The Golden Flower Is, Indeed, Cursed

I just saw Curse of the Golden Flower (Man cheng jin dai huang jin jia ) by famed director Yimou Zhang of Raise the Red Lantern and House of Flying Daggers fame. It features the incomparable Gong Li (or, Li Gong, by the Chinese form of Last Name First).

This was a Shakespearean parable which turned very cartoony at a certain point. The San Francisco audience I saw it with tonight all cracked up at the climax when the soap-opera-ness of the quick series of close-up reaction shots (her reaction! his reaction! her reaction to his reaction! him looking at his reaction to her reacting to his reaction to her reaction!). And then, after an exhausting and disorienting wild ride (or, for me, a refreshing holiday family romp of blood and mayhem-- I felt quite rested, with a much better mood than I went in with), we were unable to do the traditional San Francisco audience applause at the end of the opening night's first showing because-- the credits rolled to the tune of a sappy POP SONG! It was a 9th-10th century AD period piece, with no music - almost no music at all- that had us all hypnotized by sparse panicky noise and uneven breathing and clashing weapons- and the spell was wiped away by an upbeat contemporary pop song! Weird, weird bad choice. Kind of a stunningly bad choice.

The rundown:

Jesus Figure: none! Nobody was driven to their ruin and then redeemed to greater glory, nobody. A classic tragedy.

Lesbian Movie Standard: met. Two women have a conversation about something other than a man. Gong Li's Empress character has a conversation with Chen Jin's mysterious Physician's Wife character about the way she was being poisoned.

Gay Character: the Empress' eunuch, who helped foment the revolt. He only gets a brief screen appearance, but there he is.

Guilty Pleasure: the bouncing boobs in those tight push-up bodices. Even one set of boobs decorated with shiny gold butterfly adornments (watch for it in one of the early scenes where Gong Li is taking her "medicine").

One review I just read notes that this is basically a lot like Raise the Red Lantern (the rottenness of royal/ upperclass living) but with melodrama and soap opera-ness and flying martial arts scenes. I still recommend R. the R. Lantern over this or almost any movie out there, period. It is a completely awe-inspiring movie. This, not so much. But still worth the price of seeing it in a real theatre. Really, the stage setting of carved rainbow-flourite palace lattice-work walls is STUNNING. My favorite scene is the mysterious Physician's Wife spotting her - we later learn - son through the translucent rainbow flourite lattice-work, and following him at a run - so the rainbow gemstone blurs... and then suddenly it's a fight scene (and that little ninja lady can really fight!).

Flaming Hula Hoops, Jump Ropes, and Bull Whips, Oh My

Unmata - the kick-ass dance group from San Jose - did this flaming children's toys thing at Shadow Play on Nov. 10 in Oakland.

Scroll to minute 8 for the bullwhip.

A bullwhip is a children's toy, in some parts of the world, right?

Survived

In the medical world, if you live five years past your cancer diagnosis, then you have survived cancer.

I have today medically/statistically survived the cure of my case of Cancer of the Girlfriend. As any cancer "survivor" like me can tell you, the only cure for cancer is death. So she got cured five years ago. Her cure wasn't too easy on me. But I'm still here.

Rest in peace, K2.

Call Homeland Security

My cat hates democracy. She barfed on my absentee ballot.

I'm not sure she's in league with the Terrorists but cats were once worshiped in the Arabic lands. I suggest someone look into it.

So How Was THIS Trip to Russia?

I forgot to mention in my last post that I was writing from Novgorod, Russia, in the middle of helping my friend Tatka's daughter deal with her English homework. Those six days I tagged on at the end of my work trip to Siberia were really wonderful. I got the full immersion experience, something I don't get when I'm traveling around with colleagues and work partners who speak English. In this little vacation I went "home" to the city where I studied for a year in college, Novgorod, aka Velikii Novgorod, aka Novgorod the Great. My friends there don't even read the English alphabet, something that startles me every time. Like, typing in the password for their dial-up connection they will try to read me the keys to press, and they don't know how to say the letters. I forget that there is no reason for any of them to know this information.

I haven't put my photo albums together yet, and with my tendonitis I'm going to take my time doing it. In the meantime, here are some other peoples' photos of the Moscow metro, a place where I spent large chunks of time in my three one-day pass-throughs of that city:

English Russia: Photos Made in Moscow Subway

I love how the drunken sleeping poses remind me of the cat-owner fan site, The Silly Sleeping Pose Olympics.

