Hi LiveJournal.

It's been a long time. Here's what I am doing these days:

- Living in Oakland, CA and going to graduate school. In 1.5 years I will (hopefully) be able to use "I have a Masters in Sexuality Studies" as my pick-up line of choice. I'm planning on writing my thesis on the discursive restaging of adolescent mothers or "stop talking shit about teen moms".

- Hanna is 5 (!!!) and in kindergarten. She's a self described "artist, singer, and dancer... who is in parades". Everyday I realize that she is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

- I started taking hip hop dance class a few weeks ago. It is one of the best decisions that I have made in my adult life. Hanna starts the same class (kids version, naturally) next week.

-I'm working as a research assistant at a social science research organization. I make decent, tax-free money doing odd jobs.

- I miss my friends in Chicago...

- ... but also really like my bay area pals.

- I feel disoriented if I don't bake at least once a week.

- I watch Gossip Girl (I know) because it helps balance the crushing burden of the tomes of non-fiction I have and choose to read.

Attention white people: please read.

1963_Hefty
Originally uploaded by --Marcus--.

I'm really fucking sick of these movies like P2 that operate on these ubiquitous "man chases/terrorizes/stalks/breathes-heavily-upon frantic woman" plots. I'm starting production on a ground-breaking film where a woman subjects a man to a series of fiendish obstacles (each more fiendish than the last!) until he finally breaks free from her lair - dirty and sobbing - to wave down otherwise carefree motorists for help. The last scene will show the visibly shaken man with his matted hair and blanket-draped shoulders, nursing a cup of coffee as he retells the terror of this horrible-but-brilliant mistressmind. She'll evade capture leaving some sort of cryptic note for the detectives on the case, leaving this psychological thriller open for maximum sequels. Think about it people!

It should be noted that I saw the infuriating P2 trailer in the midst of an America's Next Top Model and Gossip Girl garbage fest - oh, the irony!

The American Apparel ad aesthetic has finally made the jump to full-blown porn (in Penthouse, no less!).

By the way, in case the link text "full-blown porn" wasn't enough, there is a naked lady there.

There are many reasons to love street art.

Street art can be cute.

Street art can be clever.

Street art can be beautiful.

And street art is often political.

Street art is accessible. The socioeconomic hierarchies that rule the art world are stripped away.

You don't need to work your way up a bourgeois ladder.

You don't need to feel like your kind is not welcome in a gallery.

It's about making the mundane beautiful and interesting. About engaging the environment around you and making it lovely for those who live there.

Bringing beauty to the streets, to the people, to our daily lives.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Halloween is so special, it warrants a post.

For Halloween (observed) aka Saturday-before-Halloween, I got to go to a fun show dressed as a modern rock legend:

So for the first time - well, ever - I am living alone. Dan has departed for 3 months to go learn how to survive off of cactus fruits and neutralize snake bites in the deserts of Arizona, leaving me and Hanna to fend for ourselves in the wild of Chicago. I'm bummed - to say the very least - that he is gone.

So far, I've experienced two significant emotions; they are semi-related, but one I consider positive, the other negative. The first and most dominant feeling is loneliness. It's completely new to come home to an empty house, with everything exactly as you left it when you last saw it. The sameness is a constant reminder that you are alone in your space. The next feeling is the uncontrollable urge to stay busy. For me, this urge has manifested almost entirely in cleaning and exercising. Keeping busy and productive is a good thing. I definitely could use the exercise and making stuff is a good alternative to sitting on my ass, watching the Simpsons excessively.

Routine is a strange creature though. Thinking about lying in bed each Thursday night working on the Reader crossword puzzle ALONE is not a great feeling. But I will live, and I keep telling myself that it's only 3 months.



Phew. On a different note, today I took Hanna on a giant ferris wheel. On the way, we saw a tiny bat lying on the sidewalk and it was the cutest thing I've seen in a long while. It kept yawning and being generally adorable. Naturally, I kept squealing and letting my love for it grow. I've had a lot of off-the-wall experiences with animals the past few days. The most notable being watching a small cheetah run amok through the lion house (just after it closed) at the Lincoln Park Zoo. I delicately informed the zoo keeper that there was a wild cat loose, and she dropped everything in her arms and shouted "CODE RED!!" into her radio. Some men with nets were quickly in action. That same day, a handsome camel and I shared a moment. But I'm pretty sure he just thought I was a pile of straw.

