How come no one told me about The Guild?

Besides the fact that it's funny and entertaining, there are four Asian-American characters, including two love interests! How cool is that?! Hooray for diversity in media!

Still haven't seen any black people on screen, though . . . :|


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"Rick Santorum, you keep speaking what's in your heart,"

"as long as it's in English."

Link to video, because the embed code won't work. :|


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"Rush will do anything with his mouth for cash."

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And how. .

Buy a Subaru, gain a family.

 It's that easy. 




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"Offense taken."

Key and Peele

"I will not have my reputation tainted selling superficial, bigoted slaves."

Too much funny.


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"You have a lot of chutzpah, mi hermano."

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I'd like to "nosh on some enchilatkes"!


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"Alpha Beta más"

As I have said before, writing is hard. I only have six chapters left to complete in Bianca Reagan: Where the Action Is, but for reasons big and small, they are not yet done.

When talking about my book, one of the chapters I often describe is Ch. 14, "Alpha Beta". The themes discussed by Bianca and Beck reflect issues that I have experienced over the past few years. No, I have never gotten divorced, nor have I dated a married man. Not that I know of, anyway. But I have swum with the sharks in the treacherous waters of the dating pool in Los Angeles, and I escaped metaphorically beaten, bruised and worse for wear.

Since I do not yet have a publication date set for the sequel to Steve the Penguin (available on Amazon!), I don't want to deprive you readers from enjoying what I have already written so far, especially when I am proud of what I would like to share.

Hence, another excerpt from Ch. 14. (It's lengthy, so if you know how to make a click-through page break, please let me know in the comments. Thank you!):

“I liked your story about you and Jean-Luc. It’s inspirational.”

“It’s a fairy tale,” Beck declared with a somber tone. “I got divorced from my first husband, met Jean-Luc, and got remarried. My life tied in a neat bow. I call it my resume gap story. Whenever I tell it, the listeners become beguiled by the meet-cute and the happily-ever-after ending. Their minds skip over the four-year period between nuptials.”

“Why don’t you tell them about those four years?”

Beck lowered her eyes. “I don’t want to sound weak and bitter and depressed.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

She looked up at me. “You know those sayings about relationships, like love will find you, because it will arrive when you’re not looking? Men are like buses: another one will always come around? There are plenty of fish in the sea?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nonsense.” She kept her arms folded across her chest. “For certain people, it is that easy. Suitors fall in their laps, again and again and again.”

“Like a crappy romantic comedy playing on a loop.”

“For the rest of us who aren’t that lucky for whatever reason, it’s horrible. I never thought I’d end up divorced by 31. My ex-husband was a not-half-bad-looking newly single rich guy. He had a string of girlfriends lined up before the ink dried on our papers. I, on the other hand, could not get arrested in this town. On the nights I could find a babysitter, I was going out to clubs, chilling at bars, looking foxy, or so I thought. No men younger than 50 were picking up what I was throwing down. I tried speed dating, and I might as well have been invisible. ”

“That’s sounds disappointing.”

“Summer suggested I try online dating. Some of our friends were doing it and having a blast. They were going out every night of the week. I figured, why not? I signed up for a few reputable sites, the ones who overadvertise their success stories. I waited for the magic to happen.”

“How did that work out for you?”

“I fell further down the rabbit hole of dating, or, more accurately, not dating. At first I thought I was doing something wrong, like my matching settings were turned off, or my profile wasn’t posted, or I had mistakenly described my interests as serial killing, because I wasn’t getting any responses. So I had one of my dating expert friends redo my profile. Still nothing. I’d send out like 15, 20 messages a week. Not a single reply, let alone unsolicited interest from anyone who sounded like they had all their marbles.”

“The crazies are out there.”

“Then I realized what was going on. Success in dating, online or in-person, depended not on who you were, but on the perception of who you were. It was just one big great giant competition for the most desirable players, and I, with my formidable baggage, had not been dealt the most attractive hand for dating in LA. Despite the fact that I was well-educated and independently well-off, I was still a single mom, over 30, with two kids and some junk in the trunk. I looked like a walking statistic for my black and Hispanic communities. I was the package that no one wanted to open, even the guys who had the same traits I did. The single dads, the guys over 30, the Hispanic ones, the black ones, the guys who were way fatter than I could ever imagine, all of them wanted not me. They were looking for someone young, thin, ‘not too ethnic and no drama.’ I saw that all the time on guys’ profiles, as if ‘ethnic’ people come pre-programmed with a drama microchip.”

“My microchip must be on the fritz.”

“After a year of this, I thought, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was just me and my fiery, intimidating, out-of control personality. I couldn’t be the victim of some societal racism/sexism/fat-hating hybrid, could I? It’s the 21st century. Society was different now. Dating was hard for everyone, right?”

