So I left off on the Mark Freeman interview.
Later that night, I saw "Keep the Lights On." My first reaction was: woobie of all woobies, Sarah Monette would go apeshit for this. I am mostly able to use normal people words, though I still have some rather strong emotions, which I'll get into later.
"Keep the Lights On" is darkly comedic or comically dark. I thought it was going to be angsty, but I wasn't expecting to care. But the first scene is a guy surfing through a phone sex line, and the audience just started giggling, and I was like "Oh, I'm not the only one who thinks this is funny? All right. I'm down with that." Of course, then the film gets into the Danish puppy-gay's drug addict boyfriend, and their painfully co-dependent relationship, but all the characters are still so fun and quirky that you honestly feel bad for them. At least I did.
Yesterday we interviewed Ira Sachs, the director of "Keep the Lights On." And the actor who played the drug-addict boyfriend of the Danish puppy was there as well. And...I kind of asked him if I could hug him. And I may have said something about puppies. And I feel really awkward and embarrassed about the whole thing, but my only regret is that I didn't get a photo. It's on film, though.
And if you know me, you know that I don't like touching people and I don't like men, so I don't even know why I did that, except that I have a strange relationship with ficitonal characters. I relate to characters better than I do to real people. And an actor, especially a woobie (woobie = kicked puppy. Adorable and tortured.) messes with my perception because he's a person, but he's a character, but he's a person that I can physically hug instead of just feel woobied about. And he's a ginger. Ginger trumps gender.
(I just realized: Ginger + gay + drug addict + abusive co-dependent relationship + prostitution = Felix from Doctrine of Labyrinths. It's a book series by Sarah Monette and one of my favorites of all time, and I think I know why I got all gushy now. Ah well.)
Yesterday was a long day. We were planning on interviewing Frameline volunteers, but we were all too drained, and I had nearly burst into tears during the morning meeting (don't worry; it's all on film), because for the first time I felt like I couldn't handle it. So I only went to one movie, "Children of Srikandi," a documentary about queer women in Indonesia, which was brave and an interesting concept, but no "Kuchu." Very scripted and not informative.
After that I went home and I took time to read a book and be alone, except for when one of the boys barged in my room demanding to know why I wasn't out having fun. Because my idea of fun doesn't involve alcohol and penises? Spending time with a book for the first time in over a week was glorious.
But if "Kuchu" made me want to become an activist, "Lights" made me want to write again. I haven't been able to write since I got here, not just because I've been so busy but because my mind feels really unstable right now. Not in a bad way, just that it's changing so fast and being opened to so many things, I cannot focus on the creative process long enough to create something. I'm thinking so much, but I don't have time to process anything, and writing is just a way to process life, isn't it?
Friday, June 22, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
San Francisco: Days 5 - 7
I think I left off at my angstfest. I've roller-coastered up and down a few times since then. I'm not sure where I am right now. I'm taking a lull just to write.
Movies I have seen: "Frauensee," "Beauty," "Call Me Kuchu"
Frauensee: Decent. A lot of German humor. Not much resolution or plot arc. Character relationships were developed enough to keep me interested through the sex scenes (What? Don't you get bored at movies that are just: "Repression, repression, SEX, unhappy ending"?)
Beauty: Brutal and dark. I liked it, but I was in a weird mood that night. I was feeling really happy and so wanted to see something dark. Don't ask me how that works; I just live in my mind, I don't understand it. Some very African cinematography, which, for those who did not have Engelking's AP English class, means that there are a lot of boring shots of nothing. And it was kind of "Repression, SEX, unhappy ending," but all the sex was very non-gratuitous (either ugly or violent or both) and there were some interesting psychological things going on with the main character. Like I said, I liked it, but I feel like a bad person for saying that.
"Call Me Kuchu" - seven-minute standing ovation for the documentary about Ugandan gays; allegedly a Castro record. The main activist, David Kato, was killed while they were filming. And those people are not hiding in closets, they are active, even though they risk their lives. I don't like to toss around the word "inspiring," but - not just from this movie, from everything this course has brought me - I'm starting to feel that I can't just sit still, because these are our people and our rights. It's the same hatred fueling the Anti-Homosexuality Bill in Uganda as the marriage amendment in Minnesota, and we think that we're okay because no one's killing us anymore, but 1) they are, not just globally and not just in the south, I'm talking Trevor Project here, and 2) it's not just going to get better. Yeah, times are changing, but that's because people are fighting, and I don't think a lot of people realize just how hard some of these people fight. I didn't. I think I'm turning into an activist.
Interviews we have done:
Jack Dubowsky, director of "Submerged Queer Spaces," a documentary about places in San Francisco that used to be gay bars; he is also a representative for the Out Twin Cities film festival. A very chill guy, an experienced documentarian, so he knew how to be a good interviewee. He also flirted shamelessly with our sound guy, who is nineteen (not sure how old Jack is, but we're going to estimate 40+). He invited us to a bar, and then got a panicked look on his face when our director said that she was the only one who was of age - to drink, that is.
