Category: Random Thoughts

7 Thoughts for the Beginning of 2015

Cinemulatto’s mind has been all over the place—still tracing my family history (yes, someday I may even participate in an Acadian reenactment), reading a lot, breathing a bit after some big work deadlines. I’ve faced a few film festival rejections, leading me to wonder why I bother submitting to film festivals (and spending way too much money on submission fees, travel and housing costs in the event of an actual acceptance, and moving-target distribution opportunities).

I’ve had many moments where there’s been “just a little question in my mind,” to quote Arthur Lee. Here are the resulting thoughts.

Obama. A friend and I once had a debate about Jungle Fever and the gist was this: he felt Spike Lee could do no wrong since he’s the most radical African American filmmaker who’s ever hit the mainstream. Although I wouldn’t consider Obama radical, in many ways his presidency is a deviation, one mixed with inspired moments of governance—becoming “the LGBT president,” giving us Obamacare, pushing for immigration reform, reaching out to Cuba. I recognize there’s still work to be done and that he’s not perfect. Still, Obama has had an active and relatively progressive tenure, and this is why I find myself forgiving some of his political transgressions. After all, just about all of the “bad” things about his time in office predated him; things like wiretapping, drones, and detainees at military prisons were started by others. Obama hasn’t stopped them, for sure, but he also inherited them and likely stepped into an already well-established culture that predated him by several decades. So, I’ve been thinking about this. I’ll keep defending him.

Progress. The universe is almost 14 billion years old. Astronomer estimates say there are over 100 billion galaxies. What’s the nature of progress?

Democracy. In writing about Jane Austen’s female leads, Azar Nafisi states in Reading Lolita in Tehran, “They risk ostracism and poverty to gain love and companionship, and to embrace that elusive goal at the heart of democracy: the right to choose.” Does this mean that the second episode of Black Mirror has a happy ending?

Vaccinations. Why are we debating this?

Compassion. My brother David is in San Antonio, Texas, continuing his year-long compassion tour. Meanwhile, I’m making arrangements to visit the child I sponsor in Jackson, Mississippi, and the number of impoverished public school children has risen. Compassion is doing whatever one can to help at least one other person.

Films of the imagination. Have things like reality TV and the John Cassavetes Award inured us to creativity? Does make-believe only exist in the realm of science fiction? Can’t I pull a story and fictitious world out of my ass and have it be believable on its own terms?

Athanasia. My short film got accepted into this year’s Queer Women of Color Film Festival! The story is completely fabricated. It looks at how death affects an aunt who loses her nephew and her relationship with her partner. Everyone has their own way of dealing with death. More details to come once I have them. (By the way, there are no submission fees for this festival, it’s local, and all films are free.)

What are your current thoughts?

 

A Few Notes on Forgiveness

Eva Kor

Happy 2015. It’s been awhile. I haven’t posted to this blog since November 26th, but I took a much-needed, end-of-year break to recuperate from multiple film productions and the ongoing physical and emotional demands of parenting.

However—I’ve been thinking about history, my own past, and my place in the genetic cosmos. In the process, I’ve also been continuing to contemplate the nature of forgiveness. When I studied abroad at Stanford in Oxford in the spring of 1990, I dated a young man whom we’ll call Peter (since that was his name). Whenever I stayed over at his place, he’d be up bright and early, and would leave way before I woke up. I finally asked him about this and he said his early morning trips were to the library, to “look for answers.”

I thought he was weird.

Now, so many years later, I’m in the middle of my own search for “answers.” It seems this has been accompanied by a mid-life crisis that’s been going on for about the last 20 years—or maybe not so much a crisis as an awakening. Or maybe I’m mistaking it for my Peruvian ayahuasca experience.

Whatever the cause, I find myself living life not necessarily as if each day is my last, but definitely with an awareness that each moment is filled with its own poetry. It’s a hyperawareness, a need to stay calm most of the time so that I don’t overwhelm anybody. I asked my psychotherapist wife recently if there’s such a thing as low-level bipolar disorder. She said yes.