I scrunched my face and gave her a shrug.

“To confirm I wasn’t losing my mind, I arranged a get-together at my house with my black woman friends, all two of them, and a couple of their black friends. I asked them what they thought about my dating situation. I discover that it was not just me. Each of them had similar stories of rejection to tell, or worse.” She shuddered. “Much worse. One of my friends showed up to a first date where the guy pulled out a brown paper bag, and it wasn’t for leftovers.”

My body recoiled. “No way.”

“He wanted to make sure she could pass. Which she could, but she was so creeped out, she left before their drinks arrived. The thing that cracked me up in a sad way was when my friend showed me a picture of the dude. His own complexion was more Wesley Snipes than Ice-T.”

“Self-hating.”

“So this dilemma was indeed, at least partially, a color issue. I hadn’t lost my mind. Instead, I lost hope.”

Poor Beck.

“I felt like I was a house for sale, but no one wanted to purchase me. Like every potential homebuyer passed me over, because they thought I was too old or stout, or the wrong color, since they wanted a house painted white. Or Asian.” She clasped her hands. “My depression only grew deeper when I tried to talk about it with some of my friends who weren’t black. They didn’t believe me. They thought I was making a big deal out of nothing. They swore no one ever treated us differently because I was black and they were the right color. Listening to their incomprehension and disbelief and denial of what was happening to me made me physically ill. I felt more alone than ever.”

“If I had known you back then, I would have believed you.”

“Thanks. The whole process was soul-destroying. I stuck it out for another year, during which I was matched for compatibility with literally over 5000 different men, who almost uniformly wanted nothing to do with me. I went on a handful of dates that went nowhere, and came out the other side, emotionally battered, discouraged, questioning my existence. Why had I been chosen to go through this life unloved? I wondered why I was on the planet if no one wanted to be with me. Like I was an alien from another galaxy that had been accidentally left behind by the mothership.”

“E.T.! Or Independence Day.” Or the episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? with the brother of that Canadian guy who was in X-Men. I kept that last observation to myself.

“Thank goodness I had Huey, Blossom, and Summer to keep my head on straight.”

I had neither children nor a reliable sibling. What was I supposed to do with my lopsided head?

“Gosh, I am being such a downer.” She shook the long brown curls around her head. “Back on track now. I was going to say before that Mike or no Mike, you will find your match, even though you haven’t found him yet.”

“I’m supposed to believe that after your tales of woe?”

“That’s me, not you. I think he’s not ready for you at the moment. He’s still baking in an oven, like the cupcake you ate. Very soon, the timer will go off, and he will emerge fully formed. He knows he couldn’t step to you half-baked. Bianca don’t play that.”

“I do have high standards.”

“I’m not going to let you settle. Been there, done that, got the divorce papers. When you think you’ve found The One, I want to meet him and make sure he’s good enough for you.

.

"Consider this alternate plan."

"Then we snuggle up, like little buuunies."

Oh, Tom.

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In honor of Black History Month,

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The Word - American History X'd
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a tale of history revisionists by Stephen Colbert.

I wanted to post the related Ancestry.com sketch from the first episode of Key and Peele, but I can't find a video clip of it. Thanks, Comedy Central. :|


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"People just come up and touch your hair?"

"I also think in this day and age, it's the easiest thing to just label somebody as a racist, and kind of, it's often an unfair thing, 'cause it's a very difficult thing, to, to defend yourself, unless there is actual proof."

"Did you worry about hurting her feelings when you made this video?"

"I guess the flip side is you don't want people watching everything they say, and feeling like everything is a minefield. Which, around this subject, I think a lot of people do."

Okay, seriously, Mr. Cooper? You have completely missed the point. This is a prime example of why certain people should not be allowed to go on national TV and talk about topics which they have no knowledge of and clearly cannot relate to.

The video was not about calling people racist. (Although, I definitely would say, and have said, that all of those comments are racist.) The video was not about Franchesca making fun of her white friend. The video was not about censoring white people, even those who regularly say ignorant things to black people. The video (and the second video, hooray!) was about black women and the offensive statements that they have to deal with on a daily basis. This was not a time to deal with some audience member's "privilege tears" (at 4:45), Anderson Cooper. This was definitely time for an Oprah moment.

I was irritated when I watched that Anderson Cooper video on the YouTubes yesterday morning. I felt better after I watched the following video last night:

This guy gets it. And he is articulate as well. ;) He made me miss Mr. Smooth.


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"We all want to see a black film made . . . just not distributed."

"Is there a guy named Pookie in the movie?"

"We are not racist. I have one African-American friend who I am very close with."

Oh, the sad hilarity. I need my own African-American friend.


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"No. You're black. That's it."

"To have somebody that didn't know anything about my culture telling what Latino was . . . How do we speak again? . . . How should I dress?"

