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Raisin Bran Blues

05.28.04 (1:22 pm) [edit]

Iā€™m eating dry cereal out of a plastic cup with no fork and washing it down with Diet Coke. My exhaustion keeps me from seeking better nourishment. I actually went to bed early last night ā€“ passed out in the middle of reading River Town: Two Years on the Yangze. But my darling man came ambling home around 2 a.m. sauced and without a key. After pounding on the door for God knows how long, I rose and unlocked the door, making an immediate lunge back towards the bed. My plan failed. He was in a good mood from the booze and wanted to chat. I did not. After poking at me and trying to be sweet (Love-y kisses and I love yous) I woke up enough to ask him if he did any studying for his final today. I never got an answer out of him, but I did find out he went to a bar with a study buddy (does that count as studying?) and then went on drinking by himself, a task he often undertakes. Trying to hide my extreme annoyance about not being asleep, I rolled over while he yapped away (my guy is not a yapper ā€“ he mostly nods and adds a really? or thatā€™s nice when I chat away). Finally he left the bedroom to smoke, which was fine until he turned some angry male music on. So, I slept crappy and am tired, but am proud of myself for not bitching at him or causing a scene (which Iā€™ve been know to do ā€“ my no-windows hotel room tantrum is famous among our China friends). He finally doesnā€™t work this Saturday, so I assume we will zoom around tonight. Where to? Not sure. I still donā€™t know Chicago well and prefer to leave it up to the others. Hopefully this evening will not end up like the last: at a bar with a group of people, completely gone, telling my guy heā€™s an asshole and him replying with shut the fuck up, over and over again. Neither of us remembers this incident, it was recounted by a friend. Oh-well, if we both donā€™t remember, it couldnā€™t have really happened, right?

Asian-American porn and sexuality

05.27.04 (6:54 am) [edit]

“Like Hamamoto, hundreds of Asian-American males are writing books and poems and creating Web sites in hopes of redefining themselves by combating the enduring notion that they are sub-masculine. Many are offended that Asian men are projected as power players when it comes to intellectual intercourse but bystanders in the world of romance.” (Sex, self-image and the Asian-American Man, Chicago Tribune article, 05/25/2004)
The article went on with Hamamoto and his new film, “Skin on Skin,” which is pornographic and stars a Korean-American actor. “I wanted to take the lowest road possible. Something basic. Raw.” He also plans to launch a porn company to empower Asian-American men.
All this got me thinking about living in China and only seeing one Chinese man that I thought was attractive. In the ex-pat community in Beijing all the white, Western guys go after these cute little Asian girls, but the white, Western women typically do not go after Chinese men. They do not have raw sex appeal and their infrequent attempts to make it with a Western girl were rather bumbling. While the man situation is lacking (Chinese men just don’t do it for me and Western men mostly have “yellow-fever”), I never felt safer than when I lived in Beijing. I would walk around at night, stumble home drunk or go down an alley without a thought of rape or murder. It just didn’t seem possible for the reed thin men to grab me or even know what to do with me once they hand me in their grasp. Maybe I was underestimating the sexual prowess of the Chinese man, but I doubt it.

Asian-American porn and sexuality

05.27.04 (6:49 am) [edit]

The Elevated

05.21.04 (1:19 pm) [edit]

