Monkey men in the Mazda
During the day, I drove by an empty parked car and thought the seat
covers were cute. Each head rest had a monkey face on it that reminded
me of that funny monkey Julius by Paul Frank.
At night, I
could still see the monkey faces inside the empty car. They looked
ghoulish in the glow of the street lights, like not-so-covert monkey
operatives on an overnight stakeout.
Suddenly, a giant banana
stormed out of the condo complex across the street and ran towards the
car. The banana pulled a can out of its bathrobe and started spraying
the windshield - with a thick coating of whip cream.
Ok, so that last part with the banana didn't really happen.
In case you were wondering.
***
My most recent personalized car plate sightings:
1. JUMANJI (if I had to pick a plate with one of my favorite books or movies, I might get MDLMRCH.)
2. SAN SUCI (this one turned me off, maybe because it was on a late-model red Mustang, maybe because of the truncation)
3.
2"heart"SAS1 (one series of Calif. plates allows symbols like hearts,
stars, hands, etc. This one made me want to puke, just a little.)
4.
DRAKO (Sounds like an Eastern European villain in a Rocky/Rambo movie.
The car looked like it could be driven by one too - a black German auto
with black tinted windows that cut across the double yellow lines into
the car pool lane.)
Morning mountains, middafternoon's museums.
Inspired by last week's too-short trip to the region, I went back. There were people I could/should/would have contacted while there, but without much advance notice and at this time of year, it felt like it would be at best a rude interruption of other people's holiday seasons.
I missed my early morning flight but got a seat on a flight leaving one hour later. Waking from a short nap in the festive airport's waiting area, I saw the window-framed views of the mountains. I think I've always taken red-eye flights out of ONT, and/or just never spent so much time hanging around that airport, and thus never really noticed those particular mountain views. It was a pleasant surprise.
On the escalator up and out of the BART Civic Center Station, a wavy-haired Prince Leer gave me a very mocking, lascivious sort of look before turning away to laugh with his puffy-jacketed buddies. Not such a nice way to begin a decadent sort of mini-vacation. I thought about how if there was justice in the universe there would be a bespectacled male dork hopping onto a Fremont-bound train about to be teased by a bevy of belly-baring Britneyesque teenyboppers. Then I thought about how that might be more fantasy-fulfillment than justice, and how I should be less impulsive when contemplating universal justice, and how I should spend more time thinking about what to do over the long weekend.
During a pit stop at the library, I peeked at Picture This: Family Photographs of Everyday San Francisco. (I'm kind of glad I didn't linger too long there, as most if not all of the pictures on display seem to be available for viewing online too - take a peek yourself, if you wish: ponies, puppies, and neighborhoods.)
Then I went across the street to the Asian Art Museum, where they had a huge stone Nandi in the lobby and an animated older guy in a striking black and white kimono at the information desk. He told me I had time to kill until the next tour, Traditions Unbound: Groundbreaking Painters of Eighteenth-Century Kyoto, so I went up to view some of museum's South Asian art collection which includes a fair amount of south Indian sculpture and Sikh art.
After the tour, I ventured into Cafe Asia and was a little disappointed to see no gender illusionists dancing on tables. I realized that my former supervisor had recommended another "Asia"- named dining spot. My dish of green tea soba noodle and tofu salad was kind of minty and soothing, leaving me wondering if that was how it might feel to eat mentholated cigarettes.
By the time I got to the de Young, they wouldn't let me pay for admission but offered everyone the chance to go in for free in the remaining 45 min. The Hatshepsut exhibit was closed, but not having known of it in advance and having seen the King Tut exhibit earlier this year made that not such a big deal for me. Well, that and Chihuly, and A Particular Kind of Heaven (someone said "nice font" as they walked past the triptych) and soaking in the sun and shadows while seated on a rock in the front courtyard. As I walked away, I saw the exterior lights, shaped like a cobra head, come on. More better photos. More on the newness.
