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

Do you date men or do you just go with genetic girls, or trans girls?

I date only men. There was a time back in college when I “experimented” with genetic girls. What can I say? I also went to hardcore gigs at CBGB’s. After a while, I found that I’d wake up the next morning with a headache, a great sense of restlessness and dissatisfaction, and a deep regret for making foolish decisions in life and that precious time, effort, and experience has been wasted.

I felt better about gigs at CBGB’s.

But the moment I hopped in the sack with a big brutish thug who mauled as well as he kissed, I knew there was only one thing for Miss Ann Gee.

Are you looking to hookup? Do you want a man to treat you like a woman?

No to the former. Yes to the latter. I’m an old-fashioned girl. I like old music. I like old manners. I like old courtesy. I love old movies, old actresses and actors. I use old cameras. I like guys my age with old-world style.

Since I make it a point to forego reading reviews, plot summaries, and descriptions before embarking on a movie, the thing that intrigued me the most about Russian Ark was the metaphor: Where and What is a Russian Ark? It was only halfway through the movie I realized the absence of that omniscient modern-day device in American moviemaking: 5 choppy angles and cuts-per-second a la Bruckheimer. I ignored it and continued watching the film. Of course, a part of me did marvel at the technical feat of pulling off such a long take, but to appreciate the Russian Ark because the movie was filmed in one continuous take, would be like asking someone to admire Proust’s Remembrances of Things Past because it has 1.5 million words. (After all, haven’t we all learned from Franz Liszt that quantity doesn’t always necessarily mean quality?)I’m not sure whether the trailers were geared towards American filmgoers, since the whole selling point seemed to pivot on the motto: “2000 actors, 300 years, 90 minutes, 1 take.” How could anyone forget the almost non-sequitur American trailers to Bergman films in the sixties?For fans of Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovski’s work (whom Sokurov is seen as the heir), the notion of “Sculpting with Time” is brought to its logical and technological limit in Russian Ark. The continuous shot utilizes formalism to create a flow that may take getting used to. Having seen Sukorov’s Second Circle and Robert Hubert: A Fortunate Life (a short that walks through the Hermitage Museum as well), I was prepared for a slow moving film. Devotees of period pieces will love this film as four years went into the preparation of this 90 minute sequence. No detail was overlooked in costume design and set recreation.

What was astounding to me was the way the notion of extreme compression forced one to re-evaluate time duration itself. In thinking about Russian Ark, one suddenly realizes just how much can be accomplished in the span of ninety minutes. So this revelation, in itself, is Sokurov’s great gift to viewers of his film: It’s about the preciousness of time. In the DVD extra, the narrator of the documentary reveals the metaphor of the Russian Ark. I won’t give it away here, but given the geographical locale of the Hermitage Museum, it is a gloriously apt metaphor.

Personally I found the quiet ending that panned out onto the edge of the Neva River (whereby the Hermitage sits in St. Petersburg) to be the spectacular ending, evoking a long meditative silence on where the Ark of art and creativity is heading in our modern times. I have adored Tarkovski’s Andrei Rublev and Stalker because I’ve always felt it asked the question that is the lifeforce to my existence: Why do we continue to create?

5. I don’t know you, but can I share your clothes? Can you feminize me? Can you help me dress? I’m a beginniner, can you teach me?

I consider myself an animal lover, and if I find a fly, I ‘ll attempt to catch it and bring it outside to liberate it. However, if I find a moth (which nibbles on clothes) I will OBLITERATE AND DECIMATE WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE AND OVERPOWERING FORCE. This would be approximately 1/20 of the action I would take against anyone who wants to lay a hand in my closet.

6. What do you consider your strong points?
My generosity.

7. Do you go out dressed?
Always. When there is a reason. If I go out with long time friends, casual friends, boyfriend, and sometimes family members. If I’m out to do dull boring chores however, there’s really no need to be draped to the height of fashion. The Christian Dior New Look hourglass two piece suit when buying two packs of Japanese tofu is a bit much.

9. Have you ever been harrassed in public?
No. Alone, with someone else, or in a group. Once in a long while, people may have snickered or mumbled a remark. I’m not sure whether I was the topic of discussion but If they can’t say it to my face, it doesn’t count.

2.Why do you post pictures?
I consider pictures timestamps and memory aids of what I look like at a particular time. It helps me be conscious of just how quickly time and life is passing by. It’s one of those things that if you don’t look into the mirror, one day, you’ll wake up and find out it’s all going to be over shortly. If people enjoy looking at them, then I’m glad. There are also people who collect pictures of highway milemarkers. There is a similarity between these activities.

3.You are very critical of many things in both your community and your country of residence. We need more support not criticism.

One of the things I have come to realize about the internet is that even though most of us may elect to ignore blogs, opinions, and Amazon reviews; ultimately, the ones who vocalize their views will mark a presence online. Those who don’t temporarily (or permanently) disappear from the map. Here’s an example: Gay men are stereotypically viewed to be cosmopolitan and flambouyant because those are the ones who are visible and identifiable. Does that mean then there aren’t gay men who are content leading slow, insulated, provincial lives? Does it mean that there are no farmers who think of the warmth of another man? Since they are not visible, nobody ever thinks about their existence. Up till Brokeback Mountain, it probably occurred to a minute number of heterosexuals that cowboys could ever have gay thoughts. It’s not that we need to think about the many different types of trans people out there. It’s simply the notion of familiarity that enables the isolated individuals out there to realize they are not alone, and that it is possible to be different and still be different.

Vocalizing my views is a way to add another voice to the trans presence and expand our collective identity, a way to show that not all trans people set up huge websites detailing the personal history of their transition, their monthly hormone dosage, and a how-to guide on the do’s and don’t’s of trans-dating and a full explanation of why they followed the decisions they made. It would be ideal to have a large cross-section of society represented as trans-identified. All too often, it’s the same story and routine over and over again.

