born standing up

I have heard it said that a complicated childhood can lead to a life in the arts.
- Steve Martin, Born Standing Up

I am reading Steve Martin's memoir and am enjoying it very much. Strangely, yet comfortingly, I have felt a kinship with Martin, reading about his strained relationship with his father and reflecting on my own complicated relationship with my family. Now, when I wonder why I feel like I need to "express" myself, this sentence just seems to sum it up. It's also a confirmation of what I have always dreaded, yet have resigned to believing is responsible for much of my creativity. "A-ha."

It's interesting to see that Martin was just a regular, not particularly talented guy who, like many of us, was trying to find his way, his own happiness, as he delved into the things that interested him as a boy --magic, then later comedy; and developing into the famously funny Steve Martin we know today. It seemed so easy for him to step into his destiny, while my path has seemed so arduous -- but maybe 30 years from now, if I were to look at where I am today, my path would appear just as crystal clear as Martin's journey.


In the book, Martin refers to many of his favorite entertainers, including Richard Pryor. As a kid, I had heard my dad speaking of liking Richard Pryor. I always remembered Richard Pryor as the goofy scared guy carried by Superman. It was not until I got much older that I learned that that innocent looking man was a cocaine addict, used profanity in his stand-up routines, openly talked about race and other taboo topics in America, and was a troubled soul who frankly used the transgressions against him and by him, as comic material. I also heard that he was a comic genius.

Realizing that I have never been graced with Pryor's genius, I recently checked out some of his acts on YouTube. Wow. Rarely have I seen a performer with the absolute surrender that Pryor displays. And he's just friggin' good. It's like an experience. And I'm also intrigued by his evolution starting with his cleaner, squeakier days, like on the Ed Sullivan show. Enjoy them for yourself.

being an artist

photos by timothy mak photography

Recently, I realized that my escapist fantasies of being a full-time artist were somewhat illusionary. While my lawyer job as been giving me a lot of grief lately, I was experiencing much grief at my last music gig, as my friends chattered and laughed amongst themselves and appeared to be disinterested in my music that I had worked so hard to prepare. Ouch.

As I am accepting what happened, I am realizing that this is the life of an artist, dealing with rejection, even from those you love, all the time. Nine out of ten times, no one cares that you struggle within yourself to get on stage; no one cares that you are baring your soul as you sing the lyrics you wrote during a meaningful moment in your life; no one cares to give you a fighting chance to share your music; no one gives. And the sad part is, even if they do, I, like many artists, being so self-absorbed, may not see it.

So why would I choose to put myself in these situations, to choose this as my life? According to Livingston Taylor, musician and Berklee School of Music professor, I don't choose it -- I do it because nothing else fits.

Sometimes a lawyer or doctor will approach me and express their desire to be onstage. I'm bemused by the naivete. They don't understand that people who write, paint, dance, or
sing do so not because they want to (in spite of what they tell themselves) but because they must. Nothing else seems to fit.

You want to be a performer even though you know there are easier career paths to choose, like the steady work and health care benefits found in a big corporation. Instead, you're willing to go it alone in the cold, dimly lit world of the performing arts. You didn't choose to be here. Nobody does. You are here because you're driven.

- Livingston Taylor, Stage Performance

What Taylor says resonates with me, but I don't want to believe it. I want to believe that I have a choice and that I can have both the steady, well-respected conventional and professional job (of being a lawyer) and the vocation of my passion (of being a singer-songwriter, filmmaker, writer). However, I have to say that, as of late, it's been difficult to put 100 percent in everything I do, and I am exhausted and discouraged.

I just don't know.

Along the same topic, I would like to share about two artists/professionals I met this year that have inspired me to fight for both the professional and artistic aspirations of my dreams.

Chad Woodford (IP attorney, filmmaker, yoga instructor)
I met Chad at a Bar Association volunteer event at the SF Food Bank. As we were scooping and measuring rice to put into bags, I picked Chad's brain about pursuing his film career while working as an attorney. I found it noteworthy that he is a solo practitioner which allows him more flexibility with his schedule. Check out his documentary piece on the kids of Golden Gate Park.

Travelin' Kids from Chad Woodford on Vimeo.

I especially like his piece on the Marina, which I consider a guilty pleasure, as an East Bay-er who loves to hate on the Marina.

