Archive for September, 2004

Minority Report

My friend Celeste has been trying to get me to attend this workshop a couple of times now. As much as I would love to attend, I have to turn her down. Not until my trip home would I be able to splurge again.

But if you’re a man/woman of color and interested in telling YOUR story, here’s the info on the workshop.

MY OWN STORY
a 10-week Autobiographical Storytelling/Writing/Performing workshop for MEN & WOMEN OF COLOR

*Tired of being silenced, exoticized, and misunderstood?
*Tired of the lack of representation of stories and experiences of People of Color in mainstream media?
*Have you always wanted to tell YOUR own story?

Come be a part of MY OWN STORY, an autobiographical storytelling/writing/performing workshop. Facilitated by critically acclaimed performance artist ALEX LUU, MY OWN STORY allows participants to come into a safe space and dig deep beyond the layers and UNEARTH, DISCOVER, and EXPRESS all the AMAZING, HILARIOUS, POWERFUL, and POIGNANT stories we all have within us. MY OWN STORY is a rare and liberating opportunity to express and create our own stories on our own terms.

*Absolutely no experience in writing/performing necessary.

Workshop meets Fridays, 6:30pm-9pm (Oct.1st-Dec. 10th)

Fee:
$300-$375 (sliding scale; no one will be turned away)

Location:
Japanese American Cultural Community Center (JACCC, downtown LA)

*Space is limited. Ro register, contact Alex at three_lives@yahoo.com or call (626) 457-8237

Alex Luu is a critically acclaimed performance artist and writer whose one-man show “Three Lives” and other performance works have been seen at theates, arts organizations, and campuses nationally.

Holy Hallelujah!

2 Saturday night miracles.

First. USC edged out Stanford 31-28 in a heart attack of a game. Phew!

Second. Gotham Killer Ribs turned out to be a major hit. I’d give it a 4 out of 5 for my first time out with the ribs. The Bone Suckin’ Sauce is truly stuff made in heaven, and what makes the whole experience worthwhile.

A couple of things I’d do different with the ribs next time, and I’d probably get a 5 out of 5. First, I’d use a more flavorful beer in brining instead of whatever people left in my fridge from the last party. I don’t think Dos Equis works very well. Secondly, I wouldn’t be so stingy with the Bone Suckin’ Sauce. I’d lather the tangy goodness on THICK on the grill. The whole jar for 2 racks of ribs would be perfect.

Another surprise hit at the dinner was the Pillsbury’s Grands! Biscuit Southern Style. They were massively delicious. Slightly crispy outside, fluffy and moist inside, and buttery enough you don’t need to add anything else. Drooool.

Shane and Seren brought the marvelous Mrs. Smith’s Oreo Cream Pie for desert. Wow. It was awesome, and the perfect way to top of the meal and kick off Star Wars!

OAKLEY - THUMP

OAKLEY - THUMP

/me re-labels the piggy bank from “Game Cube” to “Thump”.

Gotham Gospel

Coming to dinner and Star Wars viewing: Lauren, Shane, Pops (his dad), and Serena (Shane’s daughter).

So I decided that I would do my part in spreading the gospel of the Gotham Girl’s Ribs –which I now dubb Gotham Killer Ribs–a recipe that Chris the Frenchy posted on his blog a while ago. He couldn’t stop raving about them ribs so I had to see for myself.

2 racks of pork ribs were brined in mixture of Dos Equis over night. Brandon said the smell of the beer getting cooked is like BO…perhaps I should’ve used New Castle. Then the ribs were rubbed with a mixture of spices and went into super low heat oven since noon. Around 7 p.m. we’ll put them on the grill, brushing them with Bone Suckin’ Sauce–fortunately, I found it at our local Bristol Farms–and cook to set the sauce.

I’ve been afraid to attack it for a while, but when I actually put my hands to this, it’s pretty easy. With all the spices and the search for the Bone Suckin’ Sauce in your local store, this whole process isn’t all that difficult.

I could’ve screwed something up along the way here…but hopefully not. I’ll report back on the taste when we’re done.

Get in the Groove

Brandon rented Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights for me so I could decompress with a chick flick.

That was one of the worst movies I’ve seen this year. Acting was wooden. Story weak. Plot holes and left behind storyline galore. Diego Luna looks like he was 12, and Patrick Swayze looks like 2000 year old mummy. Damn, easy on the nipping and tucking there, boy-o!

But the dancing was great. The music would’ve been better without the any hip-hop fusions, but granted the Latin beat moved my feet nonetheless. Despite all of that, not enough redeeming quality for me to buy the DVD, but it makes me want to own the original movie even more.

Sela Ward, the mom in the movie, said something about giving up her dancing to have her kids was the most difficult thing to do. That’s kind of like me with music and dance. I’m not particularly spectacular in either, but to give them up would be like not living.

After thinking about it a bit, I understand myself a little better. Dancing is the extension of the music. I love music so dancing just comes naturally. Music and dancing are the 2 media I use to express myself: dance when I can’t make music, and make music when I can’t dance.

Wow. An epiphany. From Havana Nights. Shockingly pathetic, eh?

Responsibility

Fuckin’ eh!

I swear to God some parents these days can’t take any responsibilities for themselves or their kids. It makes me furious.

“Allison also said that Spencer’s underwear would not have been exposed if the shirt was left down.

“I don’t understand what motivated her to ask him to lift up his shirt,” he said.”

Well, if you didn’t let your kid leave the house wearing the pants that are falling off of his ass in the first place. What kind of parents are you, sheesh.

