Pristine Angie’s Good Homemaker Adventures at www.d332.com

I have been meditating on the concept of newness lately.One has to be alert when trudging through the dense forest of supermarket aisles that is capitalism. An old package that is re-packaged as a new idea is not what I would consider new. True: Musicians and Artists have relied on the continuum of rereading and retelling age old stories from the pre-press era, and in doing so, a new angle may have been inadvertently added to the storyline. That is the magic of the oral tradition, or gossip.

Tom Tykwer’s movie Lola Rennt (Run Lola Run 1998) is a new insight into Krzystof Kiesklowski’s Przypadek (Blind Chance 1981), where characters are “given” second and third chances in Buddhist-like reincarnations to repeat the plot and get it correct. Mission Impossible 3, on the other hand, cannot be said to provide anything new from Mission Impossible 1. Most of what is proclaimed to be “new” from Hollywood today usually has a higher corresponding quotient of suckage than its predecessors, especially when sequel numbers are involved.

Ok,ok: the decibels are also louder than the past one.

Todd Solondz’s Palindromes, for me, is new. From the director who bought you Welcome to the DollHouse(1995), Solondz retools the Luis Bunuel device of cycling between multiple actresses to play one character. While Bunuel alternates between the gorgeously patrician Carole Bouquet and the meek Angela Molina in Cet obscur objet du désir (The Obscure Object of Desire 1977) to show the duality of sexual politics, Solondz uses this technique to expound partly on the notion of the omniscient, god-like director. Going by the references to ab*rt*on, I’m going to make a far-reaching guess and say that it’s a nod in the direction of Martin Amis’s novel Dead Babies, where one character ruminated on some greater force (the author) who seems to be controlling his destiny.

In Palindromes, everyone from a skinny bony white girl to a fat obese black woman, Jennifer Jason Leigh, chubby white girl, and small black girl, gets their rotation at playing Aviva. In one hilarious moment, Sharon Wilkins (who plays the fat black Aviva) looks around in existential desperation for a reason why she is once again, back in the role of Aviva. I have read some puzzled comments online, trashing the move of multiple actors as a route to incoherence. However, it should be exceeding clear the reasons behind Solondz decisions when the accused Mark Weiner explains:

You might lose some weight, your face may clear up, get a body tan, breast enlargement, a sex change, it makes no difference. Essentially, from in front, from behind. Whether you’re 13 or 50, you will always be the same….There’s no freewill. I mean, I have no choice but to chose what I choose, to do as I do, to live as I live. Ultimately, we’re all just robots programmed arbitrarily by nature’s genetic code….We hope or despair because of the way we’ve been programmed. Genes and randomness, that’s all there is….

In modern times, when we blindly follow actors blindly traversing through 90 minutes of repackaged scripts that follow certain laws of Hollywood film-making (beauty is a function of those who get to make it to the end, children before women, women before men, reverse order for deaths, or my favorite: women are only allowed to be killed by other women, etc), it’s good to know that there’s someone out there doing his best to cut the puppet strings and break us from our infinite Seagalian reiterations.

White cops beat two Black men on November 1st in the West VillageJoin activists from across the city for Anti-Police BrutalityPress Conference & Picket LineWednesday, Nov 29th 6:30pm – 7:30pmIn front of the 6th Precinct(233 West 10th Street)

We Demand that The NYPD
* Stop Racist Police Brutality
* Drop all the Charges against Shakur Trammel & his co-defendants
* FIRE OFFICER TOCCOS! Release the names of all the officers involved in theattack on November 1st
* End the NYPD campaign of Racial and Gender Profiling
* Stop the attacks on youth, people of color, the homeless and lesbian, gay, biand trans people in the West Village

Initiated by TransJustice of The Audre Lorde Project, a LGBTST People of Colorcommunity-organizing center: to endorse or for more info call 718 596-0342 ext 15 or email ikhenry@alp.org

What Happened at Hudson and Christopher – Halloween Night 2006According to eyewitnesses, on November 1st, at around 4:30am, at theintersection of Hudson and Christopher, various African-American and Latina people were approached by a van of police officers and told to move from thecorner. Some of these people were patrons of a pizza restaurant who werestanding out in front, while others were simply crossing the intersection.

As people began to move away from the corner, a 20-year old African-Americanfemale remarked on how disrespectful the tone had been of the female officerwho had given the order. The same officer got out of the van and began to initiate an argument with the 20-year-old woman. Within seconds, OfficerToccos, a white male cop, also jumped out of the van and began to shout at the20-year-old female.