Marina Nights from Chad Woodford on Vimeo.

Kris Racer (Former consultant/business school student/aspiring gaming project manager)
I met Kris through my artist friends in Oakland, when he came to one of our songwriting circles and I found out that he was in SF for the summer for an internship at Zynga and went to b-school in Chicago. Impressed and intrigued with his current business aspirations but also his working singer-songwriter status, I picked Kris' brain about both the "business" of gigging, grad school, but also just career guidance, generally. Thanks, Kris!

sponsor me!

I am going to swim a mile (or .5 more) for women with cancer. Here's my schpiel...before I change it 100 more times. You can donate and read the most current version here (click "Finding a swimmer" and type "Underwoman" for swimmer).

Hey! I am committed to raising $500 which provides emergency financial assistance for rent, utilities, and groceries for one Oakland woman with breast cancer. If 50 of you donate $10 each, I'm good to go!

I'd like to think of this as "sponsoring" one Oakland woman with cancer. In addition to or in lieu of making a financial contribution, I also invite you to pray for this one woman, for whatever she is going through, though we don't know who she is now.

I think we all know at least one special woman in our lives that has battled cancer -- for me, it's been my friend's mom, my co-worker, and a college student from church. I feel privileged to have heard their stories and to know them. I also found very sobering this column by Tammerlin Drummond (Oakland Tribune columnist) about recent state cuts to cancer detection programs for low-income women.

Take a read: http://www.mercurynews.com/columns/ci_15771074?nclick_check=1.

I swim on Saturday, October 2 at 12 noon. Holla!

at the end

Today I have been contemplating the concept of the weekend. I haven't had a weekend off in the last three months or so. While most of them were filled with working in the office, there were some where I still had to be "on" for non-work-related weekend family trips and wedding festivities.

Last weekend was the first one I had "off" -- I went on a hike with my college buddies and made sure to have a lot of time to myself afterwards. But true rest still eluded me.

And then another week descends on me...
Each day and night is a negotiation of whether we will be getting more stuff done or more rest. You plan date-time with yourself this weekend. There are some tasks you'd like to get done: clean the bathroom, catch up on e-mails with friends, look at your expenses to better budget your finances.

We get to Friday evening, but it's still not your time -- it's time to go to a musical and catch up with an old friend till the wee hours of the morning.

We get to Saturday -- time to buy a gift for and go to a friend's bridal shower. After that, you say, you will have all the time for yourself.

The bridal shower runs into early evening. You're driving home and wonder whether you still have the energy to keep the date you had planned for yourself -- ramen noodles on College Ave. then a screening of the film "Winter's Bone" playing at the Shattuck.

You are determined to keep the date with yourself. And you go.

Saturday's over -- drat, didn't get to the weekend tasks. At least the temptation to do work at this hour is completely out of the question.

Sunday comes. You wake up earlier than usual. Unlike most Sundays, you had prepared to have a little downtime before you go to the church worship service; no attempts to do any of your tasks before going to church, like you usually do.

You eat a hearty breakfast of peanut butter and jelly toast with the intention of going to the local pool to get some laps in after church. You will exercise outside, dang it, you tell yourself. It's summer.

You go to church. You do not socialize with your friends afterwards. This is your time, you remind yourself. You get home. You feel like reading a magazine before you head to the pool. You do it. Then you look at the time and make sure you have at least 1 hour to do your laps.

You change into your bathing suit before heading out. It's cold, you think to yourself. And I think I might be on the verge of getting sick. Is it a good idea to go to the pool?

But you push yourself to go. You drive to the pool, pay the $5, march into the women's locker room, take your clothes off with your bathing suit on already, don your swim cap, and you force yourself to go into the cold shower to rinse off. You step out into the pool area. The sun is shining and the breeze isn't too bad. Some quick stretches, some pacing between the lane you have decided to swim in, and the cabinet with all the kickboards and buoys, and you insert yourself into the warm salty water. And you stroke.

20 minutes in, as you turn your head back and forth to breathe, and you see the blue sky and sun-drizzled scenery, you are smiling inside. You cool down kicking with the kickboard and you feel like you've made the best decision of your life coming here.

