Japanese Pop Up?

thanks to a girl who says, "hello".

Sunny With a Chance

put the kettle on. enjoy coffee with an ocean view. pray it stays sunny. run. work. read. create. listen.

i love sitting at my quaint coffee table in the morning. it's adjacent to these massive windows that i languidly open up and syrupy sunlight pours in saturating my entire house with marigold rays. this morning, in particular, feels like a good one to pull out a long lost friend of a book. i read harry potter and the deathly hallows in one day, the night it came out, and i cannot for the life of me remember the minutia of the story. well, here goes round two hp seven.

[[and it is still very cold here]]

Happy New Year! (Shanghai-Style)

Here's a wonderful tribute to the recently deceased Wu Yingyin, one of the "Seven Great Singing Stars" of Old Shanghai. It's also a great way to ring in 2010, especially for Bay Area folks like myself who can look forward to Shanghai-related events and exhibits all year long.

The video starts off with Wu Yingyin's song "Drunk Night in Neon Light" accompanied by clips from Cosmetics Market (1933), featuring Shanghai movie queen Hu Die, and Orphan Island Paradise (1939), starring Li Lili. Following that is Wu Yingyin's song "Beautiful Spring Night" with clips from New Year's Coin (1937) and Scenes of City Life (1935).



Thanks to SHUESIK for the excellent video, and best wishes to all of my readers for a happy and healthy 2010!

Practical Magic

toil and trouble. now it's time for deathly hallows.

Never Seemed So Strange

the rain is not bluish here; but is it anywhere? my rain is a nappy bluish-grey. i am fond of it because it compliments my ultra-sulky mood.

even though it doesn't snow in santa barbara, i do feel the iciness of the wintry air more so than in orange county. don't scoff. i am from california and rain=winter.

my life has been reduced to the following formula:
pack//unpack//minor_suitcase_explosions//pack//repack//shift//unpack//settle//unsettle//repack//unpack_only to_pack_again_then_unpack//

i am in a season of high priced mistakes. it's irritating.

Fur Elise

thanks. wilbur is cute. except the name wilbur is definitely a smelly one.

Arach, No Phobia

and i kept spinning the web. in fact, i'm still spinning away. i am steadfast and my web has grown substantially since last spring. it started off small, but as i invested more work.time.love., i saw my silky trails make pretty patterns and overwhelm the red ferns below me. i watched as flies repeatedly got stuck, and i ensnared them. they didn't taste good so i spat them out, and they took my satin toils in their thievish hands, leaving behind gaping, horrible holes that both frightened and beckoned me. i had one purpose when starting my vast web, and the motive remained present, even when the red fern died in the summer heat, and i watched the integrity of my project fold in on itself. they say that things die in autumn; shed their leaves and shake off blossoms that are then caught by wet pavement and muddy grasses. simply put, this is not the case for my gossamer net. its silver geometry began to take shape in this period of decay. unlike the empty summer, this time the fine lines seemed stronger, like hercule's thread of life: even the fates couldn't cut. as winter rolled in with its icy breath, i thought i'd finished all labour, so i cockily reclined. i enjoyed the hard work of the past seasons, looking fondly at certain corners of my web, thinking how beautiful it truly was. but then. i noticed something. something went awry. a small, but integral thread had loosed itself and i watched the slow, sad, unraveling of my perfect and beloved latticework. instinctively, i darted to grasp the fine thread before it could unwind the entirety of the structure, but i quickly realized that three of my best legs were caught amongst the twigs that remained where the red fern had grown. i shook those terrors off with all my might and clasped onto the slippery silk. saved. or, at least potentially saved. now it's mid-winter; high time for mending.

so i keep spinning the web.

WalkE

Walking at dusk is nice. Especially with my sister.

We Go All the Night, Without. Love.

What is a May/December romance?

Measured in Spoons

join me in levity, rawr.

Forbearance in Winter

Imperturbability.

Fox in the Snow

i wish i was in the forest.

Luck Be

On Being A Woman
by Dorothy Parker

Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?

And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me--then
I scream to have you back again?

The Object Lesson

on the shore a bat, or possibly an umbrella,
disengaged itself from the shrubbery,
causing those nearby to recollect the miseries of childhood.


edward gorey. <3.

Wither Shall I Go

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

Words heard, by accident, over the phone (Plath)

O mud, mud, how fluid! ---
Thick as foreign coffee, and with a sluggy pulse.
Speak, speak! Who is it?
It is the bowel-pulse, lover of digestibles.
It is he who has achieved these syllables.

What are these words, these words?
They are plopping like mud.
O god, how shall I ever clean the phone table?
They are pressing out of the many-holed earpiece, they are looking for a
listener.
Is he here?