Jim Farmer, festival director of Out on Film in Atlanta. Apparently Atlanta is a really good place to be gay; like a tiny island oasis in The South. The Atlanta film festival picked up "Hear Me Now," the documentary about the Deaf/Queer community that a group from this class made last year (incidentally, they are also going to New York, Philadelphia, St. Petersburg, and the Czech Republic, if I understand everything correctly). He was a complete Southern gentleman and did not hit on our sound guy.
Mark Freeman, director of "Transgender Tuesdays," a documentary about the first public health clinic to offer sex-change hormones (I'm not sure if that is the most politically correct term; I forget what he used). He went off on some long-winded tangents, but I think we got some great sound bites. I think he mentioned a partner, so he did not overtly hit on our sound guy, but did give him a hug.
Yes, it does bother me a little that all our interviewees are white gay men. We tried to get the women who directed "Call Me Kuchu," but though they were interested (which is honor enough for me), they were also really busy and we couldn't get any scheduled that worked for both of us. Our director also scored Susan Stryker, who is some kind of transgender feminist goddess, but she cancelled on us last minute. So we're stuck with the white gay guys, who are still interesting.
Touristy stuff I have done:
Um. I've been around the Castro and the Haight. Seen a lot of naked people. Mosly ugly old naked men; apparently nudity is legal here, but not regulated. I've eaten sushi twice. I found the best cookie store ever, which also happens to sell underwear. Went into some pipe stores with other people - I don't smoke, but I can admire the glasswork. Oh, and I found a store that sells nothing but yarn, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, in every different material and color you can imagine. I got some greenish-bluish stuff that was made from seaweed, apparently. Honestly, I kind of want to move here just for the yarn. I think I've pretty much settled on Monterey for grad school. After that...well, we'll see.
I do know that I will never move to San Francisco. Oh, I love it here, it's like a gay paradise. But it's an island. It's not the real world. It's a pilgrimage site, where you see what can be, and then you take that back to freaking Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and Minnesota with its stupid marriage amendment, because I don't feel comfortable being in a place that's just okay anymore. We need to spread the freaking love.
Movies I have seen: "Frauensee," "Beauty," "Call Me Kuchu"
Frauensee: Decent. A lot of German humor. Not much resolution or plot arc. Character relationships were developed enough to keep me interested through the sex scenes (What? Don't you get bored at movies that are just: "Repression, repression, SEX, unhappy ending"?)
Beauty: Brutal and dark. I liked it, but I was in a weird mood that night. I was feeling really happy and so wanted to see something dark. Don't ask me how that works; I just live in my mind, I don't understand it. Some very African cinematography, which, for those who did not have Engelking's AP English class, means that there are a lot of boring shots of nothing. And it was kind of "Repression, SEX, unhappy ending," but all the sex was very non-gratuitous (either ugly or violent or both) and there were some interesting psychological things going on with the main character. Like I said, I liked it, but I feel like a bad person for saying that.
"Call Me Kuchu" - seven-minute standing ovation for the documentary about Ugandan gays; allegedly a Castro record. The main activist, David Kato, was killed while they were filming. And those people are not hiding in closets, they are active, even though they risk their lives. I don't like to toss around the word "inspiring," but - not just from this movie, from everything this course has brought me - I'm starting to feel that I can't just sit still, because these are our people and our rights. It's the same hatred fueling the Anti-Homosexuality Bill in Uganda as the marriage amendment in Minnesota, and we think that we're okay because no one's killing us anymore, but 1) they are, not just globally and not just in the south, I'm talking Trevor Project here, and 2) it's not just going to get better. Yeah, times are changing, but that's because people are fighting, and I don't think a lot of people realize just how hard some of these people fight. I didn't. I think I'm turning into an activist.
Interviews we have done:
Jack Dubowsky, director of "Submerged Queer Spaces," a documentary about places in San Francisco that used to be gay bars; he is also a representative for the Out Twin Cities film festival. A very chill guy, an experienced documentarian, so he knew how to be a good interviewee. He also flirted shamelessly with our sound guy, who is nineteen (not sure how old Jack is, but we're going to estimate 40+). He invited us to a bar, and then got a panicked look on his face when our director said that she was the only one who was of age - to drink, that is.
Jim Farmer, festival director of Out on Film in Atlanta. Apparently Atlanta is a really good place to be gay; like a tiny island oasis in The South. The Atlanta film festival picked up "Hear Me Now," the documentary about the Deaf/Queer community that a group from this class made last year (incidentally, they are also going to New York, Philadelphia, St. Petersburg, and the Czech Republic, if I understand everything correctly). He was a complete Southern gentleman and did not hit on our sound guy.
Mark Freeman, director of "Transgender Tuesdays," a documentary about the first public health clinic to offer sex-change hormones (I'm not sure if that is the most politically correct term; I forget what he used). He went off on some long-winded tangents, but I think we got some great sound bites. I think he mentioned a partner, so he did not overtly hit on our sound guy, but did give him a hug.