I’ve posted here before about both my mother and my father, and about how I’ve largely forgiven my father for cruelties to my mother—hitting her, throwing water into her face, subjecting her to daily invective. Since then, I keep having flashbacks to moments of my father’s kindness I didn’t recognize as such at the time:

  • I used to collect aluminum cans in a bag, and every so often, my father would gather them, roll a cement block over to them, and crush the cans flat. We’d travel together to the local recycling center, where he’d give me the cash from my saved cans.
  • A staple for kids growing up in the 1970s was the Scholastic Book Club and their paper order forms jam-packed with a wide variety of children’s books. Whenever I brought the flyer home, my father would let me order whatever books I wanted (there must’ve been a limit). On book delivery day, he’d be there in the classroom, cash in hand, with a wide grin.
  • The first memory I have of my mother’s schizophrenia probably dates back to 1971 or 1972. I didn’t understand why she was standing on the other side of the room, acting so strangely. I know my younger brother wasn’t born yet. My older brother and I sat on our couch, our dad in the middle with an arm around each of us. I felt scared and protected at the same time.

The media would have us see things as clearly black or white—this or that, good or bad, either with us or against us. We’ve largely become a society of very little gray area, uncertainty, or “it depends”. We’d rather argue in absolutes.

I used to have absolute hatred for my father before maturing to the point of absolutely understanding he was a human being.

There have been far greater acts of mercy than what I’m going through with him. Eva Kor and The Forgiveness Project come to mind. If someone can forgive the men who, during the Holocaust, used human beings as lab rats, then I have no excuse for not making peace with my father. The memories that keep rolling in make it much easier.

Like Eva Cor, I haven’t forgotten, but I’ve forgiven.

 

What White Culture?

I recently read Justin Simien’s piece posted on the CNN website from February of this year: 5 things to know about black culture now. He discusses a scene from his movie, Dear White People, where the lead character is asked to write an opinion piece for the college newspaper on black culture.

Lionel’s dilemma is one many black Americans share: a deep desire to have an identity rooted in black culture coupled with the knowledge that what’s seen as “authentically black” in popular culture doesn’t reflect our actual experience.

Wait, black people have an “actual experience”? What does this mean?

What is black culture?

Black culture, sans quotes, is the sum total of cultural contributions to the mainstream by the black subculture. It’s a fluid and a multifaceted, often contradictory thing.

Meanwhile “Black Culture” is a lifestyle standard made of assumptions about black identity, often used successfully by marketers, studio heads, fashion brands and music labels to make money.

I started to wonder about “white culture”. Once again, I headed to social media for answers, asking my Facebook friends: what are the current components of white culture?

The answers were numerous and diverse. Here’s an anonymous sampling.

  • Anger?
  • Angst about not having a culture
  • A love of stuff?
  • I know it’s a digression, but is there a white culture? I figure the local dominant group self-identifies in sub-groups: liberal/progressive, religious/secular rich/poor etc.
  • Ranch dressing
  • Owning a home to complain about the upkeep of
  • Home Depot on a Saturday morning
  • Curio cabinets
  • Mumblecore
  • High Sierra Music Festival
  • Shit, in 2014 you could say a component to white culture is hip hop shows.
  • WTF – the white culture is more blended now – at my house – Chinese, Filipino, Cambodian, Black, Indian, and same sex partnership. What White Culture.
  • School shootings

Another insight from Texas rapper Dubwerth: “You almost have to dissect the
sub-cultures within white culture to get a more accurate breakdown. You have your typecast Hillbilly hick and these typecasts range all the way up to the high-nose rich white snob.”

So the definitions of both white and black culture stem from what we see people doing out and about and how they’re portrayed in the media. And millions of other people of the given race don’t fit the particular image we see.

Has black culture caught up with white culture in the American “melting pot” of social organization? Is the food, music, rules of behavior, language, arts, and literature blended (enough) that we can finally say there is a strong American culture?

We don’t yet live in a post-racial society. In addition to recognizing blatant, racially motivated acts of violence and prejudice, white people still need to know 18 things before discussing racism. And of course anyone, regardless of race, can be prejudiced. At least we now live in a time where depictions—on the street and in the media—are moving baby step by baby step towards something resembling reality.

 

The New Tragic Mulatto —
on Social Media?