Now the room is ahiss. The instrument
Withdraws its tentacle.
But the spawn percolate in my heart. They are fertile.
Muck funnel, muck funnel --
You are too big. They must take you back!

Merry Christmas!

Here's a little holiday cheer for all of you from myself and from Oldflames — who has generously shared his amazing collection here on my blog all year long.

With lovely Grace Chang as Santa's helper, you're guaranteed double the joy this festive season!


from Oldflames

Or if you find yourself in the mood for a "blue" Christmas, why not let sexy Helen Li ring your bell!


from Duriandave

eBay Find of the Week: Sexy Ling Po

Here's a rare look for Ivy Ling Po. Rather saucy, don't you think? Ivy is best known for her male roles in Shaw Brothers' huang mei opera films, such as Love Eterne (1963), The West Chamber (1964), and The Mermaid (1965). She also played the lead in Shaw's Lady General Hua Mulan (1964).

Along with fellow cross-gender actress Connie Chan, Ivy epitomized the ideal boy next door of the 1960s. Both stars inspired a fervent devotion among their large following of female fans, many of whom wished for a big brother, boyfriend, or husband just like Ivy or Connie.

But as you can see, Ivy certainly had what it takes to charm the lads as well.

* This unusual photo is up for auction right now on eBay.

Tales from the Forbidden City

I finally got my hands on Trina Robbins' just published Forbidden City: The Golden Age of Chinese Nightclubs. Ever since I heard about it earlier this year, I've been eagerly waiting to read it.

Presented as an oral history, the book records the recollections of nearly two dozen Asian American performers who worked in San Francisco's "all-Chinese" revues from the late 1930s through the 60s. The transcribed interviews of the artists, and their friends and relatives, paint an intimate portrait of this unique cultural scene. Profiled are some of the better known alumni of the Forbidden City nightclub — like singers Larry Ching and Frances Chun and dancers Dorothy Toy, Tony Wing, and Jadin Wong — as well as other performers I'd never heard of before, such as:

• Ellen Chinn, Forbidden City dancer and, according to news of the day, "possessor of Chinatown's most beautiful pair of legs"


• Mai Tai Sing, Forbidden City dancer who later ran a cocktail lounge (The Ricksha) in SF Chinatown and played a bit part in the 1960 TV show Hong Kong, starring Rod Taylor


• Coby Yee, "China's Most Daring Dancing Doll", an exotic dancer who performed off and on at the Forbidden City and later bought the club from founder Charlie Low in the mid-60s


• Cynthia Yee, dancer in Dorothy Toy's various revues, Miss Chinatown of 1967, and founder of the Grant Avenue Follies

One of the best things about the book are the more than 200 illustrations, ranging from newspaper ads and magazine articles to family photos and glamor shots. They are absolutely priceless. It's too bad that Forbidden City wasn't packaged as a glossy coffee table book instead of a humble softcover edition.

My only legitimate complaint is that the book lacks a strong organizational structure and design. Individuals are presented without a clear introduction, which makes it is easy to get lost when reading the book for the first time. In addition, the book could have benefited from a little more historical background to help set the stage for these pioneering performers.

Nevertheless, the social context can be gleaned from within the stories. And I'm grateful that Trina chose to include three particular documents which serve as forceful reminders of the racial barriers existing at the time: namely, official letters from the state bars of Idaho, Nevada, and Utah denying a marriage license to dancer Ellen Chinn and her sweetheart Robert Price. In the words of the State Bar of Nevada: "It is a crime in the State of Nevada for persons of the Caucasian or white race to intermarry with any person of the Ethiopian or black race, Malay or brown race, or Mongolian or yellow race." I must admit, that one sentence sets the stage as well as any introductory essay.

In spite of the misgivings mentioned above, I wholeheartedly recommend Forbidden City to any one interested in the fascinating era of America's Chinese nightclubs. It is an invaluable resource that will undoubtedly spur further appreciation for the rich history of Asian American performers.

Ticking and Tocking

Do you ever have days that you're excited about for no particular reason?

Sound of My Heart (It Startled Me)

Feelings are weird, man. I mean, really though...feelings are very intimate things. People talk about sharing their feelings with others or sharing mutual feelings with someone and it's at these moments when we feel most connected. I guess I hadn't really given it much thought before, but really, sharing a feeling with someone is one of the most intimate things two (or more) people can do.

As I was living the day out, I realized the magnitude of feelings, emotions and memories I have associated with certain music.