Yes, it does bother me a little that all our interviewees are white gay men. We tried to get the women who directed "Call Me Kuchu," but though they were interested (which is honor enough for me), they were also really busy and we couldn't get any scheduled that worked for both of us. Our director also scored Susan Stryker, who is some kind of transgender feminist goddess, but she cancelled on us last minute. So we're stuck with the white gay guys, who are still interesting.
Touristy stuff I have done:
Um. I've been around the Castro and the Haight. Seen a lot of naked people. Mosly ugly old naked men; apparently nudity is legal here, but not regulated. I've eaten sushi twice. I found the best cookie store ever, which also happens to sell underwear. Went into some pipe stores with other people - I don't smoke, but I can admire the glasswork. Oh, and I found a store that sells nothing but yarn, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, in every different material and color you can imagine. I got some greenish-bluish stuff that was made from seaweed, apparently. Honestly, I kind of want to move here just for the yarn. I think I've pretty much settled on Monterey for grad school. After that...well, we'll see.
I do know that I will never move to San Francisco. Oh, I love it here, it's like a gay paradise. But it's an island. It's not the real world. It's a pilgrimage site, where you see what can be, and then you take that back to freaking Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and Minnesota with its stupid marriage amendment, because I don't feel comfortable being in a place that's just okay anymore. We need to spread the freaking love.
Monday, June 18, 2012
San Francisco - Days 3-4
The days are starting to blur together into a montage of movie theaters.
Day 3 we got our storyboard approved. And my video still sucks, but I'm getting better. I think.
I skipped the girls shorts (films) to see a documentary about the history of San Francisco as a gay city, which sounded interesting and I wanted to solicit the director, but it did not have Amber Benson in it. It was quite a disappointment. It was boring, shots of buildings with anecdotes narrated by voice-overs, the camera was so, so shaky, and the music was kind of trippy. . The whole thing made me want to put my head between my knees and cover my ears. Actually, I kind of did a few times.
Afterwards I tried to solicit the director, but he was squirrely. I managed to pin him down for a fime later that day, which led to some really messy phone calls trying to get my group together. On the way down, I called to say we were running a few minutes late. "That's okay. We could even do it another day if you wanted." Yes. Yes. Another day. Why did I not suggest this before? Because he was so squirrely I was afraid he was going to run away. But we're actually doing him today.
Day 4 we pushed the morning class meeting an hour earlier, because some of us (mostly me) wanted to see a film that was playing at nine. We almost did not make it, though, because that turned into the meeting where everyone talks about their feelings. Honestly, tell us we seriously need to check in, and that we should be responsible enough to take out our own trash, and it's all good. Don't spend an hour talking about how unappreciated you feel.
We literally ran to the Bunnies (quick like a bunny!) and made it with plenty of time to spare what with traliers and everything. I was in such a hurry I did not even grab tissues, so of course this was the first film to make me cry. There's just something about a fluffy animated bunny saying "I love my girlfriend" that makes me really happy. The part that made me lose it, though, was "Met a girl. Broke her tree. Now I feel bad" - "So fix it!" - "Fix it?" There's a quote from Margaret Atwood about why we cry at hapy endings - because we know they are impossible. It's just so simple and beautiful and perfect, like life never is! But it is in bunny world.
After that, though, and even during that, I started feelng like the odd kid out at the party. Which really shouldn't happen in San Francisco. But the people who went with me to see the Bunnies didn't want to see it because they thought a bunny with a chainsaw sounded like the coolest thing ever; they wanted to see it to gawk at how weird it was. And later I tried to get people to go out with me while I took footage of the street, but everyone had gone out for a birthday party th enight before, and was trying to do homework today. And then no one at all wanted to go to the animated shorts, instead seeing a movie with lots of gay sex where apparently it's not even simulated, they're actually having sex on camera. Too bad, because the shorts were fantastic. I just don't have anyone to talk about them with.
And it isn't even that everyone was busy; it's just that people kept saying yes and then changing their minds. None of them love me more than shopping. And really, we just met, and all our group cohesiveness is a mutually maintained illusion, because I don't actually know these people, but I like that illusion. I hope this doesn't turn into Marburg. This can't turn into Marburg. It's just a reminder to myself that Marburg is always with me.
At least the weather is nice today. Cloudy with a high of 62. No, seriously, I'm really excited. I'm in the mood for a dreary day, not in a sulky emo way; I find it soothing, sometimes.
Day 3 we got our storyboard approved. And my video still sucks, but I'm getting better. I think.
I skipped the girls shorts (films) to see a documentary about the history of San Francisco as a gay city, which sounded interesting and I wanted to solicit the director, but it did not have Amber Benson in it. It was quite a disappointment. It was boring, shots of buildings with anecdotes narrated by voice-overs, the camera was so, so shaky, and the music was kind of trippy. . The whole thing made me want to put my head between my knees and cover my ears. Actually, I kind of did a few times.