I took a very informal poll (of like, two people) to find out if most friends on social media are like-minded and homogeneous.

Question: Do you have a very diverse mix of friends on social media or do they tend to be the same? Like, filmmakers, artists, queers, white people, people of color, mods, activists, Republicans, or what?

Answer 1: I have a mix. No religious freaks that I know of, or any hard Republicans. At least as far as Twitter goes. My Facebook is way more diverse. I have a lot of musician friends on Facebook, more than Twitter.

Answer 2: Hmm. Mostly similar, i.e., progressive, artists, queer or queer-supportive, mix of POC/white. Small number are old high school friends or relatives who are more conservative that I don’t interact with really. Should probably unfriend those people!

I asked because I realized recently: I have a very diverse mix of friends on social media. They come from all walks of life, and yes, they include filmmakers, artists, queers, white people, people of color, 60s music aficionados, left-wing activists, Republicans, and “or what”. I have rich friends. I have poor friends. CEOs. VPs. The unemployed. Hustlers. Thieves. Authors. Atheists. Christians. Actors. Poets. Politicians. Comedians. Kids. Just about every race, creed, ethnicity, and religious belief is represented.

Some of my Facebook “friends” I don’t know all that well, but I respect them. Even so, more often than not, I feel as though I don’t quite fit in anywhere.

Outside of social media, I have very few close friends, or rather, confidantes. This could be part pride, part laziness, part same feeling of not always fitting in. Feelings of not quite being part of the pack, I know, are common. If they weren’t, there’d be no such thing as teen angst.

But I’m not a teen. And I consider myself a pretty confident person. So what’s up with this “not fitting in”, which seems to be thrown into greater relief on social media?

Could this be the New Tragic Mulatto?

Granted, the fictional stereotype involved nasty things like self-loathing, depression, and sometimes suicide. So extreme! The New Tragic Mulatto isn’t so much tragic as kinda-sorta listless sometimes. How would I define this archetype?

The New Tragic Mulatto is an entity on social media who, despite having a diverse social network, feels “not quite [x] enough” in many virtual communities, such as not quite queer enough, or not quite POC enough, or not quite 60s enough. Speaking in situational terms: she’s on the periphery of the periphery. The New Tragic Mulatto often can’t quite keep up with the rules of any given social group, always seeking to do and be something different from what the group dictates. As a result, she ends up bringing this dynamic to the non-virtual world, meaning she mostly avoids social events and goes to sleep early.

Well, I don’t *entirely* avoid social events, but if one is feeling like an outsider is she really present at the event?

Whether this phenomena is truly tragic or a run of the mill midlife crisis is anyone’s guess. Or maybe Mulattos are onto something that transcends any of the dynamics created by their social groups, online or otherwise. Social ties, after all, are ultimately a good thing, outsider status notwithstanding.

I’ll think about all this again in the morning, after a good night’s early sleep.

 

Am I Raising a Mixed-Race Child?

Forced photo credit: Dakota Billops-Breaux

“Are you raising me white?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you’re raising me mixed?”

I have two mixed-race daughters. My teen daughter and I had the above exchange as we drove to her SAT. It came right after my sage advice to use either ‘bruh’ or ‘blood’, depending on who she was talking to, in the event of a race war. (Always know who you’re dealing with.)

This wasn’t a situation where someone was asking me or my wife if either of us is the birth parent of our toddler. It had nothing to do with someone trying to figure out our daughters’ racial heritage. There were no skin tone comparisons, or earnest inquiries, or attempts to touch hair.

What does it mean to raise a child to be mixed-race? Is there a mixed-race culture?

The teen daughter in question is fond of music. Her favorite genre is pop-punk, whose musicians are predominantly white. Although she’s familiar with contemporary hip hop and can quote lyrics like nobody’s business (or is it bidness?), there are no black hip hop artists on her smartphone. Does this make her mixed-race? Would having music by black artists allow her to play a race card?

Her meals run the gamut from organic and vegan to cheap and processed. Does this make her mixed-race?

She can dance. Does this make her mixed-race?

She has self-proclaimed “hair issues”. But doesn’t that cross racial lines? (Doesn’t it?)

She can switch from a “white” accent to a “black” one. Is this the defining factor?