Finally, Hanna and I saw Ratatouille, which was extraordinarily good for a kid's movie. Also, as creepy as it is to say, I developed a huge crush on the lead (human) character, mostly for his awkward-but-sweet ways and gangly good looks.

hannabday 023
Originally uploaded by tatebrazas.

I had my first-ever Singapore Sling last night.

"I honestly don't want anyone."

Such was my mother's response to a instant message of the utmost informality asking her pick for President in 2008. Her response was not the product of aloof indifference; rather, an expression of frustration and a nod to the dismal state of American politics.

With one of the lowest approval ratings ever recorded, it is clear that the vast majority of the American people are tired of Bush, Jr. and pals. And while we all countdown the final days the remain in the reign of King W, countless throngs of Americans - myself and my mother included - are not-too-thrilled about the queue of suitors waiting to take the throne. Er, actually, let me rephrase: those who have the chance of taking the throne.

Those on the political left talk at length about the "culture of fear" that plagues contemporary American life. After years of orange alerts, envelopes filled with mysterious powdered substances, Stranger Danger Redux®, and the looming threat of a dialysis-powered "evildoer" who continues to evade capture, fear is now about as American as apple pie. This culture of fear is no secret; it can be seen by anyone willing to look through the peephole of their deadbolted door (provided a shotgun, baseball bat, or phone ready to dial the local Homeland Security office is nearby). And while there are a few bold and insane enough to assert that what America really needs is another 9/11, most would agree that this culture of fear is no way to live.

Our patois of fear lets us know that we should be wary when fly, transmit personal information, and encounter brown people. But a discourse that has remained hushed is how our fear effects our notions of political choice; how our fear has already predetermined that no major change will come from the 2008 Presidential Election.

On the one hand, we are a country crying out for a breath of fresh air, for radical change. We are a people who so badly want out from 7 years of secrets, lies, and abuse. Yet, it is both the strength and desperation of this desire that places us into a political predicament. For on the other hand, there is a collective consensus that someone - anyone - would be better than Bush. Our political idiom now focuses less on whom is best for the country, and more on who is the lesser evil.

Take a good, solid look at the two main Democratic candidates and you will neither is an embodiment of genuine change. Hilary Clinton and Barack Obama both currently have the Congressional power and political sway to pass initiatives that would result in Bush's impeachment, the removal of troops from Iraq, and numerous other actions that reflect the demands of the American people. Yet both sit idle in Congress, attempting to distract the constituency with talk of how America will change when they are President while they embody inaction and refuse to use the power they already have. Only with our votes for President can they finally change what they have had the power to for years.

Worse still is that most I have spoken with recognize that Obama and Clinton do not stand in line with the issues said voters feel strongly about. Yet we all sheepishly feel obliged to support one of them, citing their illusive ability to be the only ones to have a "chance" in the upcoming election. Again, we are presented with a "choice" that does not offer an opportunity to pick what candidate we agree with most, but the lesser of two evils. The 2008 Presidental Election transforms into a tawdry day at the races in which we have two bucks to our names. "Clinton or Obama to win? Place your bets or else!"

If we sincerely want to bring about the change needed in America, we must collectively examine what it means to have a "chance" to be President. Will our next President be someone who merely speaks reform or someone who enacts reform? Will our next President be someone who stands boldly on the issues that matter to us or someone who continues carries their legacy of inaction into a political office with more prestige?

Most importantly, will our next President be someone who exploits our fear or someone who seizes our courage?

I really like boba, aka bubble tea. Sometimes it's hard to get a straight answer about exactly what goes into your boba, but usually if you can get soy or coconut milk, you are good to go. If you are a boba novice, I'll spare you years of experimentation troubles and tell you that the best boba flavor is... taro.

Since Dan is away camping, I decided to take this evening alone to catch up with my good friend television. You know, rather than doing anything productive.

During a crazy Chicago summer thunderstorm, I was lucky enough to view the train wreck of humanity that is "To Catch a Predator". Along with his famous monotone recital of sexually-charged chat scripts ("I want 2 give u anal"), Chris Hanson (the host, for those of you who are not TCaP-savvy) does a pretty good job keeping that stern, journalistic demeanor that lets us - the viewing public - know that we should be completely outraged that there are men who want to have sex with 14-year-old girls.

Seriously? Men fetishize teens? Get outta town!

All sarcasm aside, to "catch" these predators is about as easy as catching The Price is Right on CBS at 10am or me at a Slipknot concert. You don't have to be a cultural theorist or even that smart to figure out that young teen girls are probably the most sexualized group of people in our culture. There are many aspects as to why - from the anthropological to the aesthetic - teens are so sexualized. It is a sexual preference that permiates almost all of our lives on a daily basis.