Afterwards I tried to solicit the director, but he was squirrely. I managed to pin him down for a fime later that day, which led to some really messy phone calls trying to get my group together. On the way down, I called to say we were running a few minutes late. "That's okay. We could even do it another day if you wanted." Yes. Yes. Another day. Why did I not suggest this before? Because he was so squirrely I was afraid he was going to run away. But we're actually doing him today.
Day 4 we pushed the morning class meeting an hour earlier, because some of us (mostly me) wanted to see a film that was playing at nine. We almost did not make it, though, because that turned into the meeting where everyone talks about their feelings. Honestly, tell us we seriously need to check in, and that we should be responsible enough to take out our own trash, and it's all good. Don't spend an hour talking about how unappreciated you feel.
We literally ran to the Bunnies (quick like a bunny!) and made it with plenty of time to spare what with traliers and everything. I was in such a hurry I did not even grab tissues, so of course this was the first film to make me cry. There's just something about a fluffy animated bunny saying "I love my girlfriend" that makes me really happy. The part that made me lose it, though, was "Met a girl. Broke her tree. Now I feel bad" - "So fix it!" - "Fix it?" There's a quote from Margaret Atwood about why we cry at hapy endings - because we know they are impossible. It's just so simple and beautiful and perfect, like life never is! But it is in bunny world.
After that, though, and even during that, I started feelng like the odd kid out at the party. Which really shouldn't happen in San Francisco. But the people who went with me to see the Bunnies didn't want to see it because they thought a bunny with a chainsaw sounded like the coolest thing ever; they wanted to see it to gawk at how weird it was. And later I tried to get people to go out with me while I took footage of the street, but everyone had gone out for a birthday party th enight before, and was trying to do homework today. And then no one at all wanted to go to the animated shorts, instead seeing a movie with lots of gay sex where apparently it's not even simulated, they're actually having sex on camera. Too bad, because the shorts were fantastic. I just don't have anyone to talk about them with.
And it isn't even that everyone was busy; it's just that people kept saying yes and then changing their minds. None of them love me more than shopping. And really, we just met, and all our group cohesiveness is a mutually maintained illusion, because I don't actually know these people, but I like that illusion. I hope this doesn't turn into Marburg. This can't turn into Marburg. It's just a reminder to myself that Marburg is always with me.
At least the weather is nice today. Cloudy with a high of 62. No, seriously, I'm really excited. I'm in the mood for a dreary day, not in a sulky emo way; I find it soothing, sometimes.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
San Francisco - Day 2
Today was the day I crashed, as I knew I would. Really, two days on a high is more than enough.
I saw two films yesterday - though technically one was two separate films because they were both about lesbian feminist activists. The first one, "Passionate Politics," covered the work of Charlotte Bunch, from her early work with the Civil Rights Movement, to her branching into feminism and starting women's shelters all over the world. The second film, "A Force of Nature," was a bit more whimsical in its take on Ellen Ratner, showing her constantly trying to kiss bizarre animals (fish, goats, turkeys, you name it.) The first five minutes were people talking about how terrifying she is and how much they love her; she is an unstoppable force of nature.
The second (or third, depending how you count) film I saw was "My Brother the Devil." It was the first fiction film I saw at the Castro, and the reason I burned out quite when I did. First, the accents. It is a British film about Egyptian immigrants, and to Midwestern ears, that is such a bizarre cockatil of accents I found myself wishing badly for subtitles.
But really, it was the story that annoyed me. It was a coming-of-age drama, so I was not too keen on it to begin with, but my group pressured me into it, and it was about siblings. There aren't very many queer stories with siblings, have you noticed that? Despite there being a correlation between older brothers and being gay. I went in at least open to the possibility that it would not suck.
Maybe it was just cultural differences, but I could not get into the story. There were a lot of subplots that did not quite seem to connect: the big brother trying to leave the gang, the little brother trying to follow him into the gang, the big brother realizing he's gay and getting a boyfriend, the little brother getting a girlfriend. Of them all, the little brother getting a girlfriend was the most superfluous, and I suspect that it was put in there to make the film more palatable to straight audiences. Actually, the big brother being gay was also kind of a pointless plot point. The little brother is really upset when he first finds out, but after he gets shot he's okay with it. It makes no sense. Or maybe it was explained in the dialogue. But really, at a queer film festival, you should not say that a character being gay added nothing to the plot.
That's my rant on the first film here that I truly did not like; hopefully there will not be many more.
I was completely burned out after "Devil," and even though I knew it would help if I ate, I did not have the energy to go out and find food. So when I returned to the condo and found one of my classmates had made huge amounts of pesto pasta, as well as raspberry scones, I just about died of gratitude. It gave me the strength to power through our storyboard with my group.
For some reason I still can't post pictures, which is inordinately irritating.