After checking into my room, I went out again that night to see Fun with Dick and Jane. There's a building in the movie that is referred to as a bank for super rich people. It's kind of funny (though not in the typical Carrey sense) considering the building is really the new CalTrans headquarters. Apparently the new building has been in a number of tv and film productions.
From 'Deathstar' to Screen Star, Caltrans Headquarters Is Hollywood's New 'It' Building
... the state does not charge a location or permit fee, although producers must pay for security. The state also requires that a representative from Caltrans be on set, which costs producers $70 per hour...
That sounds like a pretty good deal, but I wonder if they shouldn't be charging more. Maybe save up for one of those infamously rainy days when the mountains come sliding down over the highway.
Wow, this post was so long and I didn't even include my stops at the Botanical Garden, the Japanese Tea Garden, and a very special Christmas Eve trip to the Safeway on Market St. (Aaaaaahhhh!!!)
Preparations for the puja posse.
It's that coconut-breaking, Sanskrit-chanting time of year again. Actually, those are year-round activities, but every fall my mom invites her friends over for a puja in the home. She tells me that they do it as a group, with different people signing up to host pujas at their homes for the different nights of Navratri. They also take up a collection each night for a specific charity.
My involvement is quite limited - helping set up the seating and feeding areas, harvesting flowers from the back yard, occasional garland-making, and assembling the little bags she will pass out at the end to people when she marks their foreheads with a smudge of red and their necks with yellow. The bags remind me a bit of those party favor bags I might have received had anyone in elementary school invited me to their birthday parties. The contents are different. No noisemakers or candy jewelry for the puja posse, though they will get something sweet.
On top of dining table's plastic-covered tablecloth, I set up an assembly line of plastic-wrapped ladoos, pieces of cloth to be theoretically used to sew a blouse, but sometimes just collected at various pujas until one has enough to pass out at one's own, and little siamese twin packets of yellow turmeric and red kumkum. They all got bagged in more plastic before being placed into a small decorative metal dish bought in bulk and then into a paper bag that has enough room left over for a couple pieces of fruit.
I feel a little embarrassed to say that most of the time a Durga exhibit at a local museum would hold more appeal for me than attending an actual Durga puja (it's a lot shorter, for one thing, given how quickly I go through most museums). But there is one thing that's hard to beat when it comes to a puja in someone's home, and that's the meal afterwards. Just think of the fresh payasam. Or if you lack a sweet tooth, imagine those golden fried wadas or fluffy lemon rice (image from Food, In The Main...).
Kahlo's cool, kids.
I remember classmates in school who were fans of Frida Kahlo, with posters of her art on their walls. I heard a thumbnail sketch version of her life story once. I never went to see that movie with Salma Hayek or read much about her. So you could say I don't know too much about her.
Flipping channels the other night, I came across a PBS program about her and was hooked. First of all, it included interviews with her and Diego Rivera's still living students, and people she (and he) had affairs with during their marriage. Those two groups are not mutually exclusive.
Some stuff from the program that stuck with me (I think I missed the childhood part of her life story):
- When Rivera expressed interest in marrying her, Frida's dad told him to think it over because she would always be sick and wasn't beautiful though she was intelligent.
- Her mom thought the couple a mismatch, comparing Diego to an elephant and Frida to a dove.
- She didn't let her health status as an invalid prevent her from travelling on her own, even to France. Her trips included hospital stays.
- She had affairs with Trotsky and Isamu Noguchi (I don't recall this show mentioning Tina Modotti, and I think it was through a program about TM that I got most of my info on Kahlo prior to this program).
- Her husband had an affair with her sister. This was said to be especially tough on her because she had always written off his other women as people beneath her.
- The small scale and personal subjects of much of her work are in pointed contrast to the themes and size of the large mural-style work done by her husband and many other Mexican artists of her time.
- The Louvre selected one of her works as its first by a 20th-century Mexican artist.