This is What Russian Students Memorize to Learn English

Still. Even after people who know living English came here to live.


Are the birds in the box?
Yes the birds are in the box.
Now take the monkeys and give them to me, please.
Are the crocodiles on the table?


This is a 1996 textbook. I am sure there is a method to their madness. But why - why! - do the children have to memorize this?


The bear's white.
The bird's blue.
The dog's black.
The puppy's, too.

I don't even know what that last sentence means.

Reduced to Syllables

It's been a while, eh? I got mentally et up by the Intro to Statistics class that I took over the summer semester-- and got an A in (shining knuckles on shirt)-- but I also have been eschewing computing outside of work because of a worker's comp claim for tendonitis... and meanwhile there is so much horror and bloodshed in the daily headlines (both in the Mid East and in Oakland) that I can't quite come up with a response. The world leaves me kind of speechless these days.

So I've been reading Jane Hirshfield's "Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry," and she recommends getting inspiration from reading word origins. Lucky me, I'm also supposed to be studying for the GRE, so I spent some time last night with my GRE vocab list and the dictionary. I'm sure you know what these mean but I would just like to list a few words that are great. To say, at least.

Vermilion
Zephyr
Peatmoss
Turf (the Russian for "peatmoss" is "torf" - and I think that is a dandy word too)
Antechamber
Troubador
Smock
Intrinsic
Snipe
Estuary
Shoehorn
Pontoon
Cessation
Soupspoon
Currycomb
Shellac
Sorrel
Muslin
Dreadnaught
Pants

...That's enough of that.

10 Days on Sakhalin

So how was Russia you ask.

Let's see, when I was last there in the fall of 2005 it wasn't much different from this time-- the oil barons getting rich, the roads are barely what you could call roads, what remains of government control over the social conditions is fading with the rapid rise in power of the oiligarchs, racism and sexism is alive and well, everyone seems to love Putin because they've swallowed that story that Russia Needs a Strong Leader to Bring Her Out of Chaos (they don't have the access to information that would help them follow the money as it piles offshore into private bank accounts instead of going into the country's infrastructure), and from what I know and have seen in Siberia and the Far East, you pretty much don't ever want to be out if you aren't straight. And while it's not as bad in the western provinces, it's still a sketchy business being out even in the capitals- Moscow and Petersburg. And please to not conduct any "gay-parade" in Moscow. But that's another story.

More specific news from this trip?

OK. In the Seoul / Incheon airport (ICN) I saw a t-shirt - one of many misspelled/ nonsense phrases in English that I saw printed on clothing -

"Heaven almost helpes those who decide jeans."

Another memorable quote-- we were examining important documents on the environmental impacts of the pipeline we were heading out to examine. L., our visiting pipeline expert from Alaska was sitting in the dark scrolling through documents for the third hour in a row and I heard her say -

"I'm not a biologist. Wetlands, shmetlands."

And then later when we were observing the improper storage of antifreeze barrels, which happen to be bright blue, D., the policy director from our org sort of mentioned as an aside -

"Blue is a good color for toxic waste."

There were some nice and strange roadsigns, too. One just had an exclamation mark on it. It was posted near the pipeline corridor. What exactly were we supposed to be alarmed about? I mean, all along the pipeline we saw alarming things, but maybe we were just generally supposed to be alarmed anyway, on account of the fact that we were in Russia and in the remote regions of a remote island whose only high-end export is underneath the source of food for most of the region (fish-rich waters), and non-risk-averse Muscovites and foreign oilies are happy to sacrifice the wellbeing of each and every person living on the island to render that slick of natural resources into piles of cash. The overwhelming overarching feeling I carried on this trip was just plain pity for that island. This is how bad it is with just two oil and gas projects underway. How is it going to be when the planned 13 (!) projects are careering along? And none of the companies sharing any pipelines. Like children who won't share toys. My pipeline! You're touching my pipeline! Stop touching my pipeline! Make him stop touching my pipeline!

One of our 5-person field team was a geomorphologist who works for the local administration. He has worked in construction in the Far East for thirty years. He says - and this is sad - that compared to Russian-run construction sites, the pipeline sites we visited were quite good. He's convinced that it would pretty much be a disaster if these pipelines were to fall under Russian control. As it is they have absentee parents in the form of Exxon and Royal Dutch Shell and their financiers in Europe and Japan. If the state monopolies step in and take control... that's extremely likely and extremely bad news for environmental controls.