PULL UP THE GOD DAMN PANTS!!!

Bongos = Fun

As I wandered through the aisles in Circuit City after making my purchase of Star Wars Trilogy, I stopped at the unusual site of the Nintendo GameCube station.

Are those frelling bongos?

Oh yes they were bongos with a microphone, the controller for the deliciously addictive and humiliatingly fun Donkey Konga. It’s like Dance Dance Revolution but with bongos. A sucker for these rhythm type and you-actually-have-to-get-off-your-ass games, I tried my hands at it. I chose Santana’s classic, Oye Como Va, from the beginner’s selection for the obvious drum beat.

Left bongo. Left bongo. Clap. Pause. Right bongo. Right bongo. Clap. Pause. Left bongo. Left bongo. Rrrrrrrrroll right bongo. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

You get the picture. And oh my god. This is like the best game EVER!

My coworker Bob watched me for half a minute, chuckled, promptly disowned me, and went into hiding in the television section. Terence, on the other hand, acknowledged later that he saw me playing with the thing, and made a wise choice of just walking away from me.

Embarassing. Yes. But hella fun!

Psst. Coming soon. Donkey Kong Jungle Beat. You control the Kong not with the controller, but with the bongo beat.

/me starts putting pennies in the piggy bank for a GameCube.

Dance Dance Revolution

I signed up to take Lyrical Jazz dance classes with Park & Rec. If my ankle could handle this, it’ll be a sign that I should return to dance.

To quote Julia Stiles in “Save the Last Dance”, I used to dance.

I was trained in classical ballet from kindergarten up to 7th grade at a prestigious dance academy. I quit about 6 months into pointe. Why quit when I was so far down the road? First of all, a somewhat medical condition I developed at puberty, kind of like the X-Men mutation…heh. Secondly, I was discouraged by my peers and my instructors.

Until when I was about 13, I used to be fine with motion. I never got sick in a car or on a boat. Spinning in ballet was not a problem especially with the head snapping thing that we do. But one day, I was reading something in the moving car, and I got dizzy. And then spinning in my ballet class became a dizzying affair. This was about the time we started doing turns and spins on pointe. And a LOT of them. I could barely hold it together in class, and would come home with a massive headache and dizziness for a couple of hours afterward. Physically, things aren’t looking good for me and dancing.

By that time, I was also the only girl in my dance school that haven’t taken any Royal Ballet Academy test since my 2nd or 3rd level. I just wanted to dance. I wasn’t going to attend a ballet academy or going into arts and dance program in college. There was no reason for me to keep testing. The instructors allowed me to keep going up the levels with my classmates without taking the tests. In retrospect, they tolerated my presence, and just got paid for my being there.

By the time we got to pointe, I was the only left in the class that wasn’t aiming for the dance profession. That was when the instructors stopped paying any attention to me. I wasn’t inform of the proper way to break into the pointe, and how to actually break the shoes. I kept coming to class with pointe and was wondering why my feet wouldn’t flex like the other girls’. I finally asked my classmate about it. She said they did go over it in class when I wasn’t here. But no one seemed to care to make sure after that that my shoes were in the right condition several classes afterward.

With my physical condition and lack of attention from my danc school, I quit ballet.

Instead, I turned to jazz dance at a more popular dance school. For a year and a half, I was having a great time. My teachers were great, and everyone was there to dance. But then, as all Thai students know, by the time 9th grade comes, life outside academics is virtually over. The ultra-competitive nature of Thai academic demanded most of my weekend hours to studying or being tutored to be prepared for high school (10th-12th) and entering college. The money and time for that 1 hour dance lesson was instead dedicated to math and English tutoring.

My life in dance was virtually over. And I haven’t taken another dance class since. (Well, I did try belly dancing, but that doesn’t really count since I didn’t particularly enjoy it as much. You can’t belly dance well if you’re self conscious, let me tell you that much.)

Anyway. I’m going to be pushing the limit on my ankle here. Yeah, I know I know. I quit–uh–retired from TKD 2 years short of a black belt because my bad right ankle. But I’m going to push it for dance? Of course. Anything for dance.

In any case, the road back to my dancing past is not a smooth one.

Problem number 1. Ankle.

Problem number 2. Shoes.

My class starts Tuesday. I have no shoes. I was going to try using my old, soft ballet shoes but they don’t quite fit. It’s like a quarter of an inch to small. So scratch that plan. The local dancewear store is completely out of shoes bigger than size 4, so I have to hunt some down tomorrow night, or I’ll just have to barefoot it in my first class.

Let’s see how this all will work out in the end.

Turnover

Another one bites the dust as the turnover saga continues…

Office/Project manager, quit on her 8th day with the company.

Night Bird

I’m a night owl. I do my best works at night. But I’m also an early bird, going in to work at 7:30 a.m. (given, it’s less than a mile from home). I don’t mind waking up early if I have to.

If I have my choice, I’d rather sleep in.I seem to make up for it on the weekend when I sleep, and sleep, and sleep…

I just realized I got that from my dad.

My dad’s office is connected to the house. We live in a townhouse, attached home type building. You open the door and voila, it’s dad’s company. So my dad works super late, and he’d come home to watch some more CNN before going to bed around 2-3 a.m. Then he’d be up to go to work around 10 or so, or earlier as needed. But when weekend comes, dad sleeps all the way through noon. And man, we had a contest once way back when. I was up at 1 p.m., and that counting hours of pretending to be asleep, and dad was still in bed snoring.

Man, and I thought I only look like him.

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