I saw two films yesterday - though technically one was two separate films because they were both about lesbian feminist activists. The first one, "Passionate Politics," covered the work of Charlotte Bunch, from her early work with the Civil Rights Movement, to her branching into feminism and starting women's shelters all over the world. The second film, "A Force of Nature," was a bit more whimsical in its take on Ellen Ratner, showing her constantly trying to kiss bizarre animals (fish, goats, turkeys, you name it.) The first five minutes were people talking about how terrifying she is and how much they love her; she is an unstoppable force of nature.
The second (or third, depending how you count) film I saw was "My Brother the Devil." It was the first fiction film I saw at the Castro, and the reason I burned out quite when I did. First, the accents. It is a British film about Egyptian immigrants, and to Midwestern ears, that is such a bizarre cockatil of accents I found myself wishing badly for subtitles.
But really, it was the story that annoyed me. It was a coming-of-age drama, so I was not too keen on it to begin with, but my group pressured me into it, and it was about siblings. There aren't very many queer stories with siblings, have you noticed that? Despite there being a correlation between older brothers and being gay. I went in at least open to the possibility that it would not suck.
Maybe it was just cultural differences, but I could not get into the story. There were a lot of subplots that did not quite seem to connect: the big brother trying to leave the gang, the little brother trying to follow him into the gang, the big brother realizing he's gay and getting a boyfriend, the little brother getting a girlfriend. Of them all, the little brother getting a girlfriend was the most superfluous, and I suspect that it was put in there to make the film more palatable to straight audiences. Actually, the big brother being gay was also kind of a pointless plot point. The little brother is really upset when he first finds out, but after he gets shot he's okay with it. It makes no sense. Or maybe it was explained in the dialogue. But really, at a queer film festival, you should not say that a character being gay added nothing to the plot.
That's my rant on the first film here that I truly did not like; hopefully there will not be many more.
I was completely burned out after "Devil," and even though I knew it would help if I ate, I did not have the energy to go out and find food. So when I returned to the condo and found one of my classmates had made huge amounts of pesto pasta, as well as raspberry scones, I just about died of gratitude. It gave me the strength to power through our storyboard with my group.
For some reason I still can't post pictures, which is inordinately irritating.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
San Francisco -Days 0 and 1
As I may have mentioned, I am taking a trip to SAN FRANCISCO as part of a summer course. What kind of course, you ask? Well, technically it's in the Women's Studies department, but really it's gay (Ah, you say, That makes sense now.) and movies. We get to attend the Frameline Film Festival and write critiques of the films, as well as film our own documentay. My group's assigned topic is activist filmmakers, which we kind of morphed into film festivals as sites of social change.
We are staying in a condo owned by a fantastic Australian man and his partner. In the back there is a lovely bamboo garden that is going to be a refuge for many of us during the hectic coming weeks. I had a picture, but my computer is being weird and won't let me show you.
That first night after we unpacked, half the class went out with the professors for sushi. Have you ever had sushi with a professor? It's intereresting. Especially when they drink sake. It was only sometime that night that I realized I was actually IN FREAKING SAN FRANCISCO, and it made me a little loopy. I'm still a little loopy.
Because today I got to see the HRC building that used to be Harvey Milk's camera shop, and the Harvey Milk Memorial Elementary school (seriously, everything's named after that guy here. He's like L.E. Phillips is in Eau Claire.) And THE Pride Flag (which I don't think is as big as the, what, 20x30 one we have in EC? But it was actually flying, so who could tell), and I wandered through the Haight (which I learned is not spelled "Hate," which makes a lot more sense, since it's where all the peace and love hippies hang out).
But if you go to San Francisco, and you're queer, the Castro Theater is the gay mecca. Harvey Milk appears on the screen, and the whole place bursts into cheers and applause - because everyon knows who he is, everyone worships him, and they're not afraid to show it.
It's not like a janky old movie theater. Think of a fancy opera house - like the Ordway in Minneapolis, though I was put more in mind of the Semperoper in Dresden. I was seated on the end of our group, next to a nice stranger who explained the references in the old Frameline trailers that they always play on opening night, and I told him about us being a student group from Wisconsin.
This year the opening movie was "Vito," a documentary about the life of activist Vito Russo. If you don't know about him, you should, and a good way to learn about him is through that documentary. First the guy spent ten years writing a book on Hollywood portrayal of gay characters while running an activist group, and then in the eighties he got big into AIDS activism - even before he himself was diagnosed with AIDS. Around that point in the film, you could hear the entire theater sniffling. I was literally handing out tissues left and right - one to my classmate and one to the nice stranger next to me. Seriously, they say Minnesota nice, but we're also reserved - we don't talk to strangers in the theater.
I love this city. I thought going to college and befriending other gays was a mind-blowing moment for me, but coming here, and seeing the gay everywhere - it's changing my worldview. But since I am a cynical bitch (and proud!) I realize I cannot live on a gay island for the rest of my life. And it makes me think of what kind of narrative I want to create. The worlds where sexual orientation doesn't matter and everyone is effectively bisexual - those are nice fantasy and commentary, but that's not what we aspire to. Gays and straights are always going to be different, the way men and women are always going to be different. But that doesn't mean we can't get along. What we need is more peaceful crossover between the gay and straight worlds.