You're back home and you toast some bread with cheese, cut open an avocado, and rip off a tin of sardines. You cut an orange into slices. You realize that you eat out almost everyday and relish this opportunity to make your own simple lunch with fresh fruits and not have to transact to have this meal. You make a pact with yourself to swim and make a fresh meal afterwards every Sunday.

You wash the dishes and you have an inner dialogue with yourself, or rather, between your husband self and your wife self.

Wife: Dear, are we still going to go to your co-worker's party this afternoon? It's been such a great relaxing day. Let's stay home.

Husband: I haven't decided yet. There were some things I still wanted to do before going.

Wife: You still haven't cleaned the bathroom sink. It's disgusting.

Husband: I told you I'd get to it this week.

Wife: You're not going to work, are you?

Husband: No (hesitantly). (then more confidently) No. Just wanted to organize around the house a bit. I think we should buy a new vacuum cleaner.

Wife: And we have to plan our vacation. We are going to have a vacation.

Husband: Don't worry. I'm not going to let them persuade me to stay.

Wife: We have to get out of here, lest you feel tempted to go to the office.

Husband: I know, dear.

Wife: (softly) I hardly see you. This is the first time in a long while that we've actually spent time with each other.

Husband: I know, dear.

Wife: It's like I'm living with a robot who doesn't really care for me.

Husband: I do, darling.

Wife: You know, you don't have to do this.

Husband: I know. And it's just temporary. And it's good for us - it provides us stability and the resources to do things we enjoy, go on vacation, eat well...

Wife: But you're not happy right now. I can see it.

Husband: It'll be over soon. It will be.

something missing

My way of taking a break lately has been catching up with current pop culture, i.e., Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, Taylor, Twilight... I finally decided to watch some of Beyoncé's more recent videos. I actually liked some of her songs and was curious about what the videos were like.

My song rankings:
(1) Halo
(2) Sweet Dreams
(3) Diva
(4) Ego
(5) Single Ladies (Grammy's Song of the Year...really?! I feel like I'm taking crazy pills - isn't she just chanting with a whistle sound in the background and the catchy chorus repeating?)

My video rankings:
(1) Sweet Dreams (love her attitude and dance moves - I would ignore the beginning)
(2) Halo (sweet)
(3) Single Ladies (yeah, yeah, yeah)
(4) Ego (kind of boring, but at least, she sticks with one line of thought that seems to fit the theme)
(5) Diva (too many costume changes - lack of focus).

After a while, I was, of course, mesmerized by her beauty. But I felt a little sick, like having too much candy, and too much perfection. She's too beautiful, too talented, too much...
Naturally, with her overly sexy presentation, I also felt like a peep show patron.

Being the old fogie I'm becoming, I longed for the old days of R&B when, yes, the divas were always self-indulgent and looked at the camera too much, yet they seemed less so compared to the likes of Beyoncé and Lady Gaga today. And I know I'm sort of comparing apples and oranges (00's pop v. 90's hip hop)...but it was interesting nonetheless to think about what I missed about the so-called divas from my youth.

Back then, they were trying, but they weren't perfect. And it was alright. They were real people with real emotions and flaws, real bodies, with a more fun and relatable mix of class and chutzpah. And you wanted to be on their side, not worship them. And yeah, sometimes they were cheesy and a little horny (i.e., I was afraid to admit to watching their videos as a middle-schooler), but you loved them anyways.

Below are some of my favorites. What I love about these songs and videos, is that they just tell a story. No massive budget for people to do 10 million costume or set changes. Just the storyteller (singer), her emotion, and some good dancing/hanging. Accordingly, I think the choreography and visual storytelling in these videos are much more compelling than what's popular today.

A Mary J. Blige favorite of mine. Admittedly, there are multiple costume changes in this one and could be a precursor to the pattern that is so pervasive today. But I love some of her raw expression here. Another favorite is this one - if you don't feel anything after watching it, you have no soul.


This Salt N Pepa/En Vogue video opened my 14-year old eyes when I first saw it. What a song. What a video. On another note, what ever happened to women rappers?


Saved the best for last -
Monica exemplifies the wonderful mix of down-to-earthness, cuteness, strength, sexiness, and class. She's also very beautiful and elegant but doesn't shove it down your throat. This song and choreography are the best!
(*dedicated to Lei Lei)

young love

Meet "The Xx."