Most importantly, how has parenting contributed to any and all of the above? Was it early exposure to The Beatles? Did slipping in The Roots shake things up? Was it the hip hop dance classes?

I have no idea. I know she’s aware of the predominance of white women and girls in books and media. Her friends are diverse. The first report she ever wrote for school was on Ruby Bridges. She doesn’t currently identify so much with her Asian heritage, although she wants to someday visit Japan. (She’s not part-Japanese.) We have a blended family that includes black, white, Native American, and Filipino.

Perhaps I have indeed raised a mixed-race child. How has this manifested? My daughter is smart, sensitive, hilarious, and culturally attuned. She can interact with people of all races, ethnicities, creeds, and backgrounds. She even knows how to combat hair issues.

We haven’t laminated the race card, but we’re working on it.

 

Why the Gastronomic is Political

I’m part of a community that embraces people of all shapes and sizes. It’s not cool to make media-influenced comments on people’s physiques. Gay culture has its bears. And, being plus-size doesn’t always translate to being unhealthy.

What I’ll focus on, however, is why being healthy should be part of what defines being queer, and especially a queer POC.

I grew up in a family that didn’t know any better and ate loads and loads of fast food, sweets, and canned shit. My dad worked as a janitor in a bakery and would often bring home big boxes of cookies and cakes. My childhood was filled with sickness: fainting spells, anemia, fatigue, and what would later be diagnosed as Meniere’s Disease, which was accompanied by hearing loss and massive dizzy spells.

Being physically active (riding my bike and skateboard, high school track and field) made my bad nutrition environment tolerable and perhaps prevented me from a worse fate. I was never concerned about weight, and even went on a diet once to gain pounds. Weight wasn’t the issue; health became the main concern in a family wracked by sauces and preservatives and Twinkies.

After high school I got out of Dodge, so to speak, and have since made some hardcore changes to my lifestyle and eating habits. I’ve tried many different healing modes and methodologies: Body Ecology, macrobiotic, seeing a nutritionist, acupuncture, fasting, hypnosis, yoga, Chinese herbs, and Chi Nei Tsang (also known as internal organ massage, my favorite form of self-care)—just to name a few.

These were all choices I made to protect myself from and prevent further illness. This was even before I learned about how the food industry works. When I started reading and hearing about how food is processed, what goes into food products found on supermarket shelves, and the communities that are targeted by dispassionate marketers—I got mad. Sometimes furious. Often overwhelmed. The discourse on body image was, for me, no longer about big versus small. It became about the continued, concerted effort by the food industry to profit from people’s ignorance, and to continually fuel that ignorance in ever-changing and shadier ways.

What kind of self-respecting liberal pinko commie mulatto dyke would I be if I didn’t fight back?

The LGBT community is at an increased risk of health issues like heart disease, depression, cancer, and diabetes. We’re well aware of the violence against our community in the streets; we should be just as adamantly against the slow violence in our kitchens. This goes for poor people, poor people of color, and anyone who’s unknowingly feeding the beast of mass consumption.

We should be squarely part of the political movement to protect ourselves, our communities, and communities of color from the food industry. Here’s why.

The food industry is killing us and they don’t give a fuck. In April of 1999, some of the most powerful food industry moguls (read: rich white men) met in Minneapolis to discuss the worsening problem of obesity in America. Whereas the first VP who spoke rallied his audience of 10 around a theme of responsibility and leadership, the next speaker responded, “Don’t talk to me about nutrition. Talk to me about taste, and if this stuff tastes better, don’t run around trying to sell stuff that doesn’t taste good.” This essentially killed further discussion. Nothing changed. The food industry continues to find ways of loosening regulations, falsely labeling its products, or not labeling them with important information (such as whether or not they contain GMOs).

It’s not your fault that the “taste” is addictive and dangerous. The moguls know good and well that “taste” will always win out, since “taste” has been constructed in a laboratory to keep you eating—and buying—unhealthy food. More and more studies are exposing the addictive nature of sugar. Salt is so ubiquitous that many people would consider their food too bland without it. These companies are bent on creating more and more heavy users. Guess how much money the processed food industry makes each year? I encourage you to do a bit of research on the largest American food companies and why processed foods are horrible, if you’re not already aware. It’s like street drugs were legalized all of a sudden and the dealers are going buck wild.

