geometric proofs from math courses in junior high?

"Characteristic of a gestalt is that once it is established all the information about it, qua gestalt, is exhausted. (One does not, for example, seek the gestalt of a gestalt.) Furthermore, once it is established it does not disintegrate. One is then both free of the shape and bound to it. Free or released because of the exhaustion of information about it, as shape, and bound to it because it remains constant and indivisible." - Robert Morris, "Notes on Sculpture" in Artforum (Feb. and Oct. 1966).

How does this triangle, a perfect representation of the "gestalt" about which Morris writes, "establish" itself and how is this establishment "exhausted?" Is the triangle able to stay static because it is given the marker of "triangle?" How can this marker be corrupted, or is it even possible? Does there exist a platonic ideal of a triangle that resists corruption?

I've always regarded Minimalism as a subversive movement that made fun, so to speak, of Abstract Expressionism, but there are still so many parts to it that I simply still don't get. But, the point is, there isn't much to get. What you see, to use the hackneyed phrase, is, essentially, what you get.

Weird

2007-11-08T15:35:00.000-08:00

There's a librarian here at the Chinatown library who reminds me of my mother. She walks with a limp (I think it's an artificial leg?) and she's really kind to children. Dude, I want to go home to see my own mom. I miss her.

His Name is B.B.

2007-11-07T22:05:00.001-08:00

K. was really happy tonight.

Great Things Happen at the Gym

2007-11-07T11:19:00.000-08:00

The gym isn't the most relaxing of places. In fact, it causes me great stress. The whole process of deciding when to go and what to do once I'm there is laced with great anxiety. Despite all of this, I'm usually rewarded by feeling some form of accomplishment after I'm able to bench or run whatever number of kilos or miles or what have you.

I heard some dude repeating an annoying phrase for a good fifteen minutes as I was on the elliptical machine today. I looked down from my station and saw a guy antagonizing his partner by consecutively shouting the phrase "yes she would!" Oh my god, I thought, I wanted to kill this fucking guy. I didn't care if he was three times my size and had a menacing look. Everyone else around him also gave him dirty looks, as his shouting became distracting after almost half an hour. I couldn't stand his repetitive dribble anymore and just shouted, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed my direction and asked, "WHO SAID THAT?" The following conversation commenced:

Me: "I DID!"
Him: "YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR MOUTH!"
Me: "NO!"
Him: "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
Me: "HEY GUY, YOU'RE AGGRAVATING MY ANXIETY! JUST SHUT UP!"

I think he noticed that I was visibly going to go apeshit on him and left me alone. Yay!

Now, time to do some quiet, meditative research. Le sigh.

Sehr Komisch

2007-11-06T23:33:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I just want to swim to the bottom of Challenger Deep and hang out there.

A Secret

2007-11-05T14:36:00.000-08:00

I have a more indulgent blog somewhere in space. I'm not going to be as vigilant about editing nor am I going to censor much of the contents. You can find it only if you replace "geezopeez" in the http address with the following words that fit this description: the name of my favorite childhood stuffed animal, the word "and," and the plural form of a permanent marking/image I got on my inner forearm not too long ago . . .

All three words should be typed as one long word, without spaces.

Fun! This is like fucking Pictionary. Or something.

We Are Told the Truth

2007-11-05T10:03:00.001-08:00

An Exercise

2007-11-04T20:19:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow I'm going to write a reivew of Transformers (saw it this week-end!) as an exercise. Even though I only saw approximately three-quarters of the movie, I'm going to give a review a go anyway. It's bad practice and all, but the amount I took in was just enough for me to employ stuff a là David Bordwell and Laura Mulvey all the live long day! I sometimes forget about these people, but watching films like Transformers brings back memories of their texts. Sigh!

Addendum

2007-11-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

To the below. Oh, it's better than what I quoted. :)

Missive

2007-11-01T10:24:00.001-07:00

I'm going through archive files. In my research I've uncovered typewritten exchanges between two artists in love. Here's an excerpt:

"Darling, have no melancholy dreams on my account. You are precious irreplaceable beautiful, so integral to my life that I cannot imagine being without you (K. begins purring as she sits beside the typewriter)."

He writes her a letter (in an almost diaristic format) from London and sends it by telegram to New York every two days. The letters are single-spaced and typewritten, double-sided. Sometimes the prose sounds like it's coming from the pen of a madman. It is dramatic; clearly, he is madly in love with her.

Is this how it's supposed to be? Wow.

Gross

2007-10-30T20:23:00.000-07:00

There are sixty households in my apartment complex.
Today I found out there's an ongoing trash strike.
By "ongoing" I mean since October 17th.
This also means the accumulated trash of sixty households is currently rotting on the ground floor where the end of the trash chutes are located.
Yes, I said sixty households.
I saw a sign near the mailboxes today that read "there are maggots in the chutes."
And, to make matters worse, "cockroaches and flies will infest your house."
I think the latter remark was a threat.
Nevertheless, it scares me shitless.
COCKROACHES AND FLIES?!
I'm not the cleanest person in the world, but I can't stand bacteria and virii.
Especially if they say hello through these live hosts.
Gross.

Oh, and my neighbor can't stop talking at a tone that's close to "holy fuck."
Can't she shut up?
My other neighbor also bothers me to death.
Stop calling "Stella" through the fucking screen door and just ring the goddamn doorbell, you dumb fuck.

The seventy-year-old woman who cradles her granddaughter outside the courtyard of my complex every morning can't stop staring at me and my bike whenever I return back from the gym.
Has she never seen someone walking a bike before?
She's not even shy about her staring--she just straight up FOLLOWS ME with her eyes for a good fifty feet.

AHHHH!

Because "Social Networking" Sites Seem to Occupy a Bit of Our Free Time

2007-10-29T12:54:00.001-07:00

Interesting article about MySpace, Facebook, etc.

I'm trying to think of three questions to ask about this weekend's readings. I'm totally stumped. I think I've exhausted all the critical avenues of critiquing things that are already pretty critical. Did I just use "critical" too much in one sentence? Oh god, that sentence was so exemplary of this critical reflex. Anyway . . .

I'm not going to write anything about the M. show because I'm sure a lot of people already have. P.L. said it best when she remarked on the show's "vulgarity" to G. I'm not sure I need to expand upon that. It might help to maybe unpack the loaded meaning of the word "vulgar" vis-a-vis (I almost typed "vis-a-face," ha) the straightforward nature of some of the works in the show and the organization of the show in general.

B. said, "I don't mind the show for what it is, but the intellectualization of the art practice seems like a dubious project."

Ich denke auch! It's been done before with more interesting subjects. I am always skeptical of the brand of art history that fixates itself on figures like M. when there exists other visual material of enormous consequence. But this is a larger discussion that returns to the question of media objects vs. "high art," the conflation of the two, and what not.