Looking at the odd little shorts I've jotted down since I started this course and have had queer theory coming out of my ears, I realize that is something of a recurring theme: a gay jock rooming with a straight nerd, a sibling too young to understand what her brother means when he says he's gay, a straight-identified girl whose attempts to find her lesbian friend a date cause her to question her own sexuality. Crossover. Communication. And with increased presence and visibility, I believe that we can show straight people they have no reason to fear us, and gay people they have no reason to fear straights.
But I do love this city. I have decided, with the help of one of my professors who has lived just about everywhere, that I would much rather go to Monterey than New York. I have a plan for my life! I know what I'm going to do when I graduate! And I'm no longer panicking! San Francisco has done wonderful things for me.
We are staying in a condo owned by a fantastic Australian man and his partner. In the back there is a lovely bamboo garden that is going to be a refuge for many of us during the hectic coming weeks. I had a picture, but my computer is being weird and won't let me show you.
That first night after we unpacked, half the class went out with the professors for sushi. Have you ever had sushi with a professor? It's intereresting. Especially when they drink sake. It was only sometime that night that I realized I was actually IN FREAKING SAN FRANCISCO, and it made me a little loopy. I'm still a little loopy.
Because today I got to see the HRC building that used to be Harvey Milk's camera shop, and the Harvey Milk Memorial Elementary school (seriously, everything's named after that guy here. He's like L.E. Phillips is in Eau Claire.) And THE Pride Flag (which I don't think is as big as the, what, 20x30 one we have in EC? But it was actually flying, so who could tell), and I wandered through the Haight (which I learned is not spelled "Hate," which makes a lot more sense, since it's where all the peace and love hippies hang out).
But if you go to San Francisco, and you're queer, the Castro Theater is the gay mecca. Harvey Milk appears on the screen, and the whole place bursts into cheers and applause - because everyon knows who he is, everyone worships him, and they're not afraid to show it.
It's not like a janky old movie theater. Think of a fancy opera house - like the Ordway in Minneapolis, though I was put more in mind of the Semperoper in Dresden. I was seated on the end of our group, next to a nice stranger who explained the references in the old Frameline trailers that they always play on opening night, and I told him about us being a student group from Wisconsin.
This year the opening movie was "Vito," a documentary about the life of activist Vito Russo. If you don't know about him, you should, and a good way to learn about him is through that documentary. First the guy spent ten years writing a book on Hollywood portrayal of gay characters while running an activist group, and then in the eighties he got big into AIDS activism - even before he himself was diagnosed with AIDS. Around that point in the film, you could hear the entire theater sniffling. I was literally handing out tissues left and right - one to my classmate and one to the nice stranger next to me. Seriously, they say Minnesota nice, but we're also reserved - we don't talk to strangers in the theater.
I love this city. I thought going to college and befriending other gays was a mind-blowing moment for me, but coming here, and seeing the gay everywhere - it's changing my worldview. But since I am a cynical bitch (and proud!) I realize I cannot live on a gay island for the rest of my life. And it makes me think of what kind of narrative I want to create. The worlds where sexual orientation doesn't matter and everyone is effectively bisexual - those are nice fantasy and commentary, but that's not what we aspire to. Gays and straights are always going to be different, the way men and women are always going to be different. But that doesn't mean we can't get along. What we need is more peaceful crossover between the gay and straight worlds.
Looking at the odd little shorts I've jotted down since I started this course and have had queer theory coming out of my ears, I realize that is something of a recurring theme: a gay jock rooming with a straight nerd, a sibling too young to understand what her brother means when he says he's gay, a straight-identified girl whose attempts to find her lesbian friend a date cause her to question her own sexuality. Crossover. Communication. And with increased presence and visibility, I believe that we can show straight people they have no reason to fear us, and gay people they have no reason to fear straights.
But I do love this city. I have decided, with the help of one of my professors who has lived just about everywhere, that I would much rather go to Monterey than New York. I have a plan for my life! I know what I'm going to do when I graduate! And I'm no longer panicking! San Francisco has done wonderful things for me.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
I Want to Do Something Stupid...
A friend of mine wrote a poem that stuck in my brain.
I want to do something stupid
While I can still blame it on being young -
I want to go to New York to study literary translation. I'm not good with strange places and strange people, I grew up in the suburban Midwest and went to school in a medium-sized town - I don't think I can handle New York. I have been assured by my professors - as well as the program director at NY - that I will not be able to make a living with literary translation. Not to mention that it is a dual program in Translation AND Creative Writing - and while last semester I proved to myself that I can handle a Creative Writing class, it's still not my favorite thing to contend with.