"You're not one or the other. You're both, and you should be proud of both, and not be embarrassed or ashamed of it. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

I know where the Dominican Republic is! How do people not know that? It's on the other side of Haiti. Next you'll be telling me there are U.S. citizens who have never heard of St. Thomas. A likely story.


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"Hey, do you know a Tyrone Jenkins?"

I found this video while looking up stuff about this gentleman who was featured in this article.

The article was inspiring. The video was both highly amusing and depressing due to my ability to relate to it, because 1) I've been there, and 2) I'm still there! I remember dealing with the questions and statements featured in the video while I was in college. Over a decade later, I continue to hear the same inanity spewing from people who you'd think would know better.

Below are my attempts to the thoughts or questions posed in the video. If you have either asked or been asked any of these things, please share in the comments! And yes, I do have white friends who happen to be female. I also have white friends who happen to be male. I have multiple friends of various colors and genders. The asking of and being asked these questions is not exclusive territory for any of them.

Begin video now:

• You do sound racist. Prefacing your racist statement does not eliminate the racism.
• I don't need to hear about any of your racist relatives and/or friends. Telling me about how terrible they are doesn't make you look any better just because you are not like them.
• There is plenty of White Entertainment Television. Switch your TV set to On. Turn to any channel. If you are in the United States, there is probably a white person on your screen. If there is not, wait five minutes and there will be. I myself partake of an unhealthy amount of White Entertainment Television on a daily basis. It is hilarious and/or compelling, depending on the genre.
• I don't complain about slavery all the time: I try to sleep eight hours a day, and I also carve out moments in my schedule for meals. If your ancestors were slaves, though, I would like to hear about it. I appreciate the histories of all people.
• Yes. No matter what 30 Rock tells you, it is bad to do blackface.
• It is not okay for anyone to say the N word. Except Mark Twain.
• I need more black friends, too.
• No. No twinsies.
• I have my own lotion, and plenty of it. I learned in Girl Scouts to "be prepared." Yes, I was a Brownie. No, that's not racist!
• Stop saying ghetto! This makes me Hulk angry. More Lou Ferigno classic Hulk than contemporary Bana or Norton. I also enjoy Lou in The King of Queens. Funny!
• I don't care what you think about "black guys." I didn't ask.
• That does not look like me.
• I didn't do anything to your computer. Stop being weird.
• Take your stinking paws off me!
• No, it's not all real. No. No.
• That's how my hair grows. Don't hate.
• I have actually heard the phrase "Brillo pad" used multiple times in reference to a black person's hair, in person. How is that okay to say?
• Yes, that did hurt. Get your mitts off me!
• Yes, we can. So can you.
• Cheetos?
• As I mentioned before, the only person I know named Tyrone is white.
• I have never been "holler"ed at, but I have gotten "girlfriend" multiple times from the same two people, one lady and one gentleman. If either of you is reading this, welcome to my blog! And please stop calling me "girlfriend." It makes me embarrassed. For you.
• He could "get" what? Herpes? What are you talking about?
• You don't like rap? You're the one watching the Kanye video, buying the Jay-Z album, drinking Vitamin Water, wearing your FUBU hat, Sean John jacket and Apple Bottom jeans.
• Oprah!
• Stereotypical? Like Oprah?
• Oh, but I am.
• I have seen it! It's hit or miss. And racist.

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"Top Gun."

(There is supposed to be an embedded video up there, but it isn't working. Boo. But you can watch it here, and have a laugh!)

I miss you, Big Gay Sketch Show.

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I'm not into Kias,

but I do like the idea of ending war through dance. Hamsters! :)

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"You are one lucky lady."

Oh, Hank.

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I am a Stoner.

A Lucy Stoner, that is.

For the past two months, I have been fixated on this fact. Regarding most other issues, I think people should make their own decisions and select the path that is best for them. Like picking your favorite ice cream, supporting a World Cup team outside of your own country, or living a polyamorous lifestyle. You can choose your choice. Be you. Do what you do.

Except changing your name.

Don't do it.

I am so "free to be you and me" about many things, but about this, I am adamantly opposed. I have strong words and feelings. I have blogged about this before. I recently reread the very post I made three years ago on Feministe, probably my most commented-on post ever, and I giggled at my clever condemnations. I'm funny.

I have had an increasing number of friends, classmates, colleagues, and people I may have met before, either message me or request to connect with me on various social media sites, after they have changed their last name. My immediate internal reaction has been a perplexed, "who are you?" I am genuinely puzzled by individuals whom I either knew personally or in passing as "Jennifer Chang", who are now contacting me as "Jennifer Valenzuela", and expecting me to know who they are, without a note or a picture attached. Dude, give me a heads up. I wasn't invited to your wedding, so how am I supposed to know that you changed both your last name and your cultural heritage? Unless you have a striking first name like Fantasia or Ivanka or AnnaSophia, I'm going to need more to go on before I can attest that we "went to school together" or "associate with the same professional organization."