In a way, I can see how M. can serve as a vehicle to articulate these ideas. Maybe not the best vehicle, but a vehicle nevertheless.

On a side note, hooray for woodland creatures and pants!

Waxing and Waning

2007-10-25T12:32:00.000-07:00

K. and I talked until the wee hours of the morning last night--around 3.30 a.m., to be exact. I woke up naturally around 7.30 and began my day. I'm beginning to realize that, in order to sustain any um, fervor for anything I'm doing, I just have to start my days early and stick closely to my loosely-defined agendas.

As I approached the travertined halls (ew) of the 'Tute earlier this morning, I had to remind myself how lucky I am. I get to look, think, and write about art all day. There are thousands (thousands? millions?) of others out there who only dream of the mere chance of visiting museums. But here I am, growling at what I do. Sometimes I encounter a burst of pride whenever I'm looking at my carrel (outfitted with things that are, at first glance, esoteric and borderline irrelevant to the "real world") and I have to remind myself that what I do is important. That is, if I'm able to communicate my ideas in a way that connects it with the way images are consumed and disseminated today.

Television! Movies! Pop culture! The Everyday!

I love whenever I come across a reference to the "lay person" in an essay:

"Andre's metal places and Morris's cage could only be regarded as works of art in the context of a discourse in which they stood as compelling proof of the unfolding of a certain historical inevitability. Lay spectators only recognize such objects as works of art (when or if they do so) because they are located in the legitimating contexts of the gallery and museum, installed by curators and dealers in thrall (as the artists themselves were) to a particular account of history." - Anna Chave, "Minimalism and the Rhetoric of Power," in Power in American Art: Its Myths and Mores (Indianapolis, Indiana: Indianapolis Museum of Art, 1991), 118.

Thanks for the mention, but now let's interrogate this disconnect between art as it exists in the cloisters of academic discourse and the public realm?

Ugh

2007-10-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

Whatever.

Graduate School is the Perfect Ego Booster

2007-10-22T18:19:00.001-07:00

Before class, frantically writing down the requisite "critical questions" in the office:

Me: "Did you get the reading?"
S.: "No, I felt totally lost throughout."
Me: "Phew, good. For a second there I thought I had the reading comprehension of a second grader."
S.: "Nope, it was just confusing."
Me: "Yeah, what were those two essays about, exactly? I read over a hundred pages and only remember something about a Chinese boy and an angry Nigerian patron."

A sentence from today's reading:

"Human existence is marked by two contradictory demands, wrote Friedrich Schiller just five years after the French Revolution, for example: one that 'insists upon absolute reality in an effort to turn 'everything that is mere form into world,' and another that 'insists upon absolute formality in order to 'eradicate in himself everything that is merely world.'"

Me: "Oof."

Later, after class.

Me: "Holy shit, I felt like dropping out of the program during the first hour of seminar. I wanted to cry right there."
S.: "I totally feel you. I think of that almost every minute. I'm just not feeling it."
Me: "Let's run off and join the circus!"

Wow, It's Early

2007-10-20T04:20:00.001-07:00

Little Rock, here we come!

Yay

2007-10-18T11:07:00.000-07:00

After this morning's short brush with teaching, I realized that I can't, can't wait to TA, and, eventually, legitimately (by this I mean equipped with the proper "credentials" or degree, or what have you) proselytiz . . . I mean, instruct. :)

One-isms

2007-10-17T22:45:00.000-07:00

Taking a break from reading. God oh god why do they keep assigning us Krauss?

Anyway, goodie! Oh wait, no goodie.

And, really, everything is a fucking conspiracy isn't it? God bless the church. Or something.

Love It

2007-10-17T18:08:00.000-07:00

Hawt.

Salade Niçoise

2007-10-16T23:53:00.001-07:00

Good salad, crappy week.

Sometimes I don't understand how my interest in something waxes and wanes. This is especially true when it comes to what I do. There are some days when thinking about the particulars of an argument can distract me from everything else that's going on and there are days when I just want to stare at a wall.

I want to be situated neatly at a desk that's outfitted with a word processor, a pile of books and notes, and those nice wire book racks onto which I can prop a tome. I dream of that type of scholarly asceticism.

I think it's hard to maintain that type of dedication, though. Between life and appointments and alone time, is asceticism necessarily achievable or desired? It seems as though there exists a select few who can manage and those are the ones who I admire.

How do I even talk to someone about these concerns? They are all so vague and transitory. I don't even think these issues are isolated to what "I do." It's hard to define now, but there's something that connects these issues of creative production to things that are going on outside of my "work."

Anyway. Whatever. All this strangeness may be hormonally induced. Who knows.

I can only write to the void about this. I'm sure a lot of people understand and are probably in similar situations, but, to be honest, I don't think I have enough faith in people (even people who are close) to think that they'd actually care. I'd rather not be a burden. Unless it's solicited, I'm going to be diffident about being forthcoming. But should it be that way?

I guess, to return back to those Velvet Underground lyrics, I still am a little frigid about things. I don't want to be. But when people are non-responsive, I just close up shop. I don't want to volunteer information that will garner no responses. So, in anticipation of that, I write to the void. I know what I'm getting when I do that.

On a different note, R. came over for some dinner tonight (the salad pictured) and I told him about my past weekend. He remarked how happy I sounded as I detailed to him the minutiae of hanging with Z: bike grease on my ankles, a dozen eggs, the same people spinning on Sundays, meow and dah spicy meat-tah-balls, and doing prototypical "couple-y" things. (R: "I don't get why people are so bashful to admit that they do couple-y things when they're, duh, a couple! I think it's totally rad that people enjoy each other's company!" I agreed with him.) As much as I like the speed of big cities, the rush of traveling, and, in general, the new, I do very much enjoy the quotidian, especially if someone I love is by my side partaking in it. He is a wonder.

Maybe this is it. Perhaps these issues are founded on the fact none of what I've cited so far can really be plotted. The everyday--that's easy to locate--but these other phenomena that kind of just exist in the ether and are a little more wandering: there's something very unstable there.

The Wonders of Six Degrees of Separation via Facebook

2007-10-16T14:58:00.001-07:00

Me: "You know N.K.? I went to fucking high school with her!"
P.: "Shes M's cousin... and shes kinda annoying and fiancee is creepy =X"
Me: "OK, good! I'm glad you said it. Man, she was kind of really, really dumb in high school."
P.: "bhahahahaa.. lol.. yeah.. she doesnt seem too bright... she barely made it through tech school and cant pass her certification test.. I feel bad for her =("

I thought I had more to write about from yesterday, but after witnessing V.C.'s complete and utter dedication to the furtherance of her discipline, I must also now--at this hour, at this moment--display a work ethic that shows that I'm as committed.