A Charlie Brown Christmas came on the television and images of random beds I slept in all over Europe flooded my mind. That dirty roll of a pillow in Paris, the freezing cot-type bed pushed up next to a radiator in Birmingham, my slightly off-kilter bed in Florence, Sofia's tiny couch with steel rods poking in my back... I used to listen to the album by Vince Guaraldi every night to fall asleep when I was in Europe. It was perfectly surreal to hear the music again for the first time out of what had become its normal context.

In the car, Lily Allen's sweet, English accented voice seeped through my stereo and procured fond memories of me laughing genuinely at all the insipid drama that came to pass over the last four months. F*ck you, f*ck you took me back to cafes in non-English speaking countries as they blasted it in a Top 20 Playlist, unedited and fetchingly asinine.

Elvis Perkins. Hmm. Well, this takes me back to, uh, hmm two places: First--to my favorite cafe in Florence with that cute, bald guy who wore black framed glasses and made me Americanos whenever I fancied. Next--to a place that I'd like to eventually disassociate with this song, but who knows how long that will take, or if I ever truly will be able to separate the two. Icy winds on bare skin, dirty sheds and rooftops. Imminent failure through a chance opened door.

I watched parts of Vicky Cristina Barcelona with Sarah today and immediately remembered the quickened dance my heart does when I hear the music from this balmy, sensual film. This feeling exists in a similar place as Howard Shore's majestic notes.

Driving from an old friend's house I blasted Animal Collective and remembered how I used a select few of their songs as a means to fall asleep on bus rides in Europe. If you've ever listened to Animal Collective you'd be shocked that I could fall asleep to anything they've made (it's all a discordant, ambient, strident, cacophonous harmony of sounds) but believe me, I'd be out after the second chorus of In the Flowers.

I was making Christmas cards (channeling my energy, if you will) with Howl's Moving Castle on in the background. This is one of those films that can move me to tears even if I'm not watching it. Kind of like Totoro and Spirited Away. The music is calming, stirring, and poignant. It takes me to a place where the grass is tall and my dress is loose, and I feel as though the soft wind could wrap its undetectable arms around me and sweep me up into the stars.

Basically, I merely wanted to share some of the feelings (and memories) I get when I hear certain music.sounds.voices. The severity of my desire to share these feelings with someone kind of scares me. I want someone to know, to feel, to experience the exuberance that some of these sounds bring me. Maybe you feel the same way about sounds in your life....

Margaret Tu: Those Eyes

As promised, Oldflames sent this fabulous pic of Margaret Tu Chuan in her most dramatic eyeliner mood. Just try and look away!

Ouch, Teeth

I want a downpour today. I want that rain to tap incessantly on my window pane and force me to bundle up and bunker down. I am sicker than sick (probably just a repurcussion from intense traveling and zero rest when I first got home). I need tea or coffee and blankets to warm my cold cold body. I think I shall watch HPatHBP and be merry. Or maybe I'll continue to sleep.

Breathe A Bird

So many bad things have happened in the past two days. I am being tested. I'll lean on a Greater understanding and hopefully I'll make it through. It's all I can do.

Peace. I hate guns.

Early Fog Rolls

423/Bridge of Kazad-Dum: Sometimes I when I see beautiful things I want to share them with someone.

Chinatown Girls: Mary Mammon and Dorothy Sun

Featured in Arthur Dong's documentary Forbidden City U.S.A. (1989), Mary Mammon and Dorothy Sun performed in the original chorus line at the legendary "all-Chinese" San Francisco nightclub. In 1938 owner Charlie Low put out a call for dancers. Because local girls faced too much opposition from their families, the only girls who applied were those from out of town — like Mary Mammon, born and raised in Clifton, Arizona, and Dorothy Sun, born in Coulterville (a mining town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada) and raised in the California Delta.

Mary and Dorothy must have been great pals, because they evidently worked together through much of the 40s: on and off at the Forbidden City and other San Francisco clubs, such as the Lion's Den; and on the road in Kenneth Walker's "Chinese Follies" revue, which toured the U.S. and entertained troops with the USO in the South Pacific.

From what I can tell, Mary was the sexy one, with her hula and fan dances, while Dorothy was the funny one, with her "eccentric" dance parodies.

Here are the two in an Associated Press feature about Mary Mammon that ran in Sunday papers all across the country. This particular scan comes from the Fort Wayne Journal-Gazette (June 15, 1941).

CHINATOWN GIRL

Chinatown in San Francisco, where 20,000 persons live in less thank 20 square blocks, is the largest Chinese settlement outside the Orient. Once it was reputed to hold all the sins and exotic charms of Old China. But a new generation is in command. Schools, churches and playgrounds have routed oldtime tong wars and racial taboos. Authentic Chinatown fixtures remain mostly for the tourist trade. The commerce and the way of living is one of America's newest revolutions in this best known foreign quarter of any U.S. city. The women, who not so long ago lived in household seclusion, have stepped into the new role of being American women. Mary Mammon is typical.