It's just insane-- my back is still out from the condition of the roads. They were horrendous. Not just unpaved but slippery soupy clay-mud roads. And these are the roads in moderately bad (for them) condition, roads that wash out completely if there's a real downpour. And in a real downpour and flood conditions the badly-engineered river crossings (over 100 of them) will at some point result in pipeline damage and oil leaks. And that's when those very river crossings will be inaccessible to any and all teams who could control the leaks. It's just a guarantee of oil pollution from the pipeline. The question is only how far-reaching the catastrophe will be. Just the eastern administrative districts, or the shoreline, or the Sea of Okhotsk and the islands of Japan?

On other topics- a high AND low-light of the trip was seeing fresh bear tracks. And then hearing something heavy crashing through the woods following us. Them bears are hungry in the spring. And if they are adolescents, they are extremely disaffected. Freshly disowned by mom, wearing their bear eyeliner and listening to their bear Cure records. We discussed large hydro projects in Turkey that are destroying archeological sites. Loudly.

And on the topic of food- the french fries at Azalea (the restaurant in the back of the town banya) in Smirnykh are - just - heavenly! I've been on a junk food kick since I've been back because of those fries, I think.

The jeep broke down once (lost a steering-related bolt in a stretch of really bad road), the policy director got a brief spell of food poisoning, and the guy who was supposed to conduct the tour of the pipeline went in the hospital with internal bleeding from a ruptured ulcer the morning after we arrived (he's still there). That sums up the real trouble we had on the trip. Other than that I found that I worked hard, slept well, had few complaints about the company of my field team, and got to translate a lot of Russian.

The lowest low-light of the trip was seeing the hospital conditions where our local NGO leader was being treated when we came back from the field. Good lord it's a joke. Please do not get sick if you are in Russia. If you are Russian, that goes double. I'm sure there are lots of things they do very well and very cheaply, what with the socialized medicine and accessible education, but surgery? The surgery ward felt like a prison. There were no visitors and there was nowhere to sit when we visited. There were four men on cots in a bare room without curtains or even a place to put a vase of flowers (if they even would allow flowers, which I doubt). There was no climate control- you opened the window for air. We were harrassed for bringing our bags with us- the nurse said "this is a surgery ward-- leave your bags by the door." Like if we had brought a horrible infection with us on our bags, leaving inside on the floor by the door would save the four souls trapped in that room? Not a scrap of logic in it. And then there's the fact that the surgery ward was on the fourth floor at the back of a large sprawling building - WITH NO ELEVATORS. You better f-n be healthy before you leave, because it's a 20 minute hike in steep dirty stairwells to the front door. And because of his internal bleeding our friend was anemic, which meant that his young wife - while managing all the care of very young (1 year old) son with his own health problems - had to organize not one but TWO blood drives among their friends and family.

And what's more, is I think on the Russian scale of things, that was a pretty good hospital. Certainly the biggest, best one on the island (accessible to Russians).

The oilies probably get airlifted to Seoul.

8 Ways to Say "In Sheer Futility" in Russian

Translator Michele A. Berdy helps us to express our feelings.

She writes, of one of the permutations of ways to say "in vain" (Blogger isn't encoded to let me type in Russian, but it's bespolezno- "byez-pa-LYEHZ-na"):

I'm very fond of 'bespolezno,' pronounced with each syllable accented as if you are pounding nails in a coffin.

Of Chanting Muscovites and Theremins

I've now read some more detailed accounts of the demonstration/ action/ violence and arrests in Moscow. The participant account I read noted that of the 50 people participating (pro-gay) *most* of them were Westerners. So great. The Russian conservatives can point to this fact and say this was Western provocation. This is exactly the thing that could make this dreadful event into a setback instead of a Stonewall. Now, on the other hand, the organizer says he's very satisfied with the results and has a court case he can now take to the European Court for Human Rights. That could very well help the movement in Russia. I hope it does. I was sickened by the accounts of the protestors-- in a few cases specific people I know-- getting their faces bloodied by fascists or forced face-down onto pavement by brutal police. I think everyone will continue to wonder if this was absolutely necessary to bring the human rights situation in Russia to the international stage.