- She was ill during her first and last exhibition in Mexico City and her doctor had told her not to leave her bed. So she had an ambulance take her bed with her in it to the opening.
- The last work she completed before dying was a painting of cut watermelons. Her husband Diego, who she had divorced and later remarried, also painted cut watermelons as his last work before dying.
On a personal note, the fact that she travelled so much during her life (she died at 47) despite her health problems, and frequently on her own, encouraged me to get going. I may not have the kind of network of friends and colleagues that she had in different countries, but I do have my health, for now anyway.
Beautiful bookstores.
I went to Skylight Books on Friday to hear Barbara Ehrenreich talk about her latest book Bait and Switch. By the way, that bookstore is the shiznit. I was standing off to one side of her podium, in the children's section, because when I got there 15 minutes before her scheduled appearance, all the seats were taken. When people in front of me shifted their shoulders one way I had an excellent view of her profile. When those shoulders shifted the other way and blocked my view of the author, I listened to her disembodied voice while perusing the pages of Little Stevie Wonder, Celia Cruz, Queen of Salsa and glanced longingly at a a very tempting Pippi Longstocking photo calendar.
I've heard about Ehrenreich's Nickel and Dimed, which tells about her experiences supporting herself as an entry-level worker in various cities. The latest book had her going undercover (she said she legally changed her name) to experience the job search from a middle-class professional perspective. She talked about some of the absurdities of career coaching and personality testing. I haven't read the latest book yet, so I don't know if she addresses ageism, but given that she's over 40, I wonder if she experienced it while doing her research.
Thoughts on 33 1/3: Speaking of distinctive bookstores, earlier this summer (well, it's not really summer anymore but it sure feels like it), a friend introduced me to 33 1/3 Books. She'd heard about an appearance there by this guy who had reported from and written about Iraq. When we got there I was impressed by all of the artwork around the store. It seemed to be by local artists and some of it was quite big. One wall, right behind the speaker's microphone, had a large depiction of a woman with one breast exposed (an Amazon?), so that was maybe a little distracting while he was talking.
The author started his talk with the story of an Iraqi man that wanted to name his son after George Bush, and offered an explanation of how the U.S. wasted that kind of goodwill towards it after Saddam's fall and actually did things that completely turned around Iraqi opinion of the U.S. Though I didn't think of it during the question and answer period, I should have asked whether the man ended up naming a child after Bush or not. I suppose now I'll just have to read the book to find out.
The night I was there, mention was made of the bookstore's tenuous existence.
Touring Tut's stuff.
The gift shop had King Tut rag dolls, and miniature coffins of varying sizes. I lifted the lid of one mini-coffin and saw a mini-mummy inside. The mummy could be lifted out of its coffin, like a small inaction figure. That seemed a strange souvenir. It didn't really strike me as odd at the time, right after I completed a tour of the King Tut exhibit in LA. In fact, I thought about getting one.
Eight million people visited the exhibit during its seven-city U.S. tour from 1976 to 1979, and experts expect that number to be even higher when the new "Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharaoh" makes its way back to the United States for a four-city tour. The exhibit will appear in Los Angeles; Chicago; Fort Lauderdale, Fla.; and Philadelphia. - ABC
Some of the souvenirs from that late '70s tour seem to still be available. For a price, of course.
The tour is mostly artifacts from Tut's tomb and those of his relatives, some of them showing incredibly detailed skilled craftmanship from that time (a particularly impressive metal work knife sheath comes to mind). I went during the extended late hours on Labor Day weekend, at 9pm.
Sometimes after making my way through the crowds huddling around a glass display case, I would look into it and see not only the ancient item on display, but also a young woman on the other side spraying the glass and wiping it clean. I guess the cleaners' hours weren't extended.
Short films played at certain places in the exhibit, and at the end there was a recreation of Tut's skull with an invitation to touch it.