Songs from a Conversation

2007-10-16T00:34:00.000-07:00

Stephanie says that she wants to know
Why she's given half her life, to people she hates now
Stephanie says when answering the phone
What country shall I say is calling from across the world

But she's not afraid to die, the people all call her Alaska
Between worlds so the people ask her 'cause it's all in her mind
It's all in her mind

Stephanie says that she wants to know
Why it is though she's the door She can't be the room

Stephanie says but doesn't hang up the phone
What sea shell she is calling from across the world

But she's not afraid to die, the people all call her Alaska
Between worlds so the people ask her 'cause it's all in her mind
It's all in her mind

They're asking is it good or bad
It's such an icy feeling it's so cold in Alaska,
it's so cold in Alaska, it's so cold in Alaska

- "Stephanie Says," The Velvet Underground

What a funny song. More thoughts later.

A Proverb for Some of Us on Occasion

2007-10-15T11:06:00.001-07:00

"Curiosity killed the cat."

1. Curiosity can uncover information that may serve as a guide for making educated decisions.

2. Said information can be unexpected or a surprise--both of which are typically bad.

3. Said information can also be good, but this is rare.

4. Said information can influence a kind of "Scarlett Letter" syndrome, or, in other words, a crisis of conscience.

5. Curiosity can serve as a catalyst for other questions that lead to even more instances of the curious impulse.

Fun thoughts for the morning!

Why Staying Up Late Has Its Perks

2007-10-12T03:41:00.001-07:00

Gore and the U.N. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change win the Nobel Peace Prize.

I tend to be a little late on getting the news (maybe a day late, so shoot me) most of the time, but sometimes it's a true thrill to be a remote participant in new news.

Holy Mother of God

2007-10-12T03:26:00.001-07:00

It's 3.30 a.m. and I'm dying to get some sleep. Either a) caffeine b) anxiety or c) insomnia that's keeping me up.

Oh well, might as well make the best of it. Warhol vs. Rauschenberg and Johns, here I come!

Ich bin verliebt

2007-10-11T01:20:00.000-07:00

K. asked me, after we exchanged stories about our respective histories over dinner, if I ever experienced heartbreak in my life. I immediately said, "No," only because I concluded that I never made myself vulnerable enough to experience heartbreak. My answer was also informed by the fact that all the bad memories I've collected from the past have be surpassed by good memories. This doesn't mean I haven't learned or grown (or whatever after-school special bullshit phrase) from these bad memories, it just means they don't sting as much as they did when they were fresh. In other words, what seemed like such a traumatic experience at the time now exists only as fuzzy effluvia.

A few months ago M., K2., and I talked about the feeling of heartbreak. M. said heartbreak feels like having a painful, cancerous tumor that is lodged in your heart for a good three weeks coupled with the feeling of total helplessness. "Woah," I thought, "I kinda know what she's describing."

Going back to K.'s question, I reflected a bit earlier today about heartbreak. I remember K3. (so many friends with names that start with "K," geezus!) telling me that I was visibly shaken (and heartbroken) back in summer 2002. I think I chose to deny that it was happening to me. After all, the situation that caused my apparent heartbreak wasn't serious and I didn't exactly give it my all. My denial had everything to do with me feeling that I was above feeling hurt. I didn't want to grieve when I felt there was nothing really substantial about which to grieve. I could just move on and do my internship that summer and do it well. And I did. I wanted to fill every minute of my existence with activity, so in addition to working full-time, I also enrolled in a research project. I recall, though, that underneath my armor, I was totally depressed and broken. I wanted to save true heartbreak for something real. I didn't want to associate with the cliché, that being my introduction to the world of relationships.

I resisted love. K3. went as far to say that she thought I loved the cause of my misery, but I knew that it wasn't the case. For a month I ran every day to get him out of my head. I would secretly cry in my cubicle at my office as I was cataloguing things only to quickly wipe away my tears whenever my boss would drop by to ask me a question. My anger came out in the reactionary tone with which I wrote papers for my independent study. (It was, actually, pretty effective, as my advisor was much fiercer than I ever could be, and she saluted the aggression in my voice.) These are tiny details but to be honest, I can't even really remember how hurt I felt. I just recall behavior, but it's hard for me to remember how I felt emotionally because all of it doesn't matter anymore.

But yeah, I don't know why I'm thinking about this or why I'm writing about this here because it really has nothing to do with anything. I guess I'm just owning up to the fact that indeed, I was pretty crushed. One thing I know for sure is that I never, ever want to experience that again. Then again, who really does, right?

"He better not break my heart," I said jokingly, "or I'll fucking kill him." K. laughed.

Poached Eggs

2007-10-09T10:57:00.001-07:00

I don't have anything to write here because I'm conserving all my writing zingers for my papers. I'm totally going to start penning at least one of them today. Work! Egad.

K.: "Did you just hear the women next door?"
Me: "Yes! What the fuck were they talking about?"
K.: "I don't know, but they need to get a fucking phone or something. The woman next door is talking to her friend on the next floor by screaming on her balcony."
Us, in unison: "They're SO FUCKING LOUD."

I like me some chaos especially as it's experienced as the white noise of a city, but this is crazy. They're totally yelling at the top of their lungs about fucked if I know. Wilted cabbage? Something inconsequential. I am going to do some poundage of the wall soon to get my point across about the shut the fuck up that needs to happen.

This brings up a thought: I've never, in my "adult" life, lived like an adult. Not a lot of my friends or acquaintances do, either. In fact, many of us still maintain dwellings that haven't evolved much from our existences as undergraduate students. There's still the collapsible tables, the use of the floor for "shelf space," mismatched dinnerware, plastic storage units, etc. I wonder when or if I'll ever begin accumulating furniture and other things that spell out "settlement." I've been so used to the lifestyle of a meager student (or non-profit arts worker, ha) that it's hard to imagine that kind of permanence.

Random: A wonderful backbuch.

Photo: Eggs benedict at Zazie in San Francisco. Z. and I took a brief, 36 hour (?!) traipse to the city by the bay this weekend and accomplished a lot in terms of looking at new buildings and eating incredible lebensmittel!

Komisch

2007-10-05T01:40:00.000-07:00

Just read the last of the Ruscha readings, but before I go to bed, I wanted to write a sentence about a totally irrational thought.

Sometimes I worry that love is not equally requited. It's nonsensical and I know there's nothing by which to quantify these kinds of things. I guess this concern acknowledges vulnerability.

Abend

2007-10-03T18:46:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I am recluse-ing.

I am thinking about cities and permanence. Berlin? Paris? Ich weiss nicht . . .