The non-worrying-about-Moscow parts of my weekend have been much more fun. So far this weekend...

- I went to the local SF LGBT Center's queer open mic and actually read something;

- I went to a house party featuring the last performance of the original crew of Nappy Grooves, an Oakland original-- an African-American drag king troupe with a political edge;

- I fell asleep stretched out in the grass and sun- to the tune of lapping waves- while drying out the cache log at the geocache site Ashby Spit/ Point Emery- I only got a little sunburned;

- I went to a showing of experimental super-8 / 16 mm black and white short films by Bill Basquin - rural themes in a queer context- very cool;

- At drinks after the Bill Basquin screening, A., one of our party, taught us about something he learned about at a Dorkbot gathering-- the strange new art of molecular gastronomy aka "food hacking." G. told us about his recent meal at one of the Bay Area's private restaurants --run by renegade chefs bucking the tyranny of the restaurant system-- and the "slow food" movement (an outgrowth of the "slow cities" movement, or, as A. said, "a bifurcation of the meme")-- nerds amok in the kitchen, hooray!

- I went riding in Montara- beautiful ocean, beautiful sky, good horses;

- and most recently I went to a house party hosted by a couple of dear friends who are DJ's and breakdancers. One of their friends brought over a theremin and we all got to learn how to play it. This was an old Moog theremin, actually signed by Bob Moog. I really enjoyed how easy this instrument was on my tendonitis. When I remarked on this the owner of the Moog theremin said the thing was first invented to be used by Clara Rockmore, a theremin virtuoso who had MS. Well, that's sort of true. She became a thereminist because of physical difficulties that developed because of early childhood malnutrition. The theremin wasn't invented *for* her. But Mr. Theremin (a Russian, by the by) was in love with her, and did make some modifications on the instrument for her. Ah love. Trying to win a woman by perfecting her theremin...

Another Reason to Hate Moscow

The coverage isn't very detailed-- there will probably be tons more information within the day (I'll have to remember to check the chat on gayrussia.ru or gay.ru in the next day or so), but basically the first Moscow gay pride march (which, by the way, is translated as either "gay procession" or "gay parade") was a bust and there were bloodied noses and arrests and no festive gay parade to speak of. Just about 50 pro-gay folks and over 100 anti-gay folks and lots of police who were not there to protect the former, and maybe weren't there to protect the latter either.

I have been in alternating states of denial and stomach knots over this announced visibility action. I'm glad I wasn't there, to be honest. The Western European gay demagogues who put themselves on the front line of this Russian-led action aren't the people I hold in the highest esteem as tactical activists. But some part of me knows this needed to happen, and while in some sense it may have set the movement back in terms of public acceptance, in another sense I think it will have long-term positive effects, making the het community wake up and smell the hatred.

But don't count on me to be wearing my rainbow beads on the streets of Moscow anytime soon. In fact don't count on me going to Moscow anytime soon, period.

Femme Convergence

The 2006 Femme Conference registration has opened! God I love it when a bunch of powerful organized femmes do a conference. There's nothing more organized than a femme conference.

I Used to Tell the Truth All the Time When I Was Evil

So how is the dating going, you ask? Well last night I amused myself by coloring in my dragon coloring book (of 14th century dragon designs-- a coloring book I got at The Cloisters like 15 years ago). Tip: don't cheap out on the crayons. "RoseArt" off-brand crayons are like coloring with candle stubs. Tonight I did laundry. And now I'm getting a boost from reading my collection of Bad Guy lines. I keep this little notebook handy near my comfy chair - I titled it "Notes From The Dark Side: Studies of Villainry." Many are from Buffy episodes. Some are from Angel, some from SG1, some from Inuyasha, some from Miyazaki movies... and the occasional [making the "guilty pleasure" face] Charmed episode. The title of this entry was something I think Angel said to Buffy. Here some others I enjoy:

I care about deadlines!

You've been spending too much time with humans.

It'll all be over too fast and you'll be dead and I'll be bored.

You are not here to provide information. You are here for my amusement.

You will bow to my awesome power.

I appreciate loyalty.

You lied to me. You made a mistake. You are sorry.

It's the end of humanity, not the end of courtesy.

How dare you summon me?!

You can't take me. No one can take me.

Can't a woman wreak a little havoc without there being a man involved?

I don't miss my heartbeat.

Come with me. It is the only way.