Tuyu's Box With Vaulted Lid (left)
Visceral (above, right)
Um: Earlier this week, while listening to the confirmation hearings for Bush's choice for Chief Justice, I heard the following:
CORNYN: Well, I happened to be looking at my computer last night, and one of the blogs, and it's always frightening to see -- to put your name in a search and look at the ways it's mentioned. I suggest you don't do that, if you haven't, until this hearing is over, because this hearing is a subject of a lot of activity and interest in the blogosphere. One of these blogs said that... [NYT]
Meet me.
Given how well the monkey meet went, I've been thinking that it might be nice to meet some of you, and entirely possible too if you live in or visit LA this summer. You means anyone who visits Guavalog, whether regularly or just occasionally. I'm not sure of the best way to go about this, but here's one idea:
There are a few upcoming (FREE!) summer events I'd like to attend. If one appeals to you, email me for more details and maybe we can work out a way to meet there. I'm disabling comments for this post to encourage emails. It's possible that no one will notice this post let alone email me. It's also possible that someone will and that we'll meet and have fun!
Aug. 9, 7pm - Hollywood Inside and Out, A Conversation with Robert J. Dowling and Joel Stein
Aug. 17, 8pm - I Build the Tower, a film at the Dudley about the man who made the Towers
Aug. 13, 7:30pm - LA Sparks v. IN Fever, yes, free! I have access to a few WNBA tickets.
Aug. 13, 14 - 10th annual LA Tofu Festival (not free, but just think of the tofu tacos!)
Aug. various dates, 7:30pm - Hamlet, Richard III, and The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Aug. 14, 8pm - Onirico, Mexico City’s dance/mime/movement artists
Sept. 13, 7pm - Leonard C_ang, "The Terminator, John Updike, and Asian Americana"
I may add more events as I learn of them. Note to hypothetical stalkers: There's no guarantee that I'm attending any or all of these. Also, sometimes in spite of LA's much touted diversity, I end up being the only South Asian-looking woman at certain public events. Approaching such a woman without emailing her in advance may result in a kick to your hypothetical ass.
Oh yeah, about the name - you won't have to call me Guava in person. If Jackfruit rolls easier off the tongue, well then...
Me in the manner of Modigliani.
I tried out the face transformer. I spent more time looking for a picture of myself on the computer to upload than I did reading the instructions and maybe that's why I missed the part that said, "Please select the face below that is most similar to the face in this image," right before hitting submit. So I didn't view my picture as morphed into "Afro-Caribean" (the default selection on the starting page). But I did view a "West-Asian" morph. It was kind of weird to see "West Asian" features morphed onto my, um, "West Asian" face, and I wondered if the resulting person might be a super-concentrated "West Asian" with essence of mango chutney emanating from her pores. I bet if this had been made by someone in the US there would be a "Hispanic/Latino" category instead of "West Asian." Maybe.
Anyway, none of that stuff is as neat as the photo morphs done in the style of certain artists. Here's me in the style of Botticelli.
So that's how I would look with an Early Renaissance Extreme Makeover. It's like being made over into a version of Venus, with my straight hair converted to Pre-Raphaelite curls (or at the very least, that's some fancy frizz, no?), except that unlike her I can keep my clothes and glasses.
Here's my photo morphed à la Modigliani.
I'll have to remember that "I just sucked a lemon" look for the next time I have my photo taken. It seems to elongate my nose and neck in a graceful sort of way.
That was fun. I wonder if there's any way to morph my photo in the manner of Klimt or Kahlo.
Salsa scraps stereotypes.
Paul Varghese, "How I feel at the moment."But you know why I don't like CNN? they portray "us" in a negative light. And by "us" I mean the "collective we". That's why I'm doing my part to kill the stereotype. I'm taking salsa dancing lessons. 'Cus I wanna be known as the only Arabic-looking guy who can dance without having to hold a rifle over his head.
"That's the problem Paul. All these love marriages end in divorce. I've been with your mother 33 years. I don't love her. We're just hanging out." - Love Marriage video clip