Bad food slows you down, and we need you to be productive! There is a lot of information on how food is related to more serious and life-threatening diseases such as heart disease and cancer. Unhealthy foods have also been linked to many ailments and conditions including chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, and even schizophrenia. (There’s a great documentary on how Margot Kidder treated her schizophrenia through nutrition.) As a filmmaker with a lot of ambitious goals on her plate, I can’t afford to be sick, sluggish, or incapacitated. Think how many more movies, songs, art installations, and performances we can create just by adopting healthy eating habits?

We’re gonna have some kick-ass parties in the queer assisted living facility.
I have another goal to live past the age of 90, and with any luck, become a centenarian. Who wants to join me and be in charge of dance night?

Oh, and fitness, too – a few exercise (and food) recommendations

Along with healthy eating comes staying physically fit. I’m lucky to live in the Bay Area and to have friends who empower folks to feel their best, both exercise and foodwise. Here are a few great ones; most are fairly inexpensive.

If you have a little bit of money

  • Rena Marie Guidry’s dance class: Rena teaches Fusion Rhythms at Rhythm & Motion in San Francisco (a mix of hip hop, jazz, African, modern Latin, world, and pop). This is non-stop energetic. I’ve never seen so many people smiling in a dance class on a Saturday morning. Check out the Rhythm & Motion class schedule to see when she’s teaching. Rena is also knowledgeable about healthy eating habits and using food to feel great.
  • GrooveCore with Teresa at ProAction Athletics: Teresa is awesome and has her own hashtag, #TeresaRocks. Her class has been known to be “so popular people show up half an hour before class to reserve a spot – during a busy work day.” She also provides general health information and like Rena Marie, she’s an amazing dancer!
  • Jada Delaney: I’ve been seeing Jada on and off for years for Chi Nei Tsang. Although she’s based in Santa Barbara, she visits San Francisco monthly. You’ll fall asleep on her massage table and feel so much better after a session with her.
  • Ace Morgan: Voted “Best of the Bay, Best Personal Trainer” by the SF Guardian, Ace has a loyal following of fitness devotees. Ace is all about health and lifestyle change, always attributing the results to the individual and not himself. He’ll also go food shopping with you. A great person—humble, kind, and inspiring.
  • A gym membership: Planet Fitness is one of the cheapest deals in the Bay Area. If you join Valencia Street Muscle you get the added bonus of catching up with Ace.
  • Independent grocers and co-ops: Rainbow Grocery is the big one in San Francisco, but there are tons of others like Berkeley Bowl and Farmer Joe’s in Oakland. Find one in your area. Stop supporting conglomerates and chains.

If you ain’t got no money

There’s no reason those with less means can’t eat and be healthy. It’s just a matter of getting the word out, like People’s Grocery is doing. Farmers markets are cheaper than you think, especially if you go to smaller community markets. Many of them accept food stamps. Or, you can rally people together to start your own. If you must go to Safeway, read labels and shop organic. And while you’re at it, go to their Facebook page and tell them to label their GMO foods, and sign the Credo-sponsored petition as well. Stay informed with sites like Fooducate and let other people know about them. For getting in shape, economics be damned—run, walk, or crawl if you have to.

The tide is changing

With enough visibility and concerted efforts, things can change. An urban farm is being built in Detroit. Latino communities in the U.S. are fighting diabetes with nutrition. If enough people start making a huge fuss and holding companies accountable on an ongoing basis, we can literally prolong life. See you in the rec room.

Use the hashtag #FoodJustice on Twitter and Facebook when posting healthy recipes, news stories related to healthy eating, or information exposing food industry worst practices.

 

7 Ways I Stopped Being a Jealous, Bitter, Dramatic Mess

ayahuasca ceremony in Peru

I attended a pretty fancy-schmancy university (Stanford, to be exact). When one graduates in the same class as famous political organizers, U.S. senators, and authors (or authors, or authors), there’s a lot of potential to develop a massive inferiority complex. For years, that’s kind of exactly what I did, i.e., compared myself to my peers, or at the very least, harbored a secret wish that they’d do something like eat bad fish, or stub a toe.