Bjoerk

2007-10-02T19:18:00.001-07:00

Time to start work on that Halloween costume . . .

My Homefries, W.B.

2007-10-02T17:54:00.000-07:00

MECHANICAL REPRODUCTION!

Is there a way to write within the discipline of A.H. while departing from a focus on the object?! If the object is abandoned, isn't it just social history? Sociology? History?

This question has been plaguing me throughout the day. I can finally move on with at least one paper once I'm able to devise a strategy that is totally against auh, my discipline. Hahahahhh. Or wait, maybe "a diluted form" of my discipline might be more accurate.

Every time I upload photos on Flickr, at least one of the random photos that pop up on the stream of random user photos showcase some kind of wedding event. I like clicking on these because they remind me how inherently tacky typical weddings are. My pal T. summarizes it best:

"Oh just because you're getting married and have wads of cash to blow it doesn't mean you have good taste."
Nary a truer sentence has been uttered.

Here are some examples to prove my point: one, two.

I know, I know, unsuspecting victims. I'm such an asshole, but I really can't help it. I'm not against the whole party thing (I LOVE me a party!), but the dress and the tux thing is so auh, lodged in visual semantics.

I'm a huge fan of those weird stringy-hair-type accents that fall alongside the face of bride. EXCELLENT.

It's all about a potluck and a dress fashioned out of burlap material if I'm ever in that position! Preferably directly from bag that once contained russets. Russets are good and they make mean potato pancakes.

Anyway, god, my neighbors are so fucking loud. I'm going to pound on my wall tomorrow if they wake me up at 6.00 am with their screaming above the lungs again. Jerks.

Ein Letztes

2007-10-02T01:17:00.000-07:00

Hooray! It's going to be such a fun winter, provided we both complete our respective tasks and do it with flying colors.

I love being in love!

One More Thing

2007-10-01T22:49:00.001-07:00

This is perhaps evocative of my rapidly advancing age, but I'm totally obsessed with this New York Times blog.

Tired

2007-10-01T22:25:00.001-07:00

The deadlines for my papers are fast approaching (approximately two and a half months left to write three seminar-length papers) and I am scrambling to solidify my theses. Actually, strike that, I'm scrambling, rather, for theses. Heh heh.

We read Douglas Nickel's monograph on Francis Frith for S.'s class this week. The book covers Frith's photography of the "Orient," Egypt and Palestine, in particular, in the 1850s. I've never been terribly versed in nineteenth century-specific discourses on photography, but I am familiar enough with methodology to know that Nickel's locus for his argument is problematic and flawed. Why? Well, I'm not going to get into the meat and potatoes of his sumptuously illustrated tome, but, basically, I feel that Nickel uses Frith (as he does many of his other subjects) as a vehicle to reflect on the social and culture conditions around which the work was produced. There is nothing wrong with this methodology, in fact, I prefer this model to the conservative and conventional Kraussian model of formalism, but the problem lies in Nickel's unwillingness? reluctance? to bring the context back to the work, images, or objects. In seminar we discussed how Nickel's introduction made us excited about his project. He writes:

Francis Frith in Egypt and Palestine: A Victorian Photographer Abroad

Yeah! Structuralism! This sounds pretty fucking awesome. But. Boo. Nickel never really adequately connects the images to his discussion around contextual conditions. We hear about the photographer's life, but how does his experience (as a Quaker! Where did that come from?!) color his framing of the "Orient?"

I think Z. said something like this to me once: "It's like driving by a building and not going in to see it!" Really! To extend the analogy, were someone to about architecture, it's like writing for about a minute about the building existing and then going on for four days about the blocks around which the building was situated with snippets of the building's relationship to the site inserted into a few sentences. Blah! (OK, I realize I may be exagerrating a little here!)

Questions to think about!

I'm trying to think about Nickel's method in relation to how I'm going to orient (no pun intended, heh heh) my own paper. We went around and briefly discussed our nascent ideas and I proposed doing something about labor in the West during late nineteenth century. There has been a ton of work done on the romanticization (mythologizing? heroicization?) of the Native American population through photography, but not much has been done, strangely enough, on the same subject but as it pertains to the very people who literally constructed the West. According to S. I'm onto something new here, as I almost have to start from scratch with my research. This means digging up old stereotypes and analyzing every bit and piece of visual data (which I will attempt to translate into text, hooray!) in hopes of constructing an intelligible narrative. Nickel's text was good in that it gave me some methods to work with and avoid.

Eep!

I just came back from a meeting at school. The main purpose of these monthly meetings is to vote on funding for various organizations to host whatever events strikes their fancy. My school has a boatload of money and they'll fund nearly anything a convincing student proposes to them. Anyway, an organization--something related to the medical field and Christianity--offered an event that would train health professionals to talk about Christianity (and spirituality? I'm not sure) with their patients during times of need and despair. I recoiled a little when they introduced the objective of their organization, but after they conveyed their reasons I gave them the benefit of the doubt. They explained that a lot of people are religious and when people are about to um, DIE, religion can be a comforting thing to have around. I guess doctors these days aren't really able to depart from the clinical, scientific zone into the language of religion. I didn't object to the amount they requested but R., one of my friends, raised his hands and said something to the effect of, "I don't understand the purpose of this. This is totally non-secular and the objectives are too politically loaded. I vote to give them no money."

I totally understood where R. was coming from. Like R., I'm not a big fan of academia sponsoring events that are affiliated with specific religions. The whole debate, however, made me think about how religion seems so anathema to academia and intelligentsia. I think it's really easy to get sucked into these dichotomous positions with religion, especially in a country that seems so split in terms of how it interacts with religion. In the end, I think immediate rejections of all things religious in the academic realm does a big disservice to rigorous criticality.

Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles

2007-09-27T01:40:00.000-07:00

I'm writing one of my seminar papers on Reyner Banham's work in Los Angeles. I have to do tons more research on it tomorrow. My problem right now is finding a solid enough thesis upon which to base thirty pages of original scholarship. Oof.

M.R. said something today that was a little sad, but terribly true: "Mainstream Los Angeles is the definition of everything that is disgusting about America."

Would the taco truck qualify as "mainstream Los Angeles?" How about Das Bunker or The Smell? I am conscious about singling these places out because I know they themselves are pretty conscious about avoiding whatever mainstream Los Angeles represents. I am thinking about how effective these "alternative spaces" are as counterpoints to Insipid LA. How do these places think of themselves in the context pervasive Hollywood that somehow incorporates itself into so many aspect of culture in LA?

I'm aware that mainstream LA is disgusting and I'm not really interested in assessing the whys of this--it's pretty obvious. I'm more interested in looking at it all on a psychological level--why is there a love/hate relationship with this brand of culture? What about it makes it so entertaining, shit, almost enrapturing?