This is one of many bands being showcased at the South by Southwest (SXSW) film and music conference/festival in Austin this March, which I will be attending from very start to finish. (I'm totally stoked.) Thanks to SXSW, I have become acquainted with and fallen in love with this lovely band. I want to listen to them when I wake up and before I go to bed, and just about all the hours in between.

They are pure, refreshing, youthful, and their minimalist arrangements inspire me to write naked truth and beautiful music.

Did you ever have a period in your life that you felt exemplified you the best? I've always been quite fond of my 15-year old self - slightly awkward and still finding my way, yet very bright, disciplined, and unafraid to be who I wanted to to be. This band's music has awakened in me an inner celebration of the spirit of youth that gives a damn in a quiet, unjaded, and courageous way. They make me believe anything is possible.

Here is my current favorite of the album.

Your Hands

This week was really hard. All around - personally, at work.

Things were going well...and they are still. But lately, I've felt much disappointment and longing in some of my friendships to the point where I can't hide it anymore.

I long for human connection, but am sometimes so hurt by it, whether it be from from the insensitivity of it, the withholding of it, or it not being the way that I had hoped, to the point where it takes all of me to still put myself out there and I just can't.

But I see how necessary it is for me to experience the ache of putting others before myself, to sacrifice, to let things go, and to do it all with a joyful heart. I see more clearly how oblivious I'd been to that same grace shown towards me, and I am thankful for this process, and especially God's faithfulness, as much as it hurts. Knowing this has helped me keep it together.

However, I am just as grateful, if not more, for last night, when, at a very dark moment, I received an e-mail from my sister checking in with me and telling me that many times when she heard this song, she thought of me, and wanted to share it with me.

And I was finally able to cry.

know that you'll be back for more

This morning I woke up feeling my abs, thighs, and shoulders for the first time in a while. Although it hurt, it felt good, too. I was encouraged that my first workout session with my Gold's Gym personal trainer was paying off.

I signed up with Gold's just before the holidays to take advantage of the year-end promotions and to try to set up a healthy alternative to my running routine, which has increasingly aggravated my knee pain in the last few months.

This is my first time joining a gym, and I have been easily amused by Gold's motivational mottos hung around the space. As I change my pants in the locker room, I notice one that says, "If it hurts to tie your shoes, you know you're doing something right." Right above the handle of the door that exits from the gym, you're warned with, "Know that you'll be back for more tomorrow."

Although I snickered and wanted to brush it off as a gimmick, I sincerely asked myself yesterday, as I exited the door:

"Will I be coming back for more?"

Yesterday's PT session was hard, as well as embarrassing with my frequent grunting and grimacing (oftentimes, the PT would say, "Your face says everything - we're doing a good job here..."). But I have to admit that I found it very meditative to do bicep curls as I ever so slowly lowered those dumbbells on each rep, and found myself feeling at peace with the aching in my muscles that I was imposing on myself. And as much as I hated doing the other exercises, it was fun to do different activities and try to win the approval of my PT. It's amazing how much my people-pleasing nature accomplishes.


Yes, I think I will be coming back for more.


And the motto came back to me as I woke up this New Year's Day morning with the sore muscles, and the uncomfortable task of greeting my parents this New Year's Day with the news of the break-up, and facing yet another year at a job that I was not crazy about, another year of not having finished my music album, another year of not knowing what the hell I want to do with myself. However, I knew deep down that I was going to "come back for more". . . more challenges, more misfortunes, more opportunity, more risk-taking, more love, more frustration, more joy, more work, more of this thing I call "my life."

And it's all good.

a time of silence

For the last few months, I've been fighting a battle in my mind. Yesterday, that battle ended, and the noise has stopped.

Although I am glad to have reached this place of silence, I am struggling with the acute sense of pain from the loss, emptiness, of the death of a relationship. Like remembering a lost loved one, in the quiet moments, you recall the funny exchanges you had with the person, how you felt with them, how handsome they were, and the defining moments when they were there for you. And though not much time has passed, you miss them sorely because of the knowledge that things will never be the way they used to.


But I believe everything will be okay.

And I realize now, more than ever, that what I really need during this period is to just be alone, here, in the quiet...

age-appropriate attire

Today I tried out a couple of party dresses for my 30th birthday party next week. I was down to two choices which represented two different personas.