Well…as they say, that was then, this is now. I’m proud to say I haven’t harbored a jealous thought in a long time—probably for the last five or more years. How did I reach such a blissful state of confident Nirvana? How did I stop being a jealous, bitter, dramatic mess?

Here are 7 things that contributed.

  1. Started taking better care of myself. What you eat really does directly correlate to how you feel, and how you regard yourself. For the past several years (sugar addiction notwithstanding) I’ve focused on consuming lean meats, organic fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and plenty of nuts and legumes. I also exercise regularly and try to spend at least a little bit of time each day being mindful. It’s easy to fall into a pattern of self-pity if your staple food is Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
  2. Gave up toxic habits. If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know I haven’t touched alcohol since 2005. This was a catalyst to find a lot of self-worth outside of a bottle, and led to a lot less drama in my life.
  3. Focused on accomplishments and the process. I used to scoff at people who said, “It’s all about the process.” Now I’ve discovered, without this being a goal, that I love the process—writing, working with actors, composing shots, editing, and everything having to do with movies. Also, “accomplishments” are such socially defined little bastards. Awards? Of course they feel great. Money? Everyone appreciates getting paid; this goes without saying so I won’t (quite) say it. Finding I have a strong set of friends and cohorts who get excited about my movie projects? Excitement is hard to come by these days, meaning generating it is a major accomplishment.
  4. Surrounded myself with supporters. This is related to the above. It’s not one-sided—these are the people who love me who I love in return. One might even say “like-minded”. It took many years and a process of elimination, but I reached a point where I easily:
  5. Identified detractors and steered clear. Know the signs: they never congratulate you on anything, they talk a lot about themselves, they point out your perceived shortcomings in the form of jokes, and they can do no wrong. God bless ’em. I have none of them in my life.
  6. Had an Eat Pray Love moment. This happened in late 2008. I spent 10 days in the Peruvian rainforest on a shamanic ayahuasca retreat. (After all, isn’t film a controlled hallucinatory experience?) I wouldn’t recommend this for everyone but it worked wonders for me. (It also worked for Isabel Allende in completing her trilogy of adventure books.) Yes, as I communed with the ayahuasca goddess at the edge of the unknown universe, I had a sweeping sense of being a supreme creative being. What did you do this weekend?
  7. Grew older. The aging process is great for self-esteem. It’s made me mellow out a lot and not care so much about what other people think. When one has to focus on maintaining the energy required to get things done, one has little time for peer comparison. The only person I find myself trying to one-up these days is me.

If you’re currently a jealous, bitter, dramatic mess, I hope you find some pearls of wisdom or some small level of solace in the above. But stop comparing yourself to me—go make your own damn list.

 

Guest blogger:
Dakota Billops-Breaux

To honor Millennials, mixed chicks, and digital natives, Cinemulatto presents our first guest blogger: my daughter. May this serve as a time capsule and provide insight on what the “young people” are thinking.

Ladies and gentlemen, you are now experiencing an EXTREME. BLOG. TAKEOVER!
(Cue intense classic rock music and fire shooting up from unexpected places.)

My name is Dakota Billops-Breaux and I am honored to be Cinemulatto’s first guest blogger. Because I’m not a blogger, nor do I know the first thing about being a blogger, this should be an interesting experience. I do know, however, that this particular blog is about film. And race. And stuff. It says so in the header. So, readers, for the next three to five (or maybe six) hundred words, I’ll do my best to enlighten you on all of my knowledge of those three subjects.

Film.
Unlike my mother, I’m not one to pay close attention to the films I watch. How they were made, what shots were used, and various trivial facts about the films aren’t really in my best interest. (I mean, really, the only reason I’m even calling them “films” instead of “movies” is because I know that’s the Cinemulatto way!) However, I do know a lot about my mom’s films, and I’ve been on the set or a part of the cast or crew for basically my entire life. Being behind the scenes of several movies has really taught me a lot about film. For instance, when you’re four and wearing plastic purple heels and your assignment is to walk towards three drag queens, sometimes you just have to stop crying and suck it up for the camera, no matter how scary their false eyelashes and tall stature may be.