A LATE SLEEPER, Mary's hours would have shocked old Chinatown. She is a featured dancer in one of the new night clubs, timidly opened but an instant success. Now she gets home in the small hours, but the family — mother, sister, two brothers — doesn't mind.


SOCIAL LIFE is a daylight pursuit. Mary loves soda fountain lunches, scoffs at chop suey, but likes mother's real Chinese cooking. At 22, Mary, who was born in New Mexico, chooses her own "dates", clothes, employment, and is popular in the community.


AT WORK, Mary and chum, Dorothy, dance and sing in the Lion's Den club. Pay is not high by American theater standards, but Chinatown girls find employment limited; to them, wages are tops.



STYLISTS say, dollar for dollar, Chinese girls dress more smartly than their American sisters. Top, Mary at her daily pressing job; bottom, stepping along tong-scarred old Waverly Place with pal, Dorothy Sun. Note aged delivery man with tray on head, a survival.


MARKETING takes the girls into a shop brimming with exotic foods, preferred to those in Americanized stores. "Delicacies" here don't tempt Americans. Mary wanted some hard dried fish — among other "native" items on her list. A sale is a ceremony.


STUDY has meant much to Mary — high school education, speedy Americanization. Her father (deceased) changed family name, Mar, to Mammon.


SUNBATHS, slacks, shorts cause oldsters to wag heads, but are common. And permanent waves are slowly turning black hair to brown.


FIRST JOB was typing, then Mary waited tables. When demand for Chinese entertainers arose, she studied dancing. Meanwhile, war in China liberalized the community — women helped with relief work.


AT HOME, furnishings are American style. But the women still treasure their embroidered silks, the tight, slinky gowns of Old China, however ill-adapted they may be to modern athletic figures.

* The Forbidden City ad at the top of the page comes from The Virtual Museum of the City of San Francisco.

Nice and Cozy; Snuggle

I just cleaned out my wallet and it brought me to the verge of tears. I haven't been much of a crier for the past year, however, certain recent circumstances have made me very sad and unbelievably sentimental and I've kind of hopped back on the tear train. As I was emptying my wallet of receipts and ticket stubs from the past month I looked at all of the different vendors, languages and things I had purchased and very distinct and poignant memories came swelling up in my mind and took residence in a tight place in my throat that generally produces tears.

Now I am sitting in a familiar Peet's Coffee, on El Toro, waiting for my best friend to come and meet me before I head out on a two day excursion to Santa Barbara. Honestly, I'm just a little terrified to go there and see everyone. I know four months isn't that long, but when I think about all the places I've been in four months, the ways in which I've grown, and failed, I just can't imagine what it will be like to go back to my school.

Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight.

People in California are freaking out because it's actually cold this December. If I hadn't gone to Europe, I would probably be one of them--shivering in 50 degree weather and pointing out what might possibly be perceived as a bit of ice and getting all giddy about it. But, since I've been gone, the biting cold just seems like a part of everyday life, you've got to just move on, you know?

Looks like Sarah just got here and my back is out of alignment. Today is going to be a great wonderful mysterious crisp day. I can't wait to spend hours with Seany in the car.

Frequent stops to experience God's Grandeur.

OMFG

Addicted.

Ginger Vanilla

home. sweet. gnome.


driving fast fast fast on the freeway spewing my emotions all over my mom. the feel of the wheel on my fingertip: a part of me has come back. my house looks small in comparison to the big semester i just exited. enter to couches littered with four months of magazines, bits of popcorn and a long parted friend. falling asleep on my baby sister/best friend's shoulder without even realizing it. snuggling, giggling, texting each other funnies as we cuddle to sleep. warmth in the form of tea made by my mother. sitting for hours in the park with my dearest friend and his weirdy dog. learning how/what/why we feel the way we feel, can we ever really learn? hearing my hero of a father's voice on the phone throughout the day. watching the clouds go fast overhead with a pumpkin spice in hand. smelling cinammon and smoke from candles burning all around. wanting to burrow in my room and never emerge. waiting. listening. reading. sighing. patientience is a virtue. so is forgiveness.

In the Mood for Mavis Fan

i don't know why ... don't ask me why ...