The first one was a cute turquoise braided-halter dress with flower prints at the hem. When I tried it on for the first time, I fell in love with it, mainly because it fit very well on my small frame. The second time I tried it on, however, I noticed that it revealed a lot of skin and I felt (and maybe appeared) a little naked, with my pale farmer's tan-esque upper arms and shoulders overpowering the pretty braided straps I was so impressed by previously. I realized that I no longer had the girlish figure that could wear that dress very well, and realized that I had to let go of looking like a Mischa Barton ingenue-wannabe.

The second dress was a purple va-va-voom dress that fit like a glove and gave me curves I didn't know I had (and slightly accentuated my pot belly, but in a flattering womanly way, if possible). Think sort of Isabella Rosselini's mistress character in "Big Night." It looked a little funny on me with my usual ponytail. However, I let loose the ponytail, and *voila* I transformed into a "woman" with sexy shoulder-length hair bouncing off my shoulders. This dress celebrated the fact that I had a little more meat on, compared to my earlier ingenue days. I felt like a cougar.

In the end, though, I opted to get neither of the dresses. I felt like they made me look too old.

I realized I felt more comfortable with my outfit from my 29th birthday party last year - a tank top with jeans, black flats, and a spankin' new haircut. As I walked out the clothing store, I wracked my brain for ways to re-invent myself. I thought of cutting my hair even shorter than I did last year...maybe a buzz cut? or Rihanna cut?

Then I wondered if maybe I was trying to delay the inevitable, of looking "my age" and like "a woman." I noted how resistant I was to wearing my hair down and going for the curvier dress because it seemed hyper-feminine. Was my wanting to boy-ify my hair and, essentially, my party-wear, my way of re-living my edgier college days, but now into my 30's adulthood?

I'd like to think not, and that I just happen to be a gal from the Bay Area who's in touch with her casual and funky side brewed in the mixes of Los Angeles and Boston. But who knows.

What do you think?


Image from La Dolce Vita

giving up is not an option

After watching my orchid plant lose all of its flowers and its stem turn brown for a while, I needed to decide whether I was going to put more effort into keeping it alive, or let it die, and act immediately.

I decided to save it, which meant doing some research and later de-potting the plant and airing out what I later discovered were some overwatered and now rotting roots that were unable to absorb the water the plant needed.

Coincidentally, I was doing some de-potting in my personal life. Not surprisingly, just as I was approaching my fourth week of non-stop briefing for work, I was feeling stressed, frustrated, and like I was going to die if something didn't change. I was depressed and anxious. This was nothing new. I already knew that my job didn't fulfill me, and that I ultimately want to do film and music, or "art" full-time. But there were deeper issues I had to confront, like the painful question or statement (depending on how you viewed it), "Carolyn, you are almost 30 years old; when are you going to stop waiting to live your life, and just live it?" I, of course, revisited the cliched dilemma of balancing your dreams with the need to make a living; but I knew there was something more uncomfortable at the core underlying this.

What did I really believe about myself? What I had to face was the possibility that I thought I didn't have the talent worthwhile to sacrifice the security I have in my job now. While I whine about how my job doesn't allow me to follow my dreams, I may be the one that's stopping me.

How was this informed by my experiences with my family? There is no denying that my parents have emphasized to me that I am not talented enough to do anything more with my crafts except to keep them as hobbies. Although a futile exercise, I sometimes fantasize what it would feel like to have parents that believed in me in something I felt so strongly about. How I wished I wouldn't be so afraid of failing.

It hurts to recognize these things, but I know it's necessary to just lay it out there, exposed, raw, if I'm going to be able to receive anything good out of life.

And I must act immediately - I can't lie to myself anymore. And I must try to revive the person I want to be that I may have been neglecting for some while. So, on the upside, I am not waiting anymore to make films again. I have started researching on and am making plans to make movies in the near future...


To be continued...

pining

Movies like this fan my desire to make a simple, charming low-budget film.


This stars Justin Rice, the frontman of the band Bishop Allen, and also the lead in "Mutual Appreciation," a film by Andrew Bujalski. Bujalski's films, too, have given me hope that I can maybe one day make an interesting film with "limited resources" (i.e., non-professional cast members played by his friends) and a non-traditional narrative style.