Race.
I am extremely mixed race. I’m about as mixed as a person can get; the only race missing is Latina. In addition to being mixed race, I come from a very mixed family, thus having relatives in a bunch of different parts of the world including Jamaica, England, New Mexico, Texas, and Minnesota. I visited my Minnesota relatives this past winter break for the celebration of my great grandmother’s 100th  birthday. (She lives in North Dakota. She’s adorable.) The reason I’m telling you about my trip to Minnesota is relevant, promise. I was staying in a hotel there (The Hilton. Very fancy. We used a Groupon.) and I took my sister, Precious, downstairs to see what was going on in the lobby, as bored 16-year-olds do. In the elevator a girl with straightened hair and a black headband turned to me and, with a fascinated look on her face, asked, “Are you Blasian?”
“Excuse me?” I replied.
“Blasian,” she repeated, “You know, like, Black and Asian?”
“Ah. That would make sense. I mean, I guess I am, yeah.” I obviously was not aware that “Blasian” was a thing. Turns out the 14-year-old Minnesotan was also “Blasian”, being a mix of African-American and Cambodian. It’s interesting that she chose to define herself as specifically as “Blasian” (in addition to choosing to create her Internet friend group out of almost entirely “Blasians”) when she could easily define herself as mixed, like I do. Granted, I am more than two races. What would my term be? Whi-a-bl-native-sian?

Stuff.

  • Dakota Fanning’s real name is Hannah.
  • In the music video for “What’s My Age Again?” by Blink 182, the band was naked about 40% of the time.
  • License plates in the Canadian Northwest territories are shaped like polar bears.

Well, I have thoroughly enjoyed being Cinemulatto’s first guest blogger. Because I don’t have a relevant thought to end on and keep you thinking about for the rest of the week, remember to eat your vegetables!

 

How Bay Area Tech Companies Can Change the World (and Save Face)

Not only do I hope tech companies come around and pursue the right course of action in San Francisco; they have a chance to take the lead and set a contemporary model for civic and corporate responsibility in a city with a long history of progressive politics.

Yesterday, Mayor Ed Lee met with several high-ranking tech figures to ask them to contribute more to housing, education, and public transportation. The meeting was private but the media obtained a copy of the invitation. Protestors made their voices heard outside of the offices of Salesforce.com.

This is an unprecedented opportunity for tech giants to do several things:

  • Become a positive part of the cultural fabric
  • Give back to the community
  • Transform San Francisco and surrounding communities
  • Develop a model that can be copied nationally
  • Save face

I always have to disclose: I’ve worked in the tech industry since the first dot.com bust. My first film was financed from stock options. I’ve been told I’m the exception and not the norm—a mixed-race queer chick who works in a highly diverse company. I regularly donate funds and resources to the artistic endeavors of friends, when I’m not financing my own. I’m so left-leaning it often feels like I’ll fall down. (Or is it vertigo?)

Surely, though, there can be some kind of n-point plan for eliminating—or at least greatly mitigating—several of the woes faced by the people of the Bay Area. Here’s what I propose.

Get as many tech companies as possible to form a coalition, perhaps called something like Community Partners, to help to directly combat the Bay Area’s most pressing issues. Over a five-year period, the companies would tackle the most urgent ones, the first two being unquestionable matters of life and death. After these goals are reached within the given timeframe, the next social ills would be addressed, two at a time over five-year periods.

Here is what I believe are the two biggest, solvable problems:

  1. The death rate among young African American men in Oakland. The leading cause of death in young Oakland men between 15 and 34 is homicide. Organizations like African American Male Achievement Office are taking measures to make these statistics a thing of the past. With the proper funding and partnership, this can become as much of a reality as the rapid application development timeframe that tech companies are so familiar with. Those at tech companies know better than anyone else the need to quickly design, develop, and deploy a new and powerful system. Why not lend these and financial resources to something within the realm of social possibility?
  2. Homelessness. A high estimate for the number of homeless on the streets of San Francisco is 5,000. Compared to the 51,000 people estimated as homeless in Los Angeles, this number is insignificant, and capable of being vastly reduced with the financial assistance of the over 100 tech companies in the Bay Area.