The ideal aesthetic for women that currently reigns supreme is the look of a young woman. It is why we are consistently bombarded with ways to look thinner, younger, and "perkier". It is why you see otherwise sensible and self-respecting 40-year-old women walking down the street in baby pink tracksuits that say "Juicy" across the ass. Conversely, it's why Abercrombie & Fitch sells thongs to little girls.

So in watching "To Catch a Predator", it's hard not to feel at least a little sympathy for these men who are attempting to enact the final scene in a cultural script that we live with everyday.

By no means does this entail that I would be okay with some dude knocking at my door looking to get with my 14-year-old daughter. But shows like "To Catch a Predator" merely single out these "sexual deviants" as the ill in our society, without shedding any light on the highly problematic circumstances that got them there in the first place.

1. I had a dream last night that I was dating Seth Rogen or a Seth Rogen-esque man. He was really caring and nice, and he stole me a mylar balloon with a unicorn on it from the grocery store. In this dream I had bigger boobs and a really awesome satiny dress that perfectly accentuated my larger bosom. Of course, I was bummed to wake up and find that I was without said dress and rack.

2. In a weird stroke of luck, I found a $20 bill while getting off the train yesterday.

3. I'm really excited about the prospect of finally having a bike that is just right for me. Details pending.

4. Have any of you smartypants taken the GRE? Unfortunately, I need to take that badboy to be considered at my #1 choice, and need some tips. An elaborate answer-finding racket a'la The Perfect Score is also welcome.

Date:	2007-07-03 12:11
Subject:	The State of the Union
Security:	Public
Mood:	irate

It appears that the United States is transforming to into one hell of a mind fuck.

If you pay any attention to the news, you already know that Bush just "commuted" Scooter Libby's already weak 2.5 year prison sentence to a $250K symbolic slap on the wrist. Pretty audacious for someone who's approval rating is the lowest of any President in recent history (unfortunately, Reuters Polls weren't around in William H. Harrison's day) and who is currently under massive scrutiny for running the White House like an aggressive 12-year-old boy's clubhouse ("Keep out, jerks!!!"). We all know that Bush's entire presidency has been a long, sordid affair of blatant crony-ism, civil liberty abuses, and miscellaneous despicability. But geez! He really isn't even trying anymore to cover, white wash, or distract from his shady wheelings and dealings. The gall of essentially wiping one's ass with the Constitution would be worthy of admiration if it weren't so nauseating.

If the same situation arose in another country (given that country was also rich in oil), the government would use such political atrocities as grounds for invasion. The present state of the USA is one of no justice and no peace, where a handful of sociopaths are effectively attempting to destroy the world. And the craziest part of all is that we, the American people, don't do a goddamn thing.

Political protest seems to have gone the way of the dinosaur. Everyone (self included) is pissed off enough to bitch, but too weak to revolt. How much farther do we need to be pushed? It only takes 30 seconds on digg.com to see thousands of people acknowledging that the United States is presently some "crazy ass bullshit". We, the people, are completely bewildered at why nothing is happening, why groups of millions aren't marching into the White House to give Bush and pals the eviction notice they so obviously deserve.

Those millions ain't gonna create themselves. Until we all come to terms with the fact that armchair activism isn't cutting it, the cold hard truth is that nothing will change. Yet if I were to leave my office right now and use my fury as the power to rally others, people would avoid me at all costs, even if they agreed with my sentiments.

It's time to stop fearing our own collective power and to start using it to get what we want.

In my annual outing to the pictures, I had the delightful pleasure of seeing Knocked Up last night. I don't really need to write a glowing review - as there are already plenty of those out there - but I will reiterate what a hilarious, cute, clever, and relatively true-to-life movie I thought it was. I was probably more attracted to Seth Rogen's character than I was supposed to be, but his charisma outweighed his chub and body hair.

Two questions that the BF asked me about the movie and my answers, but curious to see if anyone else has any insights into these.

BF Q#1: "Why didn't anyone say abortion?" (One character refers to it as a "smushmortion" and another says "just take care of it")
My A: In my experience, people really don't like saying abortion. When I went to the university health center and found out I was pregnant, one of the nurses asked me if I needed a reference for an "A-term". When I gave her a befuddled look, she whispered "an abortion" as if we were in some sort of secret clinic circa 1962. So in my opinion, it was a conscious point to omit the word, possibly to point out the discomfort most have with actually saying it. p.s. ABORTION.

