in my hands

We sift through a collection
Of photographs
A lifetime of emotions

I know some of those
In the photos
Different hairs, furs
Different glasses, claws
Smiles, eyes

I can never decipher what they’ve
Journeyed through
Desertion, death, divorce
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

Then there’s this one
You as a baby
Lines as eyes
Did the camera flash?
Were you just trying to
Protect yourself?

It’s placed inside a note
Announcing your arrival
Written in decorative
Embossed soft aqua
Hidden inside a yellowed
Bone-dry envelope

“Here,” you give them to me
The envelope
The note
The photo
And I realize

I’m holding a life
A beginning of a life
In my hands
In my hands

I’m holding a person
A beginning of a person
In my hands
In my hands

I’m holding an ocean of tears
But the clouds
Pregnant with fears and possibilities
Are upon me
Upon us

I’m holding a journey
A beginning of a journey
In my hands
In my hands

YLT_5778

smiling too much will give you wrinkles

So after an impromptu cocktail date with a friend, I managed to finally update my LinkedIn profile. Then, things got a little bit out of hand, because I stayed for three goddamn hours updating it when I had better things to do (like sleep, because I need to work on my thesis).

But here’s the silver lining: I’m awake (enough, I think) to catch today’s Daily Prompt and be one of the early submitters. And the challenge for today is to write one thing that makes you smile.

Really? Just one thing?

I thought so. So, I decided to go all Maria Von Trapp and list my favorite things the things that make me smile, in alphabetical order.

Absolutely Fabulous
Belly Dancing
Chocolate Cake
Mr. Boyfriend (his name begins with a D)
Engaging Conversations
Felines (my cat, Kenji, just got out of the hospital)
Gay Porn (yes, really)
Home (or the thought of it, which includes my family)
Internet (this is essential)
Jokes (oh this is just lazy)
Kathy Griffin
Lip syncing whenever and wherever possible (yes, even at the bus stop)
Make-up
Nasty sex
Orgasm
Payday
Queer movement and rights
Rupaul’s Drag Race (although this season has been lukewarm so far)
Shiny things
Tori Amos (or maybe not)
Ubud, Bali
Vintage silver jewelry and fabrics
Waking up on a Friday morning
Xena the Warrior Princess
Y is always the hardest. It doesn’t help that my name begins with a Y. 
Zim (from Invader Zim)

***

So at one point, I thought it would be cute to attach a gif file for every letter, but it’s also 5:30 in the morning and there are just too many gay porn gifs to choose from.

another reading

This time of a short story that deals with jealousy, insecurity, and a big, fat, white zit while visiting – what else – West Hollywood. This is a modified version of this post.

Graduate Reading Series at St. Mary’s College of California. Introduction by Michael Caligaris (Creative Nonfiction Writing MFA candidate of 2014).

Ex-bashing included.

things that are not quite right with disney’s frozen

I have to admit, the first time I watched Frozen, I didn’t like it. In fact, I hated it simply because I thought it didn’t live up to its hype.

Then I watched it the second time and really forced myself to watch it, and started falling in love with it. I realized small things like Kristen Bell can actually sing (and is classically trained – and I like her voice better than Menzel’s), Jonathan Groff (voice of Kristoff) is as sexy in real life as his character in Frozen (warning: LINK DEFINITELY NSFW), and that Olaf’s “In Summer” song – although the concept of a character singing happily and obliviously about his demise has been done before – is just so catchy and brilliant.

BuzzFeed has run an article about the fifteen questions in Frozen. Some of the points are valid, so I thought I didn’t have to write about them, but I still kind of want to do it, and I kind of have spare time to do it.

So, let’s get started. Warning: SPOILERS AND NSFW IMAGE.

1. Really? Those men are just going to leave a little kid (and his reindeer) alone in the cold, dark, snowy forest, that’s probably full of predators? 

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2. The King and Queen don’t age (or change their clothes).

Here they are with little Anna.

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And here they are as they’re going to board the ship, many, many years later. Not even a wrinkle, or gray hair. I demand to know who their doctor is! Or their hairdresser!

vlcsnap-2014-03-29-12h50m26s39Also, they wear the same dress when they barge into the room and slam the doors open to find Elsa cradling the unconscious Anna. Okay, so maybe it’s not that late and they haven’t changed into their dressing gowns.

Speaking of fashion choices, Anna sings about dressing up in a gown for the evening of her sister’s “cornoration”, but shows up not in a gown.