Really, I should just forget about that program as impractical in every way, and just go to Kent State, like my professor advised. (I told her I wanted to get out of Wisconsin - believe it or not, there is a translation school in Milwaukee - and she gave me Ohio. Well, perhaps I should have been more general.) The program there is technical translation, legal and medical and computer, all sorts of things that people actually pay translators for, and while it's certainly not the best field, I will likely do as well as can be expected.
But that's the safe option. I've always taken the safe option, and frankly, I'm sick of it. Not many people know this, but I almost applied for UAA - the University of Alaska, Anchorage. If I'd done that, I'd probably be looking at Applied Linguistics and native language preservation by now. And I'd probably know how to dogsled. It was a pleasant dream my junior year, but when I actually started applying, I thought of so many logistical and practical barriers, that in the end I never even applied. I went to safe, 90-minutes away, whitewashed, Midwestern Eau Claire. And I met so many wonderful people here, and have enjoyed myself immensely and grown so much, and I have pushed my boudaries, really. But Eau Claire is not Alaska.
I almost went to Graz, Austria, for my semester abroad, instead of Marburg, Germany. But no one else was going to Graz; besides, the Austrian dialect is so thick it's hardly even German. There, it is a complete immersion experience, and you take classes with native speakers in the native language. Marburg, on the other hand, gives you German-for-foreigners with other foreigners. Safe.
That was a mistake.
Long story short I was bored out of my mind and depressed for about six months straight. That's what comes of taking the safe option.
Granted, I haven't even applied, much less gotten in. The New York program is very competitive, and I'm going up against people who are already professional translators and want to expand their horizons a bit. There is, however, another translation school with a good reputation in Monterey, California. Monterey, from what I can gather, is the Eau Claire of California - there's nothing to do, and you're only there if you're a student or retired. Monterey is the compromise option. Monterey is the Eau Claire between the U of M and Alaska (though it is a bit closer to Alaska than the U). So I can safely go there without feeling like a coward. And I think in typing this I just convinced myself to go there after all.
But I'm going to at least try for New York. I have to. If I don't get in and end up at Monterey, that's fine, but if I never even try...well, that's just pathetic. And if I do get in, and end up going there, and it ends up being a horrible mistake, at least I made an interesting mistake instead of a boring one.
I want to do something stupid
While I can still blame it on being young -
I want to go to New York to study literary translation. I'm not good with strange places and strange people, I grew up in the suburban Midwest and went to school in a medium-sized town - I don't think I can handle New York. I have been assured by my professors - as well as the program director at NY - that I will not be able to make a living with literary translation. Not to mention that it is a dual program in Translation AND Creative Writing - and while last semester I proved to myself that I can handle a Creative Writing class, it's still not my favorite thing to contend with.
Really, I should just forget about that program as impractical in every way, and just go to Kent State, like my professor advised. (I told her I wanted to get out of Wisconsin - believe it or not, there is a translation school in Milwaukee - and she gave me Ohio. Well, perhaps I should have been more general.) The program there is technical translation, legal and medical and computer, all sorts of things that people actually pay translators for, and while it's certainly not the best field, I will likely do as well as can be expected.
But that's the safe option. I've always taken the safe option, and frankly, I'm sick of it. Not many people know this, but I almost applied for UAA - the University of Alaska, Anchorage. If I'd done that, I'd probably be looking at Applied Linguistics and native language preservation by now. And I'd probably know how to dogsled. It was a pleasant dream my junior year, but when I actually started applying, I thought of so many logistical and practical barriers, that in the end I never even applied. I went to safe, 90-minutes away, whitewashed, Midwestern Eau Claire. And I met so many wonderful people here, and have enjoyed myself immensely and grown so much, and I have pushed my boudaries, really. But Eau Claire is not Alaska.
I almost went to Graz, Austria, for my semester abroad, instead of Marburg, Germany. But no one else was going to Graz; besides, the Austrian dialect is so thick it's hardly even German. There, it is a complete immersion experience, and you take classes with native speakers in the native language. Marburg, on the other hand, gives you German-for-foreigners with other foreigners. Safe.
That was a mistake.
Long story short I was bored out of my mind and depressed for about six months straight. That's what comes of taking the safe option.
Granted, I haven't even applied, much less gotten in. The New York program is very competitive, and I'm going up against people who are already professional translators and want to expand their horizons a bit. There is, however, another translation school with a good reputation in Monterey, California. Monterey, from what I can gather, is the Eau Claire of California - there's nothing to do, and you're only there if you're a student or retired. Monterey is the compromise option. Monterey is the Eau Claire between the U of M and Alaska (though it is a bit closer to Alaska than the U). So I can safely go there without feeling like a coward. And I think in typing this I just convinced myself to go there after all.
But I'm going to at least try for New York. I have to. If I don't get in and end up at Monterey, that's fine, but if I never even try...well, that's just pathetic. And if I do get in, and end up going there, and it ends up being a horrible mistake, at least I made an interesting mistake instead of a boring one.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Filler Post
My reader has been clamoring for a new post. Yes, I only have one reader. I can see how many times my posts have been viewed. I'm thinking about starting a new blog. One that has more of a theme, i.e. ranting about books/movies/TV shows and generally being a pretentious hipster.