I never knew how difficult it is to be a stand-up comic until I saw Comedian, which mostly followed Jerry Seinfeld and rising star Ornie Adams. The documentary is so full of self-doubt, insecurities and anxiousness that I felt uncomfortable watching them struggle before, during and after their sets. Even Jerry has terrible moments where you just want to cover your eyes. At one point in the movie a woman, who was obviously not well versed in popular culture, yelled out, “is this your first show?” (To which my friend responded, “If that was my date I would tell her to shut the fuck up, stand up, yell ‘Jerry, you rule!’ and walk out on her.) Jerry was struggling to come up with a solid stand-upset after so many years on TV and some of his material flopped. It takes amazing talent to get up and make people laugh for 20 minutes. The other main “character” is Ornie Adams, who is so full of self-loathing that at times I just could not watch him. His sets are fine, but when they show him before and after, he is a bag of whinny, gripping self-hatred. Oddly, he thinks he is IT and the world doesn’t truly appreciate his comedic talent. Boo-hoo. (One of the best parts of the documentary was Chris Rock talking with Jerry over dinner about how much Bill Cosby rocks. Apparently Rock had just gone to a Cosby stand-up show where Cosby delivered two straight hours of new – and hilarious – material -- he’s an animal! Poor Jerry was still struggling to fill 20 minutes).
So, I bring this all up because I saw The Elevated last Wednesday at Cherry Red (2833 N. Sheffield Ave, Chicago, IL). The show is in the backroom and it was set-up with little tables and candles and then some resale leftover chairs. I got there an hour early (because I was told the wrong time – the show is said to start at 8:30, but doesn’t get going till 9 or later) and sat at the bar, which was a mistake because every time someone got up to order from the bar the stage would be completely blocked. There were six or seven guys that did about 15 minutes each. Matt, who was performing for the last time at The Elevated, had awesome silent crowd control. No awkward pauses with this guy. Great dirty, redneck, drug material. There was a decent variety, but not all made me laugh. Material generally leans towards the young liberal crowd – i.e. children are definitely not welcome. Though all were intelligent, the stage presence just wasn’t there. But for four bucks, it is not bad at all.

Sushi and Martinis

05.17.04 (9:52 am) [edit]

Sushi Wabi (845 W. Randolph) was my destination on Saturday. I started the day by meeting my boy and another couple at Dugan’s for a beer and then went to State to buy fishnets. With plenty of time before our 8:30 reservations (which we changed to 8 because we were ready ahead of schedule, but didn’t actually get to the restaurant till 8:30), we went to Douche Bag’s place and drank his very fine tequila that my boyfriend and I had given him for his birthday. After video games and pretzels snacks, we headed to Sushi Wabi. The modern industrial atmosphere was nicely livened by the DJ’s grooves. We sat by the window – a great seat and immediately ordered the scallops that were on special for an appetizer to get us going. I have never tasted scallops so soft and slick. There was a delicate sesame sauce over these oh-so-tender pieces of heaven. The only thing better than the scallops was my perfect n’ large martini. We had four or so rolls – the tarantula was my favorite. The fried green tea ice cream is also worth saving a little space for. One yummy dinner. Fresh, fresh, fresh and again the martinis are huge.

Back to Beijing

05.14.04 (11:46 am) [edit]

It is done. I am moving back to Beijing in August. There is nothing keeping me in Chicago – except the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Damn, life decisions are hard. I feel more like a tourist in Chicago than I did in Beijing. My support group was so strong there that I found a second family and a city that I love. The foreigners in Beijing are all looking for something – adventure, a career, education and sex with Asian women. This need pulls us together. Thanksgiving was celebrated with a group of 20 friends and only three other than me were American, but all 20 knew they were my family so they came to celebrate my holiday (note: Turkey is very hard to find in Beijing and when you do find it, it is very expensive – plus there are no ovens in Beijing). I miss them. Even though the group has changed and people are leaving (people never stay in Beijing – it’s like summer camp; everybody is there to have as much fun – drinking and the sex – as fast as they can before they have to go home) I want that feeling again. Beijing is more than a transitional spot for me, it is my home.

I Prefer to Understand Less

05.12.04 (2:13 pm) [edit]

I’m becoming more paranoid at my work. I have only been here a month and am only an intern, so my paranoia may be real… or not. I moved to Chicago a little under three months ago from Beijing, China where I was working and living for over a year. I moved here to be with my boyfriend – we decided it was time to try monogamy. In Beijing I did freelance work for news websites, a documentary film company and wrote an English language textbook. China is an easy place to go off into la-la land and not be pressured by fashion, corporate life and stress. But here, in Chicago, I don’t know how I measure up. I haven’t been out of school that long and I am not that familiar with American corporate culture (Since graduation I have worked in Hong Kong and Beijing). I hear laughter from one of my two bosses (yes, that’s right, I have two internships at the same company). Is it the book review I just handed in? Hmmm, maybe I spent too much time in a culture where I understood so little that I turned my hearing off. On the street people would talk, but I wouldn’t listen. Here I ease drop every chance I get. The close office environment is putting my hearing into over-drive. If people were talking about me in China, I didn’t care because I could not understand them. If only my office spoke Mandarin, then I could return to la-la land.