Since we're on the topic of great indie films, "The Motel," directed by Michael Kang, is another movie that I've been meaning to see but haven't had a chance yet (since it was a limited release). Before I started law school, I actually interviewed to be a script reader for Sundance, and my "test" was to read two scripts, analyze them, and determine which script was better suited for Sundance. "The Motel" was one of the assigned scripts and I couldn't put it down. I got the gig, but unfortunately, I couldn't be a regular script reader while going to school outside of Los Angeles; so I turned it down. I was so thrilled later to see the script come to fruition into this film.

One day, one day...

rainbows

Today, as I was turning a corner on my pre-sunset walk in the light rain, I was suddenly bombarded by a vibrant rainbow ahead of me. It was so loud and robust, so technicolor-ally present, that all I could do was just stare in awe as I walked "closer" and closer to it. As I continued to walk onto College Avenue with my eyes fixed on the sky, it was as if I had walked into a movie scene where people everywhere were stopping, coming out of the coffeeshops and their cars, and all - adults, children, old people - were looking up and pointing at the sky. As I was marveling at the people's reactions to the rainbow, a car driving near me opened its window and the passenger inside called out, "Look at the rainbow above you!" to make sure I didn't miss this magnificent sight.

When I saw people taking pictures, it deepened my nagging thought throughout this entire walk, which was to run back to my apartment and grab my camera so I could catch this moment forever.

But I just wanted to relax and enjoy this walk with this rainbow (and its fainter neighbors). I studied the "ends" of the rainbow, which made me think about pots of gold, leprechauns, and lucky charms. I then looked at the sides of the rainbow where I saw the rain-mist varying the intensity of the colors in a steady, fluid rhythm. Then my eyes meandered closer to the center of the bow where the light seemed the most intense - my thoughts became about Noah and God's promise to him after the flood had subsided. I imagined the rainbow that God gave to Noah was very vibrant and intense like the one before me, as if to demonstrate how steadfast and passionate his promise and love to Noah was. As I walked onto Broadway and observed how the view of the rainbow changed as it landed in the trees of the high hills of North Oakland, I thought of unicorns basking in the rainbow's light in mystical forests.

I decided that as much as I was worried about regretting it later, I simply did not want to go back to get my camera. I then seemed to console myself by asking, "Is life about getting a picture of something, or about living in the moment?"

Tonight, I'm glad I chose the latter.

feeling innocent

Hi.
I missed you. Have you missed me?

Well, lots have been on my mind, and new developments have occurred.

What's been on my mind a lot recently is a certain person with whom I've been quite enamored and have embarked on a "something" with. It's fun and delightful to explore the underbelly of the surfaces of the person that I have known for some time but am getting to know on a deeper level.

Up until recently, I wondered if I could ever be in an angst-free relationship that didn't involve unrequited love, guilt, or whatever dark and heavy element you can name. Now, I am struck by how simple, peaceful, good, and just plain pleasurable this experience has been.

I became more aware of this new outlook of mine when my neighbor asked me the other day if I would play my music for her wedding. When I thought about it, I actually felt like I wanted to write a new song about love for her wedding, and that after so many years of writing sad songs, I was actually inspired to write an uplifting song for once.

I apologize for the gushiness. But I have to confess that I am happy that I can even be that way now. It's as if I've reached a new stage of my life where I don't have to be too cool to think about "those" types of things.

Anyways, that's what's going on with me.

I thought I'd transition to a film review that I've been wanting to share for a while now, but was waiting for the right time. Some of you know that I watched and heard Ang Lee speak at a screening of "Lust, Caution" at this year's SF Asian American International Film Festival and that I really liked it. I thought about this movie again because I went to a theater performance this weekend and good performances always get me thinking about other good performances/art. Also, I think this movie portrays an intriguing, unconventional, complicated love story -- one that is a huge contrast from what I just described what was going in my life right now, but is still a story of human connection and one that I think is interesting to revisit.








(*mild spoilers*)


First of all, I don't think this movie should have gotten the less than stellar reviews that it received. I thought it was a masterpiece. (My dad, who calls every so-called Oscar-worthy movie "interesting," actually came up with a different adjective for this film by calling it "powerful" - which says a lot.)