Am I still a hipster if I admit I am one? Because I do like some things just because they are obscure. Granted, you need a critical mass of fandom for it to be fun, but things that everyone likes just aren't the same. So yeah, I'm a tea-drinking,Mumford and Sons (they're actually on the radio) Frank Turner listening, Galen Beckett reading (I liked him better when he was publishing under Mark Anthony, though I get why he went to a pseudonym), German speaking hipster.
That wasn't what I was going to post about.
Well, it was, I think. One of the things. Summer is a time of idleness and reflection, a time of setting goals you never achieve, but at least you have enough time to do them if you wanted to. Usually.
This summer I am taking two summer classes. One is an online class about language development and its for my minor. The other is an upper-level queer theory class that involves two weeks in San Francisco and making a documentary film. And lots and lots of angry readings about the heteropatriarchy.
(My reader knows this already, but since it's on the internet I feel like I have to make this coherent to the general public.)
This summer I am also living off-campus, on my own (i.e. not under adult supervision, because I am an adult, or so I've been told).
This summer I need to start seriously looking in to grad school applications. It's not just a distant dream to get me through a depressed phase - it's my actual future that I hold in my own hands, and I'm terrified I might drop it.
This summer I hope to start an etsy shop and sell crocheted My Little Ponies (no, seriously, those things go for $20-$40, and you know what? Yarn is cheap) in lieu of getting a real job.
See, my original goal for this summer was to get a real job and my driver's license. Then San Francisco happened, and I put growing up on hold.
So maybe this post is about growing up, and how it's not happening, only it is happening. I'm not reaching milestones, but I'm learning more about myself - not changing, but becoming more who I am (coughhipstercough yeah, what of it?it's true). I'm a hipster. I'm a brony (that's for another post). I'm queer not a lesbian, and I don't give a damn about dismantling the heteropatriarchy, I'm going to change the world in my own small way by writing books. If I ever finish the damn things. At least I'm writing again.
I stopped writing. And then I started again. And then I stopped. It's like when I used to get depressed (used to?) - so depressed that I felt like I would never be happy again. I went through so many cycles, eventually I realized that I would always feel happy again. And I would always feel sad again. And maybe that was the first step in my growing up and leaving behind the adolescent woes, because once I stopped fearing my depression it had less power over me. Until extenuating circumstances, but even that passed.
I'm going to stop before this gets any more rambly.
So, my dear reader, I hope this was enough to break the monotony of your North Dakota wasteland for a little while, and I will be sure to keep you posted on my future activities in the blogosphere.
Am I still a hipster if I admit I am one? Because I do like some things just because they are obscure. Granted, you need a critical mass of fandom for it to be fun, but things that everyone likes just aren't the same. So yeah, I'm a tea-drinking,
That wasn't what I was going to post about.
Well, it was, I think. One of the things. Summer is a time of idleness and reflection, a time of setting goals you never achieve, but at least you have enough time to do them if you wanted to. Usually.
This summer I am taking two summer classes. One is an online class about language development and its for my minor. The other is an upper-level queer theory class that involves two weeks in San Francisco and making a documentary film. And lots and lots of angry readings about the heteropatriarchy.
(My reader knows this already, but since it's on the internet I feel like I have to make this coherent to the general public.)
This summer I am also living off-campus, on my own (i.e. not under adult supervision, because I am an adult, or so I've been told).
This summer I need to start seriously looking in to grad school applications. It's not just a distant dream to get me through a depressed phase - it's my actual future that I hold in my own hands, and I'm terrified I might drop it.
This summer I hope to start an etsy shop and sell crocheted My Little Ponies (no, seriously, those things go for $20-$40, and you know what? Yarn is cheap) in lieu of getting a real job.
See, my original goal for this summer was to get a real job and my driver's license. Then San Francisco happened, and I put growing up on hold.
So maybe this post is about growing up, and how it's not happening, only it is happening. I'm not reaching milestones, but I'm learning more about myself - not changing, but becoming more who I am (coughhipstercough yeah, what of it?it's true). I'm a hipster. I'm a brony (that's for another post). I'm queer not a lesbian, and I don't give a damn about dismantling the heteropatriarchy, I'm going to change the world in my own small way by writing books. If I ever finish the damn things. At least I'm writing again.
I stopped writing. And then I started again. And then I stopped. It's like when I used to get depressed (used to?) - so depressed that I felt like I would never be happy again. I went through so many cycles, eventually I realized that I would always feel happy again. And I would always feel sad again. And maybe that was the first step in my growing up and leaving behind the adolescent woes, because once I stopped fearing my depression it had less power over me. Until extenuating circumstances, but even that passed.
I'm going to stop before this gets any more rambly.
So, my dear reader, I hope this was enough to break the monotony of your North Dakota wasteland for a little while, and I will be sure to keep you posted on my future activities in the blogosphere.
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