Hollywood Chinese: The Arthur Dong Collection

Last week I had an opportunity to see Arthur Dong's fantastic collection of movie memorabilia at the Chinese American Museum in Los Angeles. Featuring more than 150 items, much of which was collected during the production of his award-winning documentary Hollywood Chinese (2007), the exhibit lays bare on a visceral level America's ambivalent and convoluted attitude towards the Chinese. It also shows how Chinese Americans have navigated, negotiated, and resisted the stereotypes placed upon them.

Of particular interest to me were the rare items concerning three pioneering filmmakers: Marion Wong, whose The Curse of Quon Gwon (1916) is the earliest known Chinese American feature; James B. Leong, whose film Lotus Blossom (1921) starred Chinese American actress and vaudeville singer Lady Tsen Mei; and Joseph Sunn Jue, whose San Francisco-based Grandview Film Company produced movies by, about, and for Chinese Americans during World War II and also helped keep Cantonese cinema alive during the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong.

"Hollywood Chinese" is showing through the end of May next year. If you live in the area, you should definitely check it out. For those who can't make it, the 34-page, color catalog is the next best thing. Handsomely designed and featuring nearly half of the items from the exhibit, it also includes a great essay ("Yellow Peril Smackdown: A Night at the Chinese American Museum") by filmmaker Renee Tajima-Peña. The catalog can be purchased at the museum gift shop, but unfortunately it's not for sale on their website. Try contacting them directly (office@camla.org) to see if it can be ordered by mail.

Raw Sugar

I cannot be anything other than what I am. No matter how badly I'd like to please you, I can't and I'm sorry. I am broken and hurt and confused. I am giddy and laughing and amused. I am sad. I am entertaining. I am dramatic. I am sarcastic. I am passionate and carefree mixed with so much worry...it seems paradoxical, but if you know me, you know how it is... I am easily excited and definitely strong willed. I want to be held. I want to be cared for, don't you? I mean we all want to be important. I speak my mind and it gets me into trouble. I live in a place that's real and true, at least, I hope I do. But at the same time I drift into the forest of Lorien and glide down the river Anduin, whilst smoking an ivory pipe. I am into fashion and hauntings. I am weirdly interested in the Olsen twins. I find cats hilarious. I smile when babies make weird noises. I think that politics are important and trivial. I want to hold your hand. I want to sit and experience the deep melancholies of life with you. Let's listen to Grizzly Bear and go on a hike. Here Iam. I am honest. So, there's that.

Life Goes to the "Forbidden City"

Trina Robbin's new book Forbidden City: The Golden Age of Chinese Nightclubs has just been published and is available directly from the publisher (and also from Amazon). I'll post my thoughts about the book as soon as I get my hands on it, but in the meantime here's the Life magazine article (December 9, 1940) that brought Charlie Low's Forbidden City to national attention. A scan of the original is available here.

BTW, the two dancers with the lassos at top are Mary Mammon (left) and Dorothy Sun (right), who also appear in the photo just beneath. Closing this post is the inimitable Jadin Wong. I'll have more to share about these ladies in the coming weeks.

Finally, for an interesting and nuanced examination of the Orientalism served up at the Forbidden City nightclub, check out Anthony Lee's book Picturing Chinatown: Art and Orientalism in San Francisco (2001). As he writes, "The acts played on the distinction between the race of the performer and the race being performed in ways that revealed the contingency and malleability of both."

As a matter of fact, this strategy harkened back to the early days of vaudeville when Chinese American entertainers, like Lee Tung Foo and Jue Quon Tai, carved out a niche for themselves on the stage and in the public eye by performing a unique blend of yellowface and whiteface.

As you can see in the article below, Chinese American performers in the 1940s were still navigating the conflicting expectations of what it meant to be a Chinese living in America.

Life Goes to the "Forbidden City"
San Franciscans pack Chinatown's No. 1 night club

At 363 Sutter Street in San Francisco stands "Forbidden City", the No. 1 all-Chinese night club in the U.S. Here each evening Californians flock to watch a talented floor show that ranges from slumberous oriental moods to hot Western swing. San Francisco is numerically ill-equipped with Broadway-style cabarets. Its citizenry eats at home, dances at hotels. When "Forbidden City" opened two years ago, it filled a local cultural need. It has prospered ever since.

In decor, "Forbidden City" blandly jumbles rice-paper screens, lighted fishbowls, college colors and football trophies. Somehow the net result is satisfactory. Its tri-nightly floor show as blandly scrambles congas, tangos, tap numbers and snaky stuff from the Far East. Chinese girls have an extraordinary aptitude for Western dance forms. As singers, not many achieve success according to occidental standards. But slim of body, trim of leg, they dance to any tempo with a fragile charm distinctive to their race. Opposite you see gracious Jadine Wong performing her chaste "Dance of the Moon Goddess".