And after these are addressed? Solve problems in education, air quality, and public transportation. Compile a full list of problems that, by solving, would not only bring even greater prosperity to more people (San Francisco County currently has the second highest per capita income in California), but also position local tech companies as the most progressive coalition of businesses in the nation. How’s that for a marketing advantage?

How to accomplish all these lofty goals, those of you who work at tech companies? First off, start interacting with the outside world. Use the tech-ubiquitous catch phrases of innovation and disruption to affect social change on a large scale. Keep it organized. Rally with your tech allies to put together a project plan, measures of success, a budget, and the like; pledge a dollar amount toward a specific organization or set of organizations; then partner with these organizations until real, measurable change is realized. If even half of the 100 companies pledged $10,000 a year over 5 years, that’s $2.5 million dollars. This sort of mass philanthropy could produce real, lasting change.

What do you think? Would tech companies buy into something like this, and can the Bay Area be a beacon of civic improvement?

 

Identity and Resilience, Part Four: Drunk

I’ve never been big on groups. I’m sure it’s because of my family of origin, but I get skeptical whenever anyone invites me to be part of any organized, regular gathering—I assume some nasty group dynamic will eventually arise, or groupthink will quickly set in.

As a result, I didn’t last very long in AA. I stopped drinking, though.

I’ve been sober since September 17th, 2005. I remember that morning: I woke up supremely hung-over in a situation I hadn’t expected, recalling very little of the night before. I know I’d been in a lesbian bar in Los Angeles. I know a friend saved me from doing some extremely stupid and potentially life-altering things.

I used to be the one in clubs who “watched” drinks while my friends danced. They’d come back to find all the glasses on the table emptied, whether they held cosmos, vodka, or beer. My weapon of choice, however, was whiskey—Jack Daniels, from the bottle.

During my time of regular weekend night intoxication (and many weekend days during college), I engaged in all sorts of daredevil activities. Here are just a few of the many, many examples:

  • Sprinted down hills in North Beach to land on the hood of whatever car happened to be in the way
  • Tried to instigate fistfights with equally drunk frat boys (luckily I failed)
  • Dry-humped a friend’s broken leg during Dyke March as she rolled in a wheelchair
  • Ended up in the wrong, rich-white-men-only seat at the Academy Awards
  • Approached off-white young men with the greeting, “mah mulatto bruthah”

In other words, I had a blast.

The thing is, alcohol is amazing. It’s legal, cheap, and easily accessible. Being drunk was incredibly freeing and otherworldly, to the extent that I could do just about anything I wanted and think it was okay. It made me comfortable around women, as I’ve mentioned.

My inebriated party lasted for somewhere around 17 or 18 years before I realized that once I started drinking, I couldn’t stop. It was starting to affect my relationships. My blackouts became more frequent. I was a parent now and after seeing how my father acted while drunk when I was a kid, I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing the same stuff into my new family. And, being an aging, lonely alcoholic didn’t sound very attractive.

Still, once I admitted to myself that things would only get worse if I continued drinking, what did it feel like to identify as an alcoholic?

I know there can be a self-perpetuated social stigma to this label. I had trouble with it and still do, partly because I no longer drink. I have a greater desire to binge on sugar than to accept an offered alcoholic beverage. As for AA—half of the handful of meetings I attended felt like gay pickup scenes. The others just weren’t for me, the group-averse skeptic. In the end, I cozied up more to the identity of health nut, reducing my intake of sugar, exercising, and eating organic fruit and veggies, whole grains, and grass-fed things. If I was cutting out alcohol for my health and well-being, I was going whole hog, dammit.

Once again, like so many other times in my life, I bounced back (and not just from car hoods). Resilience extended to jumping on the wagon. To his great credit, my father did the same thing, kicking his alcohol habit in time to ensure I had just a messed-up upbringing, instead of messed-up and fatherless.

I still love alcohol, just not having it. I like being around drunk people; just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean they can’t have fun. I often volunteer to be designated driver. Life’s too short to not appreciate those who can get away with something.

So let’s raise a glass—to identity, resilience, sobriety, and alcohol.