I simply couldn't get over this story of a lonely young woman's search for meaning and finding it in patriotism for her country and ideals, but in doing so, sacrificing herself. Here, the protagonist Wong Chia Chi (played by the amazing Tang Wei) is abandoned by her family in war-time China and decides to become a spy for the Chinese Nationalist resistance, propelled by the actions of her college comrades, who are her only family. In doing so, she becomes the mistress of Mr. Yee (played by Tony Leung), an interrogator of spies. How this relationship transforms is what is gripping about this movie. The movie is rich in so many other ways, too, like how Ang Lee masterfully portrays the loss of a girl's innocence, not so much sexual innocence, but the innocence of having a loving family and living in a world without war.


Also, the film compelled me to ponder the relational power of sex. Unlike most movies, the sexual progression of the main characters here helped tell the story, as opposed to sex being a culmination of a relationship or an obligatory element of a movie. (You may argue that Lee's better known movie, "Brokeback Mountain" used sex similarly as a storytelling tool. I would disagree -- in that movie, the sex was the story. Not so in "Lust, Caution.") One striking comment of Ang Lee, among others, was his discussion of how the protagonist, Wong Chia Chi, tried to avoid the gaze of the enemy, Mr. Yee, when having sex, while he persistently tried to look at her and look at her reactions. Being lied to every day in his official capacity as a government interrogator of spies, Mr. Yee, sought to see Wong Chai Chi's reactions, seeing that as probably being the one thing in his life that could not lie to him. "The body does not lie," said Ang Lee, yet acknowledging that "One of the most profound questions in life is 'Can I make her come?'" and if she does, is it for real?

Normally such talk would make me shift uncomfortably in my seat, but maybe because it was Ang Lee speaking and because he has that filmmaker mastery of presenting an idea to you without any judgment (and probably because I idolize him), I could appreciate Lee's journey of exploring these questions, which he struggled with ("weeped" during shooting of the love scenes, according to him) and transcribed into a film that others could partake in the depth of his journey.

Lastly, the score from this film is haunting and beautiful, and I found myself playing it all the time in my head or on the keys after hearing it for the first time...

My "review" doesn't really do the film justice. In any case, if you want to see a beautiful movie from start to finish that will move you, I recommend this one.

should i join

A couple of weeks ago, I was about to go for a run but saw that I missed Mike's call and decided to listen to his message as I had a before-running snack of tortilla chips and avocado (yeah, probably not the best idea).

I munched and listened to the message.

Afterwards:
O-kaaay. "Hm."

I played it again and started moving to it as I munched some more.

dausch chirp song from Carolyn Chen on Vimeo.

Third time, I was doing hip hop moves in my kitchen.
"Yeah, YEAH, this is TIGHT!"


I've usually hesitated from joining Twitter for fear that I'd spend too much time trying to think of cool "tweets" to share with my "followers."
However, as of late, I've already been going on Facebook religiously (mainly to check on who accepted the invitation to my May 9 gig) and as a side effect, I've updated my Facebook status message pretty consistently. (I haven't dropped the habit, although the gig's over...)
Also, it IS hard to blog regularly. So with Twitter, I could "talk" to you more often, and then you wouldn't have to wait weeks, but only hours, even minutes, for deep thoughts, by Carolyn Chen. (And you'd probably get less deep thoughts, too.)

But is that what you want?
Is that what I want?

Even if I joined, I would still not "tweet" during work hours although a big portion of my day is spent at work. I've decided to never go on social networking sites during work hours, which is probably a good thing -- work can be kind of annoying, and there's no need to bring you into that world ("If I see another attorneys' fees request, I'm going to gag," but there could also be the potential for cool tweets like "OMG- just saw Erwin Chemerinsky in the Court of Appeals!").

Regardless, I could still tweet during off-hours -- which is still a lot of time in a day for Carolyn exposure.

Could we all handle that?

I don't know if I can even handle writing about it on this blog post, ughhh...

But I am open.
And as Mike says, it may just be a matter of time.

Susan B., if you're reading this, I miss you. When are you going to grace us with your presence on The Permanent New Girl?

*photo credits:
Birds: eh, I don't remember...from Google images
New York Times Square: Mike Dausch's photography
Macy's underwear model: Susan Buchanan's flickr stream for her blog post.

working hard

I'm a little crazed these days, but it's all good.