Ultimately, I guess, what is taste and why does such a rebellious model of it originate from LA? (I have half of the answer to the latter question.)

Tonight I had dinner at a Oaxacan restaurant with B. We walked from Koreatown to the MacArthur Park area. People approached us asking if we wanted to buy illegal versions of Viagra. As murky as everything seemed, the liveliness of the immigrant street life made me so happy. Oaxacan mole sauce, illegal Viagra, and a gallon (a fucking gallon) of Gallo wine. What else could be better? What a city.

The Beacon

2007-09-27T01:38:00.001-07:00

Ich denke, daß dieses AWESOME ist.

(I think that this will be AWESOME.)

Help Me Think of a Title - These are Starting to Suck

2007-09-27T01:24:00.000-07:00

I thought a lot about driving today. I thought, in particular, about the huge amounts of time wasted in traffic. I was supposed to meet B. at a certain time and had to plan my commute (a whole of five miles, I believe) to anticipate at least one hour of traffic. One hour of traffic to travel five miles? Am in a totally different universe or is this unacceptable?

It ended up taking me about forty minutes. I was able to shave off twenty minutes from the anticipated hour by employing my expertise at defensive driving.

C. approached me this afternoon with a dilemma. She hates her job. She feels like a Photoshop monkey. She wants drop all of it and intern at a cheese shop. Circumstances that seem a little endemic to my collection of friends and cohorts as of late. She asked me about the time I apprenticed at a patisserie. The conversation then snowballed into a master plan to find investors for our food shop/restaurant/something else food-related. I've discussed this with a few people and those who are disenchanted enough with their current situation have expressed interest in partaking in our theoretical food co-op. There's C. and me, there's B., M. in Berlin, and J. Hell, we might just follow the Arzimendi model!

We're only toying around with this idea for the time being, but who knows? It might materialize in some way soon.

But god, I really thirst to keep my foot in the realm of critical thinking and text.

"Food is one of the only places where we feel totally secure with ourselves and our opinions about things," said C. It's much too true. I've never been insecure about any of my thoughts about food, despite disagreements that I might encounter from others. I'm 100% confident in my ability to do whatever I can with my tools and ingredients and trust my taste buds to be truthful with me about the food I put in my mouth. It's also so fun to participate in discourse about simple things like taste, smell, you know, the senses. I'm obviously interested in sight but I often feel the simple act of looking gets tangled and trapped in complexities that drown out the pleasure of it.

Here come the questions: What is pleasure, and who defines it? Isn't experience through the senses mediated by one's subjectivity?

This is where I contradict myself.

Anyway, I am excited about this blog. She is fun, smart, and her writing about art is not overwrought with academic mumbo-jumbo. Because really, what's the point of talking about fascinating things that only a select privileged few can enjoy? I'm a proponent of accessibility! Hooray!

Z. and I are discussing Xmas plans and so far we've tentatively settled on spending it at his parents' place in S.C.! I'm super thrilled about seeing a new part of the country! There's a forest nearby! So many hot wings to be eaten and supermarkets to visit! But beyond all of that, I'm excited about hanging out with my liebling (!) for Xmas! :)

(Photograph: Pat and Mr. Puppers. I may not seem like I entertain the idea of stuffed creatures, but if you know me well enough, you'd know what they are about. Ha.)

Revisiting Old Texts

2007-09-25T15:03:00.000-07:00

I'm re-reading Mimi's texts from her old website and am beginning to think about these things again. I need to resuscitate these discourses into what I'm doing right now without watering down the foci of my discipline. We shall see what becomes of this.

I can't get enough of these orange clouds.

2007-09-22T19:07:00.001-07:00

Perfect weather for being in love.

Downtown mit die Himmel

2007-09-22T19:02:00.001-07:00

Mehr

2007-09-22T18:57:00.001-07:00

Ich liebe das Wetter

2007-09-22T18:54:00.001-07:00

God, what a perfect day.

A Snippet of Preparation

2007-09-21T01:28:00.000-07:00

In Rauschenberg's case, "the image is not about an object transformed." With this, Krauss asserts that Rauschenberg's use of objects renders them to be both part of the painting (their use outside of the painting is irrelevant once they become embedded in the painting) while also existing as identifiable objects that exist in the time for which it was made. Krauss writes that it "joins the work as a materialization of the culture from which it sprang."

One week = two presentations on the prolific writing of Ms. Krauss. And my program is supposedly a little invested in contesting the groundwork she's laid out for our discipline. Hahhah.

When Tempers Collide

2007-09-20T12:08:00.001-07:00

Me: "He just didn't fucking understand what I was saying."
Mom: "Yeah, you just keep saying 'fuck.' It's such an embarrassment. Girls who say 'fuck' look shameful in the eyes of boys."
Me: "I'm going to fucking say 'fuck' as many fucking times as I fucking feel it to be fucking necessary!"

Geezus, guys, spare me this tiff. I've got enough on my plate as is. This is another reason why I want to move far away from the mess that is my family. Scrapping my plans to see them this weekend--the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.

Sachen

2007-09-20T03:12:00.000-07:00

I don't know. Sometimes I think I know, but then I end up not knowing again. Today is (was?) one of those days when I just sit around and do not know. It, of course, didn't feel all that great at all. At least the weather was nice.

It was balmy. The pattern will continue for the next few days. There might even be some precipitation by the end of the week. I sound like those weather men that Adam Gopnik cites in his writing. "And Serbia? [In a cloying tone.] Expect some rain there today, guys!" Bombs were dropped in the region within the last decade, but hey, according to the weather forecaster, there's just going to be some rainfall in the region, guys!

I know I am just being snippy and overcritical, but I can't help but make these kinds of observations when I'm having a bad day. Things that I might otherwise gloss over become amplified when I'm having a bad day. I'm going to acquit myself of moodiness and blame it on the pre-time-of-the-month hormones. Jerks.

Due to my under-the-weather-ness, I slept a good amount of the day away and now it's near 3 am and, naturally, I'm now unable to fall asleep when I actually need to. It's kind of nice to be the only one up in an entire block (most likely). I like being up at strange times of the day or night. I feel as though I'm the only person in the entire world who is up.

I need to call someone named Gary tomorrow. Business stuff. Boring stuff. Stuff I don't really give two hoots about but I need to do anyway. I hate the mundane. I really hate the mundane unless it involves my participation as a conscious observer. I want to step back and look. I'm not really interested in the daily dealings of it all. Balancing books. Writing cheques. Calling the plumber. Paying bills. Doing laundry. Buying groceries. Washing the car. Powerwalking whilst donning pantyhose with power suits and white sneakers during your lunch hour.