I wish you could feel what I'm feeling right now.

Ah yes, the whole god issue. Maybe we did take it a little too far... Can you blame us?

I shall savor your defiance.

Ah, I miss Buffy. My favorite Big Bad was Glorificus. That actress will never have such an interesting ass-kicking role ever again.

I watched Miyazaki's "Castle in the Sky" yesterday and really enjoyed Dola, the Pirate Captainess- that was another great anti-hero. The voicing by Cloris Leachman was just wonderful.

Some more lines I enjoy:

We can bring order to the galaxy.

I'm here to kill you, not to judge you.

Oh my God! Well, not my God, because I defy Him and all of His works...

And, last, a special thought for the evening... in the cold foggy grey area of silence following a second date...

Everybody feels alone. Everybody is, until you die.

Northwest Pacific Still a Little Quakey

Strong quake hits north-eastern Russia
Hong Kong, China
22 May 2006 06:42



A severe earthquake estimated to measure 6,7 on the Richter scale on Monday
struck in the north-eastern Pacific coastal area of Russia, the Hong Kong
observatory said.

The quake struck at 7.21pm Hong Kong time and its epicentre was located some
870km east of the Siberian city of Magadan, the observatory said.

This would put it somewhere in the Bering Sea off Russia's far eastern
Kamchatka peninsula.

There were no immediate reports of casualties or damage.

A series of violent earthquakes measuring up to 7,9 on the Richter scale
shook the Kamchatka penisula's Koryakiya region earlier this month,
affecting 12 villages with a total population of 12 000 people.

Dozens of people received minor injuries, and hundreds were evacuated from
the quake zone.

The Kamchatka peninsula, which is about the size of Japan, has a population
density of less than one person per square kilometre.

In 1952, the region was rocked by an earthquake measuring 9 on the Richter
scale, the fourth-biggest since 1900, according to data from the United
States Geological Survey.

-- AFP

Post-First-Date Ideation: The Enemy Within

All it takes is one positive dating experience for all my world to come crashing in, it seems. Or at least, from one second to another it seems as though it's safe to plan for the little cottage we'll have together in our retirement (with BLUE shutters-- a nice perwinkle or China blue would be nice) and then it seems as though it's safe to plan to never go on another date again in my life, let alone with this person. I sure do like my cat-- nice and predictable.

So, my one-month experimentation with the world of Salon.com personals has yielded, in the 11th hour, one positive first-date experience. And suddenly I understand why the more jaded gay boys refer to such an event as "meeting my future ex-husband."

How fast and how far the imagination goes with so very little information to fuel it! The less the information the more far-fetched the ideation.

In my head I go from nun to sexpot to lonesome cowgirl to stalker... No third middle-way seems available when all you have is a first and last name, a phone number and an e-mail. It's all or nothing, and it all rides on Date Number Two, when I'm sure we find out we are not only completely incompatible, but that we loathe eachother.

Or we pick up the real estate section and start shopping.

Sigh. Thirty-something and single and dating again after a long dry spell. The stuff country music songs are made of.

WAIT! This is a CRUSH! I almost forgot what those were. Hence that "world comes crashing in" sensation.

No wonder Meryn Cadell's famous Sweater Song from Angel Food for Thought has been playing in my head all day.

It's a girl not a boy who has got me crushy, and I haven't acquired any souvenirs to fetishize yet, but otherwise it's JUST LIKE THIS:

The Sweater Song (...in streaming audio).

If you want to download it, I can't link to Angelfire, but you can paste this into your browser to get the mp3 (3.1 MB):

http://www.angelfire.com/un/queereasteurope/MerynCadell_TheSweaterSong.mp3

Read along with the lyrics if you like:

Girls,
I know you will understand this
and feel the intrinsic incredible emotion.

You have just pulled over your head the worn,
warm sweater belonging to a boy.

Now, you haven't had a passionate kissing session or anything,
but you got to go on a camping trip with him
and eight other people from school.

And you practically slept together,
your sleeping bag right next to his
And you woke in the night to watch him as he slept
but you couldn't see anything 'cause it was dark
so you just laid there and listened to his breathing
and wondered if your heart might burst.

The sweater has that faintly goat-like smell
which all teenage boys possess,
and that smell will lovingly transfer
to all your other clothes.

