Monday, October 23, 2017

#metoo

I generally stay away from posting my opinion on my facebook wall, but I do try to engage in ongoing discussions that appear on my feed, especially when I feel the need to explicitly call out injustice, misguidedness, or flat out assholery (as you can imagine, I've been busy). As most of you may already know, there is a current movement via social media that began to bring awareness to the prevalence of misogyny, sexual harassment, sexual assault, and inequality towards women. The outpouring of responses from female friends and family members has begun to underscore the severity and breadth of the issue, and hopefully enlighten men to not only be more mindful of their actions, but to be more active in the plight to change the status quo.

In reality, you'd probably be hard pressed to find a woman who hasn't been sexually harassed or assaulted ...and if you do, it's only a matter of time before they are. In fact, I've been wanting to respond to the call with my personal experience after many had encouraged men to do so, but I didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention, nor potentially belittle anyone's experience(s). I worried that it would be like holding up a white lives matter sign at a black lives matter event, which by the way, falls under the assholery category and entirely misses the point (cue Lewis Black’s aggressive pointing and heated rhetorical diatribe). However, the benefit of owning a few gigabytes in the internet's infinite landscape...is the ability to be as poignant, rebellious, humble, crass, or as civilized as I please. 
A small, albeit clandestine, part of my response to the #metoo movement, was to include the raising of my own hand in order to bring awareness to the fact that sexual harassment and assault, while rampant and primarily towards women, can also be, and often is towards boys and men. Again, including my voice in the larger discussion was not to highlight my own personal experience (as traumatic as it may have been), nor for any personal admiration or applause, so let me be clear, I am not innocent. 
While I may not have intentionally hurt or sexually assaulted a woman, I am guilty of not policing other men and of going along with objectifying and demeaning behavior, which in some contexts can be just as bad. Even in the context of being playful, these actions are not funny, and I now realize how they could have made someone feel uncomfortable, or even unsafe. Allowing someone to be bullied, raped, or murdered whilst having the power to prevent it, in the eyes of the law can get you convicted of aiding and abetting, or in other words, sharing the criminal's intent. 
All I can do, is apologize, recognize that I am not perfect, have the humility to realize my contributions to the issue, and change my own actions. I am not proud of it, and while my unique upbringing in a culture that perpetuates this behavior is not an excuse, I recognize how this exposure helped to influence me as a younger man. In any event, my goal is to stand alongside women, to bring to light an issue that merits more scrutiny, support, and awareness, to highlight the magnitude of the problem, and more importantly, to be a part of the solution.   

For those who have not seen the facebook post, I’ve posted it below.

I'm sorry that we can be pigs, that we objectify you, ogle you, lust after you and degrade you. I'm sorry that you have to put on armor every day, and carry a shield...I imagine the weight becomes exhausting. I'm sorry that you've had to learn how to give certain looks, how to decipher intentions, to constantly be aware of everyone around you, and that men can possibly misunderstand the meaning of the word no, or that more importantly, there should ever be circumstances we put you in where you feel the need to say it. I'm sorry that comfort is fleeting and so few places exist where absolute safety is a certainty. I'm sorry we live in a world where self expression can be misconstrued, where little girls have to learn the hard way, and where you have to always consider traveling in numbers to avoid being a victim. I'm sorry that I make more than you, that I'm considered less of a risk from employers and insurers because I cannot bear children, and that I've never once had to worry about workplace sexual harassment or unwanted advances. I'm sorry that we live in a society with an unhealthy attitude towards sexuality, where boys think porn is the norm, and that women have to incessantly worry about how they, their behavior or words are perceived in the presence of every man. I'm sorry that you often determine what you'll wear on any given day by the amount of energy you have to defend your choices. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable, if my flirtations teetered on harassment, or if my compliments triggered a previous trauma. I'm sorry for him, for them, and even me. I'm grateful for you, I'm embarrassed for my kind, and I'm so deeply saddened that you've had to endure what you have, and that we have to launch social media campaigns in order to open the eyes of men who still may never see. 

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Wonder Woman

I saw Wonder Woman on opening night and while I thought it was pretty good, it has definitely taken me a while to ascertain my true feelings. I often have this problem in life, just not usually with movies. Rotten tomatoes gave it high praise, and while poignant and entertaining, I'm leaning towards the fact that perhaps it was given a little more praise than it deserved. However, I am in it for the long haul (development of the DC universe), so I'm primarily happy that DC didn't squander their first chance to delve into the origins of one of the Justice League's core characters. After all, Marvel's introduction of Iron Man, and subsequent Avenger movies was pretty brilliant.

Firstly, let me start off by saying that I am a D.C. fan. In fact, I'm still upset at the cosmos for not having been born as Bruce Wayne. And while Superman Vs Batman (BVS) received undue criticism from fan boys and critics alike, in contrast, I think Wonder Woman may have received a slight boost in its rating assessment. However, when juxtaposed with the rushed, poor plot-