The Tired Front Page

05.11.04 (7:11 am) [edit]

I got up early this morning to do some work and now I am already tired. After waking my boyfriend up at 7:30 and being told, albeit tenderly, “now get out so daddy can do bad things to himself,” I started to read the Tribune. Suddenly, I noticed that it had been a very long time since I cared about anything printed on the front page, above and below the fold. I am not from Chicago, so the casino properties story did not hold my interest and I have long since lost interest in the Middle East – rarely is anything new reported and at this point it seems like maintenance or habit to continually report the same story (I read from Beirut to Jerusalem by Thomas Friedman about a year ago when I was in Beijing and his observation, comments and the situation in that area still hold true today, even thought the book was written over a decade ago). Also, I have always been more interested in Asia and South America, so I seek that news first. Sometimes it is just too tiring to care about everything going on in the world. In college, I began focusing on Asia, specifically China, and I have such a long way to go still to learn about Chinese culture, history, politics and people that I just can’t dive into something like Iraq. Thankfully, there are many people that are interested in that part of the world and continue to bring those issues to light. We can’t all care.

Kill Bill Vol. 2

05.10.04 (9:47 am) [edit]

Kill Bill, Vol.2 was the highlight of my Saturday (that and the plastic bottle of Beam that I snuck into the theater). Between deep sips, I was thoroughly entertained by the conclusion of the Black Mamba’s rampage. I liked it more than the first, but that may be due to the differences in venue – vol. 1 was viewed on a crappy DVD rip off in Beijing (side note: While I was not in Beijing when Tarantino and the crew was, a few of my friends ran into Tarantino at a club where they sipped cocktails with his very drunk self) and Vol. 2 was viewed at a very comfortable theater. Or my love for Vol.2 can be attributed to Michael Madsen and his tattooed Budd. Well into my 20s and I am still connected to the younger me by my crush on Madsen and an undying affection for Mr. Cage, regardless of the pile of drivel that he continues to star in. Back to Vol. 2, I thought Pai Mei was a perfect replica of the numerous soap opera type characters that appear daily in Chinese homes. A little over the top is conservative for most Chinese shows. I missed Beijing as I watched The Bride train with Pai Mei and the conclusion in Mexico made me swoon for sunny beaches. Will I ever find a home where my itchy feet don’t get the best of me? The search continues…

The Ballet

05.06.04 (10:50 am) [edit]

Yesterday, just as I was gathering my things to trudge home, a co-worker offered me an extra ticket to the ballet - the Joffrey Ballet. I felt tired and had a headache (from the two strong whiskey-on-the-rocks I had instead of dinner the night before), but I couldn't remember the last time I went to the ballet. I took the ticket and hurried to State St. to find something respectable to replace my baggy pants and hoody. After a maddening hour of sifting through garments that should not have been designed, I settled on a purple top with lace trimming and a long black skirt complete with flirty ruffle at the bottom. I changed in the bathroom of Filene's and ran to the L -- arriving at the Auditorium Theater with ten minutes to spare. Good grief it was warm. I settled in next to some parents and their daughter who seemed more excited about going to the ballet than actually having to sit quietly for two hours to see the ballet. I was not impressed with the first dance -- leotard-ed dancers running around with ribbons attached to the floor and ceiling, so I took that time to check out the theater. The theater, unlike the first act, is impressive. I sat in the upper balcony and was awed by the height of the stage. The dancers were dwarfed in comparison to how tall the curtains rose. Soon my attention was snapped back to a new set of dancers -- a man and three women in pastel fluffs. It reminded me of something I would have really liked when I was young. After Intermission, two dancers preformed a comic battle of the sexes in which the eternal rites of love were celebrated by balletic boxing. The very funny dance was accompanied by an older cello player who donned a referee costume -- he ended the performance on his back with the cello between his knees. There were three other performances, but my favorite was one called "White Widow," a haunting solo with a woman on a long loop of rope. A circle of moss covered light shown in the middle of stage luminated the dancer as she swung in and out. I learned that I much prefer dark ballet.
The ballet ended and I went home to catch the end of the Simpsons.