Been thinking about good music.
Here are some inspirations:

• Susie Suh (I wish I could make a music video featuring HER, for her song, "Light on My Shoulder"; I'm going to try to catch an LA show of hers in June).

• Imogen Heap (I'm always afraid of her at first, but am in so much awe.)

• Vienna Teng (I used to get insulted when people compared me to her because I assumed it was because we were both Asian and played the piano. Now I've gotten over it and watching her again I'm reminded how flawless and angelic her voice is - and how amazing she is on the piano. I could only dream of writing/performing like her...)
  

happy one-week-after-earth-day!

Check out my friend Oliver's piece for FiLife on saving both the environment and your money. I am proud to say that I semi-contributed tips #1 and #5!

Speaking of green -- I just bought a new green shirt yesterday, which I hope to wear for my gig on May 9 (click on "event details"). Actually, just looking at that website, I hope I don't blend in too well...
Anyways, most of my favorite tops are green, and I have a good feeling about this one.

positive experience**

Last Monday, Stanley and I saw Black Kids and Mates of State at The Independent in San Francisco.



I wasn't really familiar with Mates of State, but thought the wife-husband duo was really sharp and each partner so in tune with the other with the rhythm and delivery of their songs.



What was really a treat was watching Black Kids sing and dance live. The girls were awesome in their shout-singing and rocking out. And the lead singer, just as I had hoped, made me swoon from his interesting intonated speaking -- "What did you think of Judgement Day [the opening act]? They're from here, right? Suh-poooooorrt thehhhhmm*" -- and of course, from his weird dancing moves where he puts his hands up to his head and can't quite seem to hold his head up when he occasionally separates his arms from his armpits or sides. It's kind of Madonna-esque, like he's holding in something and needs to release it, but won't, and I find it kind of sexy. (Don't laugh!)

You can see what I mean from their official video, "Look At Me (When I Rock Wichoo)."

Here is another video to check out: "I'm Not Going to Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You" (the closing song for their act that night -- it was sooo good!).

And more pictures.


* = "Support them."
** = "positive experience" is a phrase coined by Michael Dausch circa February/March 2009 to describe an intensely pleasurable experience.

jeune maman et le bébé

These pictures made me happy today.

Say hello to Kalea Joy. She looks a lot like Emily as a baby...and she's inherited the Chen lips!

Click here for my post on Kalea's cousin Elliott.

being made new

Easter Sunday has always been tricky for me.

Here is a holiday where you are supposed to be so overwhelmed by joy by the resurrection of Jesus Christ that you want to shout and clap your hands in gospel-music fashion and proclaim to the world, "He has risen indeed, Alleluia!"

Everyone is dressed in their Sunday best. Although it's usually too cold for it, girls will wear the pretty but unflattering floral print skirt, exposing their pale legs without tights, and pretty sandals, only to be imposed on by an incongruously heavier jacket (like a denim jacket or hoodie) covering the pretty solid color top that goes with the skirt.

The church service is a little different than usual. The stage will now house multiple flower pots with daffodils or cali lillies. The sermon will become more self-aware that the message will apply to both the non-believing guests who were invited by family members or friends and the established believers. The service will also run longer since there will be an Easter baptism, in addition to communion.


This Easter,

I woke up feeling a little depressed and not cheerful at all. The last couple of days I had been upset by a relationship that no longer seemed sustaining. And in general, it has been increasingly harder to ignore the gnawing ache in my soul from feeling like I am not living out my purpose on this earth, even though I do not know and am too afraid to find out what that purpose is.


As I got dressed for church service, I initially put on a respectable pink shirt with my best jeans -- I don't have any pretty floral skirts -- but decided against it.

If I am to celebrate Jesus' resurrection, I want to be myself. Since when did we have to make celebrating Jesus' being with us, so formal? So, I changed into one of my "Holy Spirit" screened tees and my more comfortable rugged jeans instead of my best (tight) jeans.


I didn't bring any non-Christian guests to the service.


I came to the service

alone,

hungry

for Jesus' touch on my life
because I so desperately need it

from Him,

not from people's happy mood-clapping, pretty attire, a pretty stage, or a self-deprecatory sermon...



I want to be made new.