There's a man who sells secondhand Barbie dolls in his little makeshift stand along Flower Street and Fifth Street. I believe he offers about thirty dolls from which to choose. He displays the thirty dolls sitting beneath a singular Ken who watches over them in the most dominant of poses (hands are oriented at a 90 degree angle over the heads of the dolls). K. and I make up narratives about the man: "He's hangin' out with so many fine ladies!" He changes the location of his booth every once in awhile but he never manages to disappoint us with the layout of his display. Who needs the cinema when guys like this exist in the world?

I saw Wings of Desire by my lonesome on Monday and I wanted to cry so many times when the scenes were just so Berlin-y. I miss the accessibility of everything in that city. I miss dividing up my garbage into different categories of recyclables. I miss my Höfes, the forests, the water, the lack of smog, the cosmopolitanism, the weather. I don't know. I've never been one to think I was above any city, but, to be honest, LA is wearing me down a little. I didn't like feeling like I was putting my life on the line yesterday when I biked to school. I don't like having to get in my godforsaken car every time I step out of my flat. I want to get on my bike and not feel like I'm doing anything special. I want to not choke on exhaust. I want to be able to pick up my green chard at the local vegetable stand on my way to something else. I want to be part of the scale of a city as a human form and not as a car that only sees huge billboards flying by at sixty miles per hour. There is something very eerie about mediating experience through the dimension of speed.

Pardon me, I've been reading a small amount of Mr. Vidler and am becoming more conscious of applying my texts to my daily experiences. This gets a little hairy when it comes to the topics about which the Vidler writes. I am also thinking about the text by Schivelbusch, something about the experience of the railroad in the context of the 19th century. The observations Schivelbusch made are totally relevant today as they apply to cars, the metro, bicycles, everything.

I feel like throwing up because my brain is just so full of stuff and right now it feels a little overwhelming to process what it all means.

This blog will probably self-destruct soon. I have nothing else to say in a public forum.

Die Decke

2007-09-19T01:50:00.001-07:00

There are many, many times during which I just enjoy the act of looking. It's funny because, in what I do, it sometimes seem as though the practice of looking comes second to the practice of understanding signs and language, only to break it down to apply it to sight. I often thirst to be a creator or someone who can just make sense of out of what the eye sees.

Then again, I was chided a little in seminar once for asking questions that lacked direction (in a good way, in my opinion) and verged too much on the edge of sounding overly philosophical. But what's the problem in that?

I am doing a lot of strange thinking tonight (it's nearly 2 am!) but I can't sleep because I'm loaded with fluids and sugar and am a little hyperactive.

I got to see Z. tonight and it was so great. (Or, as he would say it, "Gross, that's gross, you're gross!" Ha.) Even though I'm at a nice level of comfort around him at this point, he often still makes me feel like a silly, absolutely smitten schoolgirl. Hooray!

All right, ich muß gehen zu schlafen! Gute Nacht, finally!

Single Layer Cake

2007-09-19T01:49:00.001-07:00

My Favorite Building in All of LA

2007-09-19T01:46:00.001-07:00

"And this traditional also crowns the city's life-style, not only in commercial signs, but also in one structure that is a public building in the conventional sense of the word, the only public building in the whole city that genuinely graces the scene and lifts the spirit (and sits in firm control of the whole basis of human existence in Los Angeles): the Water and Power Building of 1964 by Albert C. Martin and Associates. In daylight it is a conventional rectangular office block closing the end of an uninspired civic vista and standing in an altogether ordinary pool full of usual fountains, but at night it is transformed. Darkness hides the boredoms of the civic centre and from the flanking curves of the freeways one sees only this brilliant cube of diamond-cool light riding above the lesser lights of downtown. It is the only gesture of public architecture that matches the style and scale of the city." (Reyner Banham, Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2001), 116.)

I don't have my Chicago Manual of Style with me, but note that Banham first published this book in 1971, while he was a visiting professor at UCLA. Much has changed in the LA landscape (and, on the other hand, much as stayed the same, as well), but the consistency of Banham's observation of the DWP building totally lives on today.

I am looking forward to excavating the Banham papers this weekend, perhaps!

Erwin Redl

2007-09-19T01:36:00.001-07:00

J.Chicago

2007-09-19T01:33:00.001-07:00

Not Buren in Marrakesh

2007-09-19T01:30:00.001-07:00

Buren in Paris

2007-09-19T01:29:00.001-07:00

Marfa

2007-09-19T01:11:00.001-07:00

Our Blinds

2007-09-19T01:09:00.001-07:00

No words, just pictures.

All right, a few descriptive words with pictures!

Bradbury Building

2007-09-18T12:46:00.001-07:00

Maybe I'll take a look-see again today!

Nein

2007-09-17T09:22:00.001-07:00

Waking up at 6.30 am sucks. Waking up at 6.30 am to read (and not run) sucks even more.

Thank Zeus for coffee.

I hate mornings, ja!

Ich bin Full

2007-09-16T18:49:00.001-07:00

S. seems to be a pretty laid back in person, but she is really, really direct and no-nonsense over email. I am thinking she's just wired that way. Maybe it has to do with passive-aggression. I am presenting two essays in her class tomorrow and as I'm doing this I'm trying to anticipate all the criticisms she'll have of my work not because I'm going into it thinking I will fail (surprise!), but because she doesn't seem tacit about expressing her dismay during presentations. We'll see what happens tomorrow. I'm more afraid of this class than the one that meets on Fridays.

So the breakfast/brunch party that started as an affair for five turned out to be something closer to an affair for eleven. People trickled in and out throughout the morning (and, I guess, the early afternoon), but it appeared as though much fun was had by all. Hopefully we'll have a repeat sometime soon! B. proposed we do a big dim sum outing, Friday or Sunday dinners on the Eastside, and so on. Sounds like fall 2007 will be great!

I think K. is on her way up. I hear her laughing in the courtyard. It's hilarious.

Onto a totally different and vague story: He was flipping through my appointment book today and I got a trifle nervous. I have to admit, as open as I am with him (and in general, with everyone, as evidenced by this public blog), I am still somewhat of a secretive person. Even as matter-of-fact as the notes in my appointment book are, many of the scribbles reference events and dates that are meaningful to me, as minute and seemingly insignificant as they might be to others. Anyway, the secrets I keep don't necessarily refer to anything specific, rather, they detail a nuanced collection of things that would label me as an emotional, caring, and somewhat vulnerable person. Now, I don't have any problems with showing emotion and stuff, but vulnerability? This is new to me. This is especially new to me when it comes to him.