If you get to keep it for a few days you can sleep with it
but don't let your mom see, 'cause she'll say,
"what is that filthy thing, and who does it belong to
besides the trash man?"
So you have to keep it under the covers with you.

You can kind of lie it beside you,
or wrap it around your waist,
or touch it on your legs, or whatever--
That's your business.
Now if the sweater has, like, reindeer on it
or is a funny color like yellow... I'm sorry,
you can't get away with a sweater like that.

Look for brown, or grey, or blue
Anything other than that, and you know you're dealing with
someone who's different,
And different is not what you're looking for.

You're looking for those teenage alpine ski chiselled features,
and that sort of blank look which passes for deep thought--
or at least the notion that someone's home.
You're looking for the boy of your dreams
who is the same boy in the dreams
of all of your friends.

Now the sweater isn't going fit you of course,
so you have to kind roll up the sleeves in a jaunty way that says,
'This is the sweater belonging to a boy,
and the boy is a genuine hunka hunka burning love',
and this is not just some hand-me-down
from your brother or your father.

Monday, wear the sweater
to school.

Be calm, look cute.
Don't tell him about the dream you had
about the place the two of you would share
when you get older.

Just be yourself.
The best, cutest, quietest version of yourself.
Definitely wear lip gloss.

He looks at you, and then he looks away,
And then he walks away,
and the smell of the sweater hits you again suddenly
like ape-scent gloriola,
and you get a note passed to you
by a girl in History that says
"He needs that sweater back.
He forgot you put it on in the tent on Saturday
and he's been looking for it."

And you don't have to die of humiliation, you know,
You are a strong person
and this is a learning experience.
You can still hold your head up high as you run from the classroom
tearing the stinking sweater from your body.

You look at that sweater, carefully,
and realize that love made you temporarily blind.
You've got a secret now, honey,
and though you would never sink as low as him,
you could blab it all over the school if you wanted:


The label in that sweater
says:
"100%
Acrylic."

---

Down With Tectonic Imperialism!

Up with the Okhotsk Block!

May 2, 2006, Seattle: Scientists officially declare: Kamchatka is not part of the US mainland.

merecemos paz

We deserve peace.

It was a sign - the first word in black sequins and the second on the back of the sign in green sequins - carried by a member of the Transunidos contingent at the May First march for immigrants this morning here in SF. I was so happy to see this contingent-- in my last job I worked hard on documentation and did other support for dozens of travesti asylum cases, and it is these immigrants who often come to mind for me when people discuss the pros and cons of immigrants in the US. The Transunidos contingent was only about six women, but they had a great big gorgeous banner along with a US flag and the "merecemos paz" sequin-bedecked sign. They were a beautiful sight. And while other contingents were angry or somber or intesely earnest, they were dancing and cracking jokes and laughing. In our quarter they were the ones piping up most often with chants, keeping rhythm with their safety whistles. I think they were more energetic and bouyant than others at the march partly because being out and present and labeled as transwomen was adding a dimension of joy and revelation and maybe even danger to their participation in the march. They were challenging the same powers that be that the other marchers were challenging, but also they were challenging the other marchers. This was not an explicitly safe place for transwomen, but they were taking the space and making it safe. A wave of pride and joy did hit me, watching this contingent of women flying the US flag and chanting in Spanish, and saying in sequins "we deserve peace." We all deserve it, but in particular these women deserve peace.


Quickly, other highlights:

- in the march, a middle aged white guy in glasses and a dress shirt and bow tie banging on a pot lid with a spoon, banging in time to "si se puede."

- girls with drums, it seemed like about one per city block of march, leading the chanting

- dykes heavily sprinkled about, kids of all ages sprinkled about

- the reclamation of the US flag as a symbol of resistance-- resistance to the government defining what makes someone belong here, contribute here, work here, deserve to be here

- "America Goes From Alaska to Argentina" and "Whose the Illegal, Pilgrim" and signs in various languages, mostly Spanish but also Chinese and Russian

- The chant (from the World Can't Wait contingent woman with a backpack and microphone): "who is the criminal - George Bush; are immigrants the criminals - hell no"

- running into an old pal from Challenging White Supremacy who said this looked to her like the biggest march she'd seen in SF. To go four blocks took the throng about an hour. It seemed like from start to finish the densely packed crowd took at least 3 1/2 hours to get entirely past the starting point. It reminded me - in size and density - of the anti-war march in March 2003, but this was a work day, so it seemed to me that it was more impressive, more powerful-- it will have an economic impact and therefore it might change things.