Then without warning or provocation, Officer Toccos pushed the 20-year-old African-American woman twice in her breasts forcing her backwards. A witness at the scene, 23 year old African-American college student Shakur Trammel requested the badge number of Officer Toccos.

In answer to that request, Shakur Trammel was punched in his face. In a fit of rage, Toccos began punching Trammel repeatedly in his chest. He soon threw himon top of the front of the police van and began choking him with his
nightstick.A rampage ensued. Witnesses report, that between 4 to 6 cops, mostly white officers, began kicking and punching, Shakur Trammel as he lay on the ground. Throughout the attack, Officer Toccos continuously beat Trammel with his nightstick. Covered with bruises and his left elbow dislocated Shakur Trammel was then thrown into a police van.

During the attack, Trammel could hear the voices of several people yelling for the police to stop and calling on each other to take pictures to document the assault. As many as 20 people, the vast majority of which were people of color, witnessed the attack. Eye witnesses report that the police went into the crowd and began beating another African–American man, believed to be in his 30’s, who was very vocal about his outrage at the police brutality wielded against Trammel. Both men were arrested along with an African–American female who refused to follow the police command for the witnesses to disperse.

Once they arrived at the 6th Precinct, Shakur Trammel told his arresting officer that he was a Transsexual male and wanted to be placed in a separate cell. This request was ignored. Both of the men, in desperate need of medical attention, were initially placed in the same holding cell. Already in the cell were two other men, one Black and one Latino, both injured and bleeding, who reported that the police at the 6th Precinct also assaulted them. After an hour of demanding to be taken to a hospital, one of the four men of color was then taken from the cell by cops armed with a stun gun.

On November 1st 2006, at the corner of Hudson and Christopher, 2 Black men were beaten, one trans and one non-trans, and arrested along with one Black woman, for refusing to stand idly by as a 20-year old Black woman was assaulted by a white cop. Racist police attacks like the one on November 1st are a daily occurrence in working class and communities of color throughout NYC. In the West Village, the 6th Precinct has become notorious for racist, sexist and anti-lesbian, gay, bi and trans violence unleashed particularly against young people of color, the homeless and transgender people. The people of color LGBT youth organization, FIERCE!, has been at the forefront of fighting on these issues in the West Village for several years.

TransJustice of The Audre Lorde Project calls on social justice activists and organizations from across the city to Endorse and Come to an Anti-Police Brutality Press Conference & Picket Line Wednesday, Nov 29th 6:30pm –7:30pm in front of the 6th Precinct (233 West 10th Street)

TransJustice is a political group created by and for Trans and Gender Non-Conforming people of color. We work to mobilize our communities and allies to action on the pressing political issues we face. These issues include gaining access to jobs, housing, and education; the need for Trans-sensitive healthcare, HIV-related services, and job-training programs; resisting
police, government and anti-immigrant violence. To endorse or for more info
call 718 596-0342 ext 15 or email ikhenry@alp.org

As loyal followers of d332.com* may notice, some of my links have not exactly been up-to-date. I attribute this primarily to my fast internet connection, via pre-dial-up technology and punch-card loaded operating system:

Note that baked beans are old-schooled, fully 100% trans-fat. Anyhow, I am trying to stumble back to full operational mode this week, and one of the first issues at hand is the Transgender Day of Remembrance. Here are the links, and though it is almost a day late, it’s never too late to stay cognizant, aware, and in support of the tough and often difficult lifestyle: Gender Identity Project of New York City

Transgender Day of Remembrance, November 20, 2006

Thanks, Neiani and Carrie!

*the most loyal follower of d332 is uncontestably, the accounts receivable department of my webhost provider

I suddenly remembered that last night may have been the night for my High School reunion. I never understood the need for those things. It’s like friends who constantly talk about their glory days, while they fade a little bit more into oblivion each passing day. Instead of making each new day a great perfect glorious beautiful memorable event, all you’d hear is “Remember that time during the Cotillion….” It’s like bad House music that raps on ceaselessly about the good old days. Well of course you have to sing about the good old days, being that the music is so mediocre these days

Honestly, I’m even embarrassed to think about the days I was having six months ago.

Not because those were bad. Just that the present ones are so much better by comparison.

To this day I’ve never been able to understand the ceaseless adoration of Diane Arbus’s work. The word “provocative” is ceaselessly evoked to make the public feel good about redefining “gawking at freaks” into the respectful hobby of art appreciation. However, after reading and watching the works and documentaries of Werner Herzog (The man I most admire and would like to meet, since Tarkovski has already passed away), I come closer to understanding the importance of what Arbus may have been trying to capture.