If I was invited to your wedding, thank you, friends! I still heart you, and I will call you whatever you like, even Princess Consuela Bananahammock.

For more on this subject, I direct you to these posts on Weddingbee, a division of eHarmony:

How to *Not* Change Your Last Name, by Mrs. Prairie Dog.

On Having Second Thoughts, by Mrs. Parasol.

Maiden Voyage, by Mrs. Bruschetta.

and

Not Changing, by Mrs. Cinnamon Bun.

These ladies are all much more polite in their musings than I am in mine.

Readers, feel free to share your own thoughts in the comments section!

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"Is that a man, or did a horse take a dump in a wig factory?"

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I can speak French! (Barely.) Look out, Bradley. Next year's cover is all mine. Still sexy!


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"Party, party, party, party!"

Even though I haven't been to Pier 1 in almost a decade, I'd love to find a talking penguin who speaks to me.

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"What about my stories?": My reaction to 50/50.

I saw 50/50 recently, and the movie told a great story, based on real life events, about a man who discovers he has cancer. Heartfelt messages, entertaining tale.

That said, I didn't like the movie.

I couldn't get past the unnecessary implicit and explicit misogyny poured onto almost every female character in the movie, and onto women in general, whom Seth Rogen's character suggested should be fellating their boyfriends on demand. Later, the lack of colorful people rubbed me the wrong way, although I did appreciate the not one, but two Asian doctors. [Insert eye roll here.]

Like X-Men: First Class, 50/50 left me with the sad realization that my stories, like many other people's stories, will never be told. Often artists and activists make that statement like this: "Unless we tell our stories, they will never be told." But some stories just won't be told at all. I am writing as fast as I can, but I can't possibly write everything about me and produce everything about me. I'm only one person. Similarly, other writers and ideamakers who happen to be nonwhite, nonmale, nonstraight, or some combination of those signifiers cannot independently produce enough content to compete with "mainstream" (white, male, heteronormative and/or misogynistic) projects at the same level, or in many cases, at any level at all.

You might ask, "why can't you just enjoy a movie like 50/50 for what it is, instead of criticizing it for not representing you yourself personally?" My answer is, "Because I am tired of doing that." I had done that all my life. I have read thousands of books and stories, and have watched hundred of movies and television shows. The works have disproportionately featured white male American heterosexual protagonists and main characters and authors, especially from the books and movies and plays and television shows that I have been required to consume throughout my education.

"But," you might continue, "cancer is relatable to everyone. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is playing an everyman." Yes, cancer is relatable. I have been directly and indirectly affected by family and friends and teachers and other loved ones who have had cancer. Some have survived and some have not. But I am not a white man, and 50/50 truly tells the story of a white heterosexual man in America (and his exclusively white family and friends and girlfriends) who is comfortably employed, despite refusing to learn how to drive, and has a health care plan that takes care of all his medical expenses, even when he stops working. I mean, I do have a lot of white friends, but really? Black friends, apply here! Other colorful people are welcome, too.

For readers who may need a better visual, what if every story, book, television show, comic book, every medium of artistic and educational expression was dominated by authors and characters and celebrities like . . .

Amy Hill,

Amy Tan,

Ann Curry,

Connie Chung

and Lisa Ling?

Occasionally, we could interject some

comedic stylings from both Henry Cho

and Steve Byrne,

hot dance moves from Rain


and fake psychic sidekicking from Tim Kang.

But then we would get back to who is really important, the thought shapers and culture makers like

Lucy Liu,

Margaret Cho,

Michelle Kwan,

Michelle Yeoh,


Jeannie Mai,


Ming-Na

and Sandra Oh.

I would provide links for all of these people, but I don't even have time to compose this post, so exercise your privilege to Google these celebrities.

For those of you who made it through the lovely pictures, I ask you to continue imagining.

Imagine if all of the "period"/historical dramas you were spoon fed were set in Asia (instead of Europe), specifically in China (instead of in England), but occasionally in India or Japan (instead of in Germany or France).


Imagine if Dean Cain could embrace his Dean George Tanaka roots by playing identifiably Asian characters, instead of white superhero, white convicted murderer, and his pivotal role on a very special episode of A Different World, in which Mr. Cain played Third Racist from the left.

Imagine if John Cho's story about his father's journey of freedom, walking from North Korea into South Korea, were in production as a major motion picture, not just a moving anecdote Mr. Cho conveyed to Jay Leno on The Tonight Show.

"But who would play his father?"

I hear John Cho's available.

That's all. Thanks for reading!

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