- noticing that while I'm happiest on a horse, I'm pretty darn happy marching in a mobilized throng of people down Market Street yelling and dancing.

- seeing someone I hadn't seen in many years, an Armenian refugee who I met as a 16 year old living at home and living in the closet, then just coming out as bisexual, now looking mature, strong and beautiful, wearing a suit and a smart bob-cut hair-do-- I didn't recognize her at first and had already gone past when I placed her. But the look on her face, watching this march from the sidewalk, probably taking a break from her office, seemed to be a mix of emotions -- something like joy and a kind of deep wonder.


Yes, Christina, this march was for you, too.

Tilichiki needs your prayers

Please pray for my colleague enviros who live in Tilichiki, Koryakia, which has this past few days been leveled by earthquakes.

There is no information but the video from news feeds show that nothing withstood the quakes and the 20+ aftershocks that were 5-6 in strength. Kindergartens, hospitals, power plants.

Here is the latest RIA Novosti article on the quake and evacuation.

Nobody is answering their phones there.

If you pray, pray.

A Beautiful Day for the Subjunctive

It's our first warm sunny day of spring, and the 100th anniversary of the great SF earthquake and fire today. That quake and fire is something that haunts everyone here all the time, but particularly today, when the subjunctive case-- "if this then that"-- is on everyone's lips.

So they decided to have a parade, which some think is weird, but on what other occasion do you get emergency services and trade unions all lined up to receive appreciation?

I got to clap for the SF police chief Heather Fong, and her mounted police escort. I got to clap for the firefighters, marching in dense formation ("formation"), replete with tiny children in arms, dykey types galore, and a very sweet but mangy looking black and white australian-shepherd-ish search dog. That will be the most beautiful dog on earth if I'm looking at him/her from under a pile of earthquake rubble, that's for sure.

I got to clap also for a sweet, earnest, out of tune junior high school band from Pacifica. The empathy that gushed out of me for those kids! I mean, the part of me that loves the Triplets of Belleville (the movie), the part that is so deeply touched by small acts of sheer absurdity, futility and earnestness, it just broke all open at their small, earnest out-of-tuneness. I even shed a tear at the beauty of it. As Eliot said "for us there is only the trying." Most perfectly embodied by a little tiny out of tune provincial marching band of prepubescents.

I got to clap for the long line of contingents of trade unions behind a single big banner "WE REBUILT THIS CITY." And the ILWU drill team, with their tap-adorned steel-toe boots and shiny chrome loading hooks.

As I walked away (the parade still going) I looked back to see the Red Cross marching by. As with the police and army and the firefighters who came before, when I'm standing holding my little tabby cat outside the burning wreck of my old 1920's apartment building after the next big disaster, I will be MOST grateful to see those uniforms.

At the tail of the Red Cross contingent was an old truck with the label "Red Cross Horse Ambulance." Right now, reading the Guns of August and getting a sense of the horse-dependency of the 1900-1920 era, I can imagine that truck was a welcome sight on many San Francisco street corners after the quake. But being an old horse person, some part of me saw that ambulance and felt that earthquake in an all-too-real way, imagining and quickly banishing the image of a burned animal.

So, both happy-gushy and provoked into disturbing thoughts by the sights of the parade, I returned to the office in time for a presentation by a visiting scholar showing us his horrible evidence of the vast recession of the glaciers since 1950. The ice core record showing exactly how human-made impacts are mounting (in terms of sulfates and other pollution evidenced in the core). Basically, after those firefighters, police, army and red cross workers do their best, and we still perish off the face of the earth, the other-worlders who come here to investigate what happened will have no doubt about what killed us.

A beautiful day with a very creepy aura.

[Note to the organizers: GET THE GAYS TO ORGANIZE THE PARADE IN 2106! If there's one community that knows how to organize a parade, it's them. And note to locals: did you notice the long hold ups and delays in this parade? This is how emergency services organizes a parade! Be afraid! Start those emergency kits NOW!]

Altaians in Ukiah

My three colleagues from Altai, Siberia, who I've been helping entertain, are here to learn about alternative energy projects in California. They went to Ukiah and got some front page coverage in the Ukiah Daily Journal this past Tuesday. In Hopland they didn't like the hoppy beer, but they sure liked the microhydro generators!