It just gives guys an excuse to head straight for the gallery.

I’ve been wanting to get around to a FAQ for years, but never thought it interesting enough. Well here it is:

1.What is the purpose of this website?
First and foremost, it’s an online notebook,a sketchpad, a memo. It’s really more for me than anyone else. I have a labyrinthian memory (and that’s not a compliment by any measure) and I often need to look up past writings to remember what I have said and how I have said it. I don’t like repeating myself, and if there’s ever a reason for me to shut up, I find a legion of people rallying behind me to do so.

If I based d332.com on generating income, I’d probably be broke by now. On the way, I try to help spread postings and announcements about trans activities and trans news. However, since I’ve been out of the loop in the past few months, my trans-activism has been noticibly down.

Prim and darling Miss Sedgwick, before Warhol turned her into a lifeless, factory-assembled android
Gay friends and colleagues have gasped scandalized whenever I mention how much I love Audrey Hepburn in all her films before she transforms. Jo Stockton looked so much more interesting as the bookworm store attendent. Sabrina looked savagely beautiful when she was perched on the tree branch stealing a view into the Larabees’ dinner party. Even Roman Holiday’s Princess Ann was darling only after she snuck away from her throne. I’m sure that George Bernard Shaw wouldn’t have gotten a heart attack over Hollywood’s rendition of his Pygmalion if Audrey shuffled through the whole movie as dusty street urchin Eliza.The polished, high glamour look for an already pretty face seems overkill to me. A beautiful face camouflaged in homeliness, on the other hand, offers delicious potential awaiting the realization of discovery. When it’s all presented to you on a silver platter, one can only emit a sigh in ennui with no further work to be done.

Another perfect example is Edie Sedgwick. In the opening pages of the book EDIE FACTORY GIRL, the one picture of Edie in her pre-Warhol pre-Factory Girl days, all prim New England girl vogue contains more mystery and allure than the two hundred so pictures of the bored, neurotic, bottled blonde downtown Manhattan hipster chick. I think Edie made a mistake: She released what the Chinese refer to as her Qi (”chi”) by joining Warhol’s chic clique.

Maybe it’s just me. We all know that the happening girl about town always delivers less than appearances promise.

It’s always the quiet silent type that has a whirlwind within.

Click here to view YouTube clip of Sufi chants

Friends of mine have noted that I often affect a restless “there’s a parade going on somewhere that I’m missing” nervousness. I explain it this way: Have you ever watched documentaries of people in third world countries where they’re just content to be squatting on the riverbanks all day staring off into space? When we watch this, many of us would immediately say, “Jesus Christ! Look what these people are missing? They could be in a 12 mpg SUV, sipping Starbucks latté yucking trivialities into the cellphone, waddling down to the local mall to purchase two more dozen things they don’t need and charging it on the credit card before traipsing off to watch the latest Jerry Bruckheimer movie with absolutely no message but delivered at 140 decibels! Oh the ignorance!”

I confess I myself have watched people playing pool in an open air patch of dirt in the outskirts of Xi’ian, while it is raining. I have said to myself: “Wow, they can do this all day and be content?”

Well my restlessness originates from imagining the huge magnificient world and everything that is going on while we are simply content driving around in a 12 mpg SUV, sipping Starbucks latté yucking trivialities into the cellphone, waddling down to the local mall to purchase two more dozen things we don’t need and charging it on the credit card before traipsing off to watch the latest Jerry Bruckheimer movie with absolutely no message but delivered at 140 decibels.”

Oh. The. Ignorance.

Watching a clip like the Qadiri Sufi brotherhood in Chechnia drives the point home.

I have been having many interesting conversations with friends and colleagues regarding what they consider to be the best all-time record album cover. Of course, it gets a tad confusing when Napster-era teens enter the discussion, as they sport a blank look when talk inevitably steers towards styluses, counterbalances, tone-arms, and turntable strobes. Even modern-day self-styled DJ’s who use IPODS and cd scratch decks know of the Technics SL1200 MKII only through the hieroglyphics painted on the caverns walls of what used to be the garage.

What caught my interest was the way many tied in the aesthetics of an album cover to the music contained within. Although the two should be related, I often find a preference for album art based on its simulacra for the music it came to represent. Most people I asked drew from their album collections, not what is out there.

And what really is out there? Even dizzying lists compiled from the internet consisted only of Western records, mostly American, British, or European rock-and-roll, or pop mainstream releases. This makes a resounding comment on the views that are represented online.

For me, it would have to be the cover of this 1979 twofer of jazz pianist Bill Evans. The photo is by Giuseppe Pino, who has a book out called “Jazz My Love.”

Of course, for those of you who aren’t familiar, Bill Evans is my all time fav jazz pianist. (Keith Jarrett is another favorite, but I love Bird’s Al Haig too). Even though this shot was taken from the fifties, it really embodied what Evans’s music would later become: Introspective, quite, melancholy.

I once stated online that early Bill Evans’s piano sounded like a beaded curtain shimmering, late Bill Evans is a drop of water released into the middle of a still lake.

Upon reading this, a jazz fan from Japan wrote a two word email to me: “Thank you.”

My runner up would be this one from Laura Nyro:

and a close runner up:

Not only does the cover reflect McLaughlin’s spiritual journey at the time (The One-ness) interspersed with what could have been a sneeze from the Dalai Lama as he was breaking up the Kalachakra, but it also embodied the all encompassing symbol of Jorges Luis Borges’s Aleph, where the universe is seen through one point. Fans of McLaughlin will observe that his customary 8,341,266,431,889,331 notes per measure had a tendency to do this!