BF Q#2: "Did you notice she was muffless in the birth scene?"
My A: Sometimes the medical profession strips you of your muff when you're giving birth (even though I am not entirely sure why). But on second thought, she was totally hairless... is this the new, hegemonic standard of hairless vulvas making its way into the Hollywood milieu? Or just a small detail we're dwelling on?


Speaking of hairless vulvas, today I was entertaining different dissertation ideas on the train ride to the office (though I guess step one is actually getting in to grad school). One that stuck in my mind was the affect of sex work on the children on sex workers. Conversely, the affect of children on the sex work of sex workers. I think such research would yield some fascinating results. Plus, I could write grant proposals that would allow me to live in New Zealand, Amsterdam, and New York - all for research, I swear!

bury em
Originally uploaded by tatebrazas.

I think that I had the best dream ever a few nights back...

Dan and I were visiting his uncle, who happened to have Noam Chomsky as a roommate. Chomsky was much zanier than I had thought he would be; his bedroom looked like a library with walls covered in books, and he had a television suspended above his bed with chains.

So Dan's off doing something and I decide to start chatting with Noam. We have a very informal chat and he excuses himself into the next room. A few minutes later, he comes back looking like he's sustained a serious head injury, blood gushing and all. Concerned, I say "Jesus! Are you okay?" and he insists that he is fine. "Are you sure you don't want me to call an ambulance or something?" "No, no, I'm okay. I need you to do me a favor though..."

So he pulls out a pad and pen, scribbles some things down, and hands me the paper. He says it's a list of books he wants me to get for him, and that my help is greatly appreciated. I agree to go get the books, but instead of running straight to the store, I go find Dan first. "Check out this fucking crazy list of books Chomsky gave me!"

Dan and I peruse the list in amazement. So titles are accompanied with notes:
"The Little Engine That Could (a really great book)
Any Thomas the Tank Engine book
Any Dora the Explorer book (these are really great)"

So we find a book store and start buying these kids books for one of the great political thinkers of our time, all the while thrilled about the wackiness of the situation and worried about what is seemingly some hefty trauma.

Last night I was lying in bed having a very tiny anxiety attack about things that should have prompted a larger anxiety blitzkrieg. Namely, I was thinking about this article and this article, and reflecting upon the certain grimness of our not-so-distant future. Every generation has had it's share of End-is-Nigh-sayers, but there's never been so much cold, hard, and undeniable evidence that the end is indeed nigh. I'll go out on an oversimplification limb here and say that this blows. It blows incredibly hard.

I'm envious of my dad's generation. Instead of stranger danger, they got to frolic through the woods without a care. Instead of an era of AIDS which has wrought so much sexual anxiety upon us all, they had free love. And worst of all, they'll all be dead before the shit totally hits the fan, while we may be forced to fight for our most basic survival. Granted, I am making some pretty sweeping generalizations here, but I still feel like I've been handed the short end of the stick by being born in the 1980s.

Back to my mini-attack. Despite it's improbability, I was lying in bed thinking, "What if I woke up tomorrow and there was no water? What would I do? Where would I go? How would I protect myself and Hanna?" What freaked me out the most was that I had no ideas or solutions for any of my paranoid pre-sleep queries. I had no idea where I could drive on my full tank of gas to reach a land base that would sustain me (fresh water and edible indigenous plants being the key qualifiers), at least temporarily. A possibly more importantly, I had nothing - except a handful of kitchen knives - that I could use to protect myself and my daughter.

Think about it. If there was no water, everyone would be freaking the fuck out. I wouldn't want myself or my daughter to be at the mercy of some one's crisis-triggered insanity. So this morning, I woke up and decided to set out of the journey that would lead me to become a informed and responsible firearm owner.

This is all pretty zany considering I was once vehemently anti-gun. Even today, I don't like guns. I find them terrifying, which is a reasonable response to give anything that could make you meet the reaper in the blink of an eye. But as a young woman with a child, I can only count on myself to protect me and mine.

So here is my plan:

Step 1: Apply for a FOID card
Step 2: Research a good gun. One that isn't too hard to maintain or assemble in a hurry.
Step 3: Buy said gun.
Step 4: Keep gun unassembled in a secure area. Keep ammunition in a separate, even more secure area.
Step 5: Become the most knowlegeable gun owner EVER.
Step 6: Practice semi-regularly at a firing range. A gun won't be much good if I don't know how to work it.
Step 7: Hope and pray that I never EVER have to use it, but feel better knowing that if I need to, it'll be there.

What a wacky journey this will be...

A body image post:

( cut to spare most of you its lameness )