For example, throughout my appointment book I've written numbers ("five," "six," etc.) on the date of the 24th to mark the months we've been together. I'm not particularly interested in silly month-type anniversary deals and the like, instead, my marks just remind me how happy I am about being with him and how the months just seem to fly by when we're together (and drag on a little when we're not, like during July and August!). I was a little embarrassed when he saw these numbers in my appointment book because it says a lot about my sappy side. Right when that thought registered, another thought almost immediately obscured it: I don't need to be embarrassed or nervous toward him about things that I am honest about with myself. In fact, I am relieved to be able to share these thoughts with him. I admit that I really care that we've been together for six months next week! I mean, geezus, this will mark the first time I've been in a functional and healthy relationship for more than a few months! Since I archive all my schedules, I'll be able to flip through 2007 and to find the date when I cut his hair (and it looks rad, by the way)! I'm looking forward to getting tipsy and shaking my ass at that wedding next month, so of course I've got that penned!

Moral of the story is: I'm at a point where I'm no longer shy about caring and goddamnit, it's fucking liberating.

All Right! Today's Meals Consisted of Two Balance Bars!

2007-09-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting for traffic to die out before making the trek back to the Eastside. As I'm waiting, I'm printing about a hundred pages of reading and I am feeling very guilty about it. I guess I can read my assignments digitally, but there's something very satisfying about being able to mark and comment all over a text. I suppose it can be called a little excessive at best (the question boils down to: does the cutting down of so many trees after weeks of printed matter worth the enjoyment I get out of being able to write on something that's tangible?) and wasteful at its worst. I'm trying to justify my actions by telling myself that, indeed, every piece of paper that's being printed will end up in the recycle bin. This stuff totally has a life outside of my ephemeral ownership of it.

So far, my seminar about New York / Los Angeles is proving to be one of the most enjoyable courses I've taken as a graduate student. Things are just making sense and the fact that I just get it gives me a lot of confidence in this discipline. I'm able to interrogate the texts (and be personally engaged with it!) in a way I haven't been able to in a long time. I feel as though I can really contribute something great to this discourse and this feeling is quelling a lot of concerns I've had as of late about this arena of study.

"What does 'fresh'-ness mean in a practice?"
"What is virtuosity, and who defines it?"

To that end, these Balance bars are wreaking havoc on my poor stomach.

Sometimes

2007-09-14T11:11:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I am a foolish. I don't want to be that fool who loses out on something great. He is so great and I just need to stop being so, well, dumb.

Things That Were Said To Me Today

2007-09-11T20:56:00.000-07:00

"Where is L., and what have you done to her?"

So this year I agreed to be one-half of an organizing committee for the symposium that will represent the intellectual trajectory of our department in the field 'o A.H. (God, I'm so paranoid and am slapping on made-up acronyms for everything that's "personal" fearing that this blog is Google-able!) One of my responsibilities entails emailing the department updates on meetings, topics arrived at through brainstorming sessions, and other general information to make this symposium "a success!" In doing so, I broke out my "official sounding voice." If you know me at all, er, at least personally, you know I seldom sound professional. I actually come across sounding like something between a dying hyena and a beached whale, or think of another animal in distress, and that's how I sound like. For this position, I have to write things like:

"Your attention is appreciated in regard to the following information:"Now, how fucking snazzy is that? I totally sound like a German ball-buster. Or, in other words, totally awesome. This position allows me the opportunity to exhibit my alter-ego, that of a Stasi incarnate! Yipee!

"You know, I never, ever thought you were disinterested or indifferent when you're quiet in class. You always look pensive. You seem to say brilliant stuff when we talk one-on-one, but sometimes you seem to be in your own world."

Ja, I'm really glad R. is my advisor. I was terrified about my review, although I wasn't especially surprised. I went through an impasse. My time away from the discipline, I suppose, helped me somehow resolve that impasse. R. was able to sense the stages I was experiencing and gave me suggestions on how to deal with them. Turns out he had the same kind of questions in graduate school. He, too, was intensely self-editing, self-critical, and reticent about speaking before working out all possible retorts. It comforted me knowing that someone like him was once like someone like me.

"Bring the waffle iron and the mixer."

Oh, you didn't need to tell me. Indeed, our apartment is now outfitted with a KitchenAid mixer that notes its "commercial" capabilities on its side and a Belgian waffle iron that actually rotates like the ones found in self-service cafeterias! I'm debating between having breakfast out or having it in (homemade!) this weekend. It will all be dependent on ingredients and ideas/recipes available.

Even after Saturday's ice-cream binge/fiasco, I continued, today, to scarf down the stuff as if it were water. Lesson not learned: I feel sick again!

Parliament Funkadelic

2007-09-06T23:40:00.001-07:00

Gloria and I admitted to having a crush on Jamie Lidell two years or so ago. I became re-acquainted with this song today and remembered why we were so enamored with him. It was such a treat to share space with him here and there this summer in Berlin--he's an important fixture in the city's music scene! God, Warp Records has such fucking awesome taste in artists.

I am big fan of irreverence, but only toward things or subjects that deserve irreverence. What these things are is another story in and of itself. I am not a big fan, however, of unwarranted irreverence. Whatever, I'm comfortable with my stances and observations and no one's going to rain on my parade. I know I am quite jocular but I also have a serious side and that serious side is not usually manifest in the tone of my speech. It's not terribly subtle, either. I hate the feeling of being dismissed and I can only take so much.

My Favorite Höfe

2007-09-06T01:43:00.001-07:00

Sophie-Gips-Höfe in the courtyard that houses Barcomi's (and the best cheesecake I've ever had).

Stairway in the Kulturforum at the Gemäldegalerie

2007-09-06T01:41:00.001-07:00

Why can't I bloody sleep!?

Ich Weiß!

2007-09-04T23:19:00.000-07:00

Geez, I really love him.

I know I've been doing a lot of these single-sentence posts, but I can't help it!

Neuer

2007-09-04T16:56:00.000-07:00

New philosophy for this semester: Treat your graduate school career as a job. Here are some rules that I will try to follow:

1. Get up at 7.30 am to prepare for the day (despite having classes only twice a week).
2. When not on campus, sit in front of the computer and answer all business-related emails expediently.
3. When said emails have been answered, do all the reading for class. Be sure to be critical and notate everything on the margins.
4. Do things in advance. Try not to procrastinate. Procrastination is your nemesis and you know it.

OK, I'm going to stop. I'm inching into the "talking in the third person" territory. And we all know only crazy people do that.

Nothing

2007-09-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

This intensely warm weather makes me miss Berlin. I think the average was around 65F while I was there. Sure, it rained a lot and it depressed me a little by the fifth week, but all in all, the weather was so pleasant. No blazing heat, no suffocating on the very air that I breathe, and no accidental brandings of my right thigh with my smoldering car keys.