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3. No Prime Ministers? No Minister of Trade?

Then who’s doing trades with Weaseltown Weselton? They “closed the gates” but still doing trades? Then what does “closing the gates” mean?

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This also applies to Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. Really? How exactly does Arendelle work? No one actually objects to the idea of this foreigner ruling Arendelle? It would be better if he had some credentials, like he was the son of Arendelle’s recently diseased prime minister, so then everyone believed that he was capable of actually taking care of Arendelle.

Crazy eyes.

Crazy eyes.

I guess my biggest complaint is how Frozen‘s writers make minor characters seem really, really minor. Like this dude. Who keeps appearing and seeming to have a really important part.

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Which explains why these characters (including these soldiers)…

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Don’t react to this…

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When they can actually see what’s happening.

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4. Olaf. And that Snow Golem. 

I don’t care if Elsa can actually turn ice into fashion, fashion that can be worn by people who won’t think it’s too cold. Like these skate boots.

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But Elsa can actually create living, sentient beings? And not only that, but one of them actually knows a great deal of things like bats, summer (although oblivious to the fact that snow melts when it gets too warm), and how to start a fire (and still surprised to feel fire). Oh, and how many rooms does a castle usually have? Lots, right? So how does Olaf figure out which room to enter to find Anna lying there dying?

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Also, where did Elsa and Anna get the twigs and the carrot when they build Olaf in the palace?

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Also, bendy twigs? Really?

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The Snow Golem is actually not that sentient, but it’s still alive. And it’s faaaahbulous.

Tiara!

Tiara!

I guess what really bothers me about this movie is the level of credibility. Brave is largely fictional, yes – it involves magic and witches and will-of-a-wisps, and mothers-turning-into-bears – but the politics of the kingdom, the customs, they are clear. Unlike Frozen. Who mentors Elsa to become the queen? How much time passes between the King and Queen’s death and Elsa’s coronation? And do reindeers act like dogs?

I think if I were a kid, I’d love this movie unconditionally, the way I loved Pocahontas and Hercules and Hunchback of Notre Dame.

So, here, have this sexy Kristoff illustration.

Kristoff by David Kawena.

Kristoff by David Kawena.

the pilot

If I could unburn that bridge. If I could undo it. If I could, I would, but there are forces stronger than both of us.

Or maybe I was just being lazy, maybe I was just being afraid.

Now with all this talk about airplanes, I wish I could reach out to you without worrying that I would hurt you. I wish I could ask you what your thoughts were – you were always so full of opinions, so opinionated, that was what I liked and ultimately hated about you.

I remember the Sunset Steps, the Chinatown, the Indian Restaurant in the Castro, the Castro Fair, the Castro Theater. I don’t think I can ever set foot in the Castro ever again without risking bumping into you, without worrying that I’ll hurt both of us.

I cannot say how sorry I am. All I can do is tell you that I am sorry and repeat those three words, all strung up together. They started from making sense to no longer having meaning.

Every goddamn piece of news. Every goddamn piece of editorial written by pilots. Every flight lingo. ACARS this and Transponders that.

Every time I see the L Line. Every time I pass by Embarcadero. Every time someone mentions The Castro.

I remember your house. Your house. Your house. That bedroom where we made love, that bathroom where I cleaned my face off my makeup, that kitchen where we both cooked for each other, that lonely dining room, those beautiful bird and flower pictures that your mother made.

That sofa where we cuddled and cried as we watched those stupid Thai commercials.

And remember that British sit com of that old gay couple? Remember when you asked me if we would be like that one day? Still bickering but still very much in love with each other? What did I say? What was my reply? Did I give you hope? Did I kiss you?

Do you still keep the peacock figurine that you gave me? You sneaky little sweetheart. You knew I was eyeing that peacock figurine in Chinatown. You sneaky little sweetheart.

I wonder where you are. I wonder if you’ve moved on.

***

Post somewhat inspired by this prompt.

i have that scarf

Two hundred and thirty nine people are lost, while hundreds more are mourning, waiting in the dark, huddling and sharing. Yet all I can think of is:

Photo by Reuters

Photo by Reuters

I have that scarf.

That woman is wearing the exact same scarf that I wore today, but she is grieving and angry while I was elated and snarky.

That woman is wearing the exact same scarf that I wore today, but she she is mourning and worrying while I was undulating and shimmying.

I have that scarf. I wore it today. Also on my head. The same color. The same shiny material. But under a different circumstance.

A very different circumstance.