Herzog talks about the importance of preserving an indigenous language belonging to each culture or tribe, especially in the modern age of communication, where Americanization is tagged with the friendly name of globalization (to defuse the responsibility for the spread of Mickey-D’s over to folks in the West Congo). Zooming in into a detailed personal level, it then becomes apparent how important it is to preserve one’s quirkiness and personal language. Imagine the silliness of marginalized nationalities as they pose, dress, and talk like black gangsta rappers to belong to a fringe group with street cred.

You can almost see how Herzog photographs human behavior and body language in the same way he treats his landscapes. In Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre, Wrath of God) , he mentions that he looks at the opening Gautemala monolith as if it were a human face. One can see the way Herzog maintains and hands-off approach to his subjects in Land des Schweigens und der Dunkelheit and Bruno S. in Jeder für sich und Gott gegen alle (The Enigma of Kaspar Huaser). It’s as if the originality of their indigenous muscle memory should be preserved on film and allowed to breathe into and develop a language of its own.

Viewed in this light, I can only begin to appreciate Arbus’s work as a preservation of people on the fringe. Artistically, it never really impressed me all that much. It’s the subtraction of unnecessary dressing that makes her style a fashion unto itself. Don’t get me wrong: I still consider it gawking. It’s just that nobody frowns upon anyone standing in a Barnes and Noble flipping through an artbook to make up for all the lost opportunities at rubbernecking freaks on the street.

Hey they even made a movie about Arbus. With all the unnecessary dressing, Hollywood picked, of course, Nicole Kidman to play her.

Well, if they could convince the public John Nash looks like Russell Crowe, I’m going to guess they are probably gonna make a movie about the solver of Fermat’s Enigma, another Princetonian: Andrew Wiles.

My money says Hollywood is going to go with The Rock to play the lead actor.

The only thing funnier than people saying to me: “I bet you minored in Women’s Studies at Douglas to pick up the chicks” is people saying to me “Well it makes sense you took Women Studies, seeing that you are a transgendered person.” The truth is that my reasons were completely removed from either of the given ones. The former is presumptuous, and the latter patronizes the whole notion that human beings are incapable of developing empathy until it hits their backyards. I took Women’s Studies because the syllabus for an English Bachelor of the Arts consisted mostly of dead white males. Had I wanted half an education, I would have been satisfied with yawning over T.S. Eliot’s anglophilic verse. This doesn’t address the magic in thrice-removed readings of translated works from other cultures into the English pantheon.

I think it’s logical for someone to want surgery and hormone therapy to align physical self-image with mental self-image, but I’ve never been convinced that a transgendered person can, in any way, acquire the authentic feminine experience. We have a flood of the new transgendered generation, eagerly bleating outside the gates of acceptance with online handles like “normalgurl,” “puregirl,” or “110% woman powered by NASCARâ„¢ officially approved estrogen.” At Yahoo, without a profile picture. You know what I mean. I’ve never been convinced that a bit of redecorating and a few syringes of hormones will enable a person, overnight, to develop glass ceiling self-doubt, frustrations over secondary pay status, the double jeopardy of girl etiquette in saying yes vs. saying no, objectification, the hassles of genetic body cycles, media manipulation, and downright prejudism. Of course, that’s before we even begin to touch upon the greatest power that aligns women to the godhead: The ability to create and give life. (Before you think I am worshipping at the altar, let me say that I think this ability, can be viewed in many ways as a shortcoming in womanhood. It makes a sex overly secure in the knowledge that they possess the divine power of creativity over men. Men, on the other hand, developed a manic drive to fill their inability to the organic gift by resorting to a multitude of variations in the creative act. They have to prove themselves, and that’s where great magnificent cities rise and all the fun lies.)

As it is, the Nouveau-Femme can, at best, only attain the surface glamour of what it means to be a woman. And for most, that is enough. I think a day may come when a group of people will realize that the moment they stop trying to be what they are not, they will immediately begin to create. However, if they chose to assimilate, they should be satisfied in the notion that assimilation is, unto itself an act of creation. Like the traveler who is able to point out to natives all the wonderful things they have taken for granted and ignored, the trans individual exotifies and interprets on romantic notions.

Personally I’ve always believed that the creative act surpasses the need to belong and to be accepted. Sure, it’s wonderful if people don’t glare and kids don’t snicker, but that’s a small price to pay when you can climb into bed at the end of the day and tell yourself, “I am successfully giving life to an organic creative act. Instead of doing a cover of someone else’s song, I am singing a clean new song that even lavish exotic birds at dawn will stop their tune and look up from what they were doing, and listen in wonder.”