Is this kind of heat even possible? As a kid I remember LA summers being rather mild. Then again, I was young and I most likely had no other point of comparison. Everything probably seemed "mild" in my world. It feels as though it's getting exponentially warmer as every year goes by. Forget progeny, kids, we're all going to burn like the dickens come fifty years.

As much of a Southern California girl as I am, I really don't think I can take this type of heat for much longer. It makes me feel lethargic and disgusting. To thrive, I need to live in a very mild, if not a little nippy, climate. I was thinking Iceland (but it gets pretty chilly there, ja?) or Canada or somewhere where 90+F highs are rare. The idea of being able to cook a fucking chicken on the pavement is frightening to me.

My sister and I went to my older sister's housewarming party today. Mind you, as insanely bizarre and extremely paranoid as my older sister is, she's surprisingly very green in the way she lives her life. She refrains from using air conditioning (this might also be because she's very cheap), she recycles Styrofoam, brings canvas bags to the grocery store, carpools, eats mostly organic and/or sustainably grown/processed foods, and seldom ever throws anything recyclable in the garbage can. Hell, she's kind of better than me at being green. I tend to criticize everything that comes out of her mouth because her points are usually filled with over-generalizations and borderline offensive remarks about marginal peoples, but I'm very impressed with her inconsistent character traits. Paradoxes are refreshing in this world of fulfilled expectations.

Auf Deutsch Wieder

2007-08-30T21:40:00.000-07:00

Es gibt ein rotes Licht und eine große Straße. Ich dachte ungefähr fünf Sachen dieses einmal besetzte i meine Zeit mit in der Vergangenheit. Dann fing ich an, zu denken an, was meine Zeit jetzt besetzt und ich gehaftet glaubte. Ich hob meine Schwester und die Musik auf dem Radio auf, der wie Todesfeemusik geklungen wurde. Sie erklärte mir, dass sie wie indische Musik klang, die gewesen sein kann, warum ich ursprünglich zu ihr gezeichnet wurde. Ich habe eine Prüfung und eine Kurs morgen. Es alle Enden bei fünf und dann werde ich mit alles heraus darstellen danach gehaftet.

Ridiculousness

2007-08-30T15:50:00.003-07:00

This flat is occupied by a collection of lovesick fools. It's great and totally weird. Ha.

Ich Bin Zueruck In Den USA (Mit Viel Fragen)

2007-08-28T14:33:00.001-07:00

It's always so great to talk to M. Conversations with her remind me that it's OK to ask questions and be critical about things to which we are totally committed. This type of criticality is indicative, we assume, of our zeal and dedication to the practice of thinking. As a constant endeavor, the act of questioning is never easy. A willingness to trek on despite mental fatigue and crises of confidence somehow evinces suitability in the respective fields that are subject to our interrogation. I think.

A huge part of me--the cynical part, of course--doubts this assessment. This cynical part also informs me that I should now work on a timeline to resolve these issues of apathy.

I was rudely awoken this morning by my neighbors who were yelping about something in Cantonese. I am now living in Chinatown and it's not quite an idyllic a lifestyle as my old residence in Silver Lake. I tried to "shush" them through the window a few times this morning, but my protestations were drowned out by oscillating crescendos in the conversation. K. informed me that these neighbors also host weekly Mah Jong games. Wonderful. Needless to say, this year will be rather interesting . . .

There's a full house in this flat this week, but I quite like it. We are three girls who are very similar in disposition and, as a result, we've been collectively partaking in great discussions about dogs, boys, food, hiring people from Home Depot to move furniture, European supermarkets, loving, hating, and etc. We are like three peas in a disgruntled, angst-ridden, but miraculously well-meaning and happy pod. Hooray!

K. and I are in agreement on the fact that gyms are the best places to see the dumbest tattoos. Today we found a older gentleman (he was about 45 or 50?) donning a tattoo of a dragon climbing up his thigh. What was he thinking when he got it, really? "Yeah! It'd be AWESOME to have a dragon swirling up my thigh only to disappear around my crotch area?" It was so bad it was good. I hope I bump into him again, as his horrible decision deserves to be documented with my digital camera.

Ohne Titel

2007-08-26T15:17:00.000-07:00

He is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time. I am so happy to be in love with him.

The Grind

2007-08-24T12:54:00.000-07:00

I'm back on campus and it feels weird. I thought I'd be excited about starting the new semester, but I actually feel a little reticent. The evaluation from the summer course didn't exactly make me feel more secure about what I'm doing. Gah.

It's times like these when I just want to chuck what I'm doing and do something completely different. Really, I just want to write, but not about stuff that's obscure and inaccessible. I just want to think, but really not about things that I often find pretentious and irrelevant. I want to be able to engage in everything that's happening out there--that everything being subjects to which everyone can relate. Maybe academia isn't the place for that. It's such a cloistered and precious space.

We'll see. I'll attempt to try harder this year. Last year was quite lackluster and I admit I never really put 100% into any of my classes. It was definitely closer to around 60%, if even.

The thing, though, is that I need to be absolutely obsessed with what I'm doing in order to dedicate 100% of my energies and enthusiasm to a project. Without that type of commitment, I just get by (and do average or decently well) with apathy. The end result is a hallowed and miserable soul.

I wonder if I'm trying really hard to convince myself that this is for me because it'd be easier if I can convince myself to think in such a way. I wouldn't need to consider career changes and other such unstable issues.

My life this past year has been wonderful, but definitely not ideal. Perhaps this is the case because my line of work in the last few years has been what's come easy to me. It's actually not even that easy. In fact, it's pretty fucking hard, but it's what I'm used to and it's what's comfortable to me. I'm now noticing that the thing that was previously the source of comfort has morphed into the very thing that causes me distress. Blah.

All right, end blabbering senselessness. I need to think about what P. in Berlin told me. Homeboy dropped out a Ph.D. program and is now teaching in New York. He said dropping out was one of the best decisions he's ever made in his life. How great.

I need to do something that would still allow me to maintain a critical eye, though. It would drive me up the wall to be complacent and to accept everything as it is by being, I don't know, a fucking drone in a horrible company. I'd, without a doubt, waste away. I just need to be able to continue to think.

Yikes, must read a few essays by Barthes for Monday. Supposedly a very simple, digestable, and very cursory introduction to the course. Not.

On a completely different note, I feel bad for not visiting my sister's new place yet. I should do that soon, but not until next weekend. H. is coming down and we're going to arrange to have dinner at a nice place with Y. And I get to see someone I love tonight. :)

Letztes Frühstück in Berlin

2007-08-19T10:35:00.001-07:00

"Last breakfast in Berlin." Actually, that should be last proper breakfast in Berlin. I'm totally going to re-create this in communal form when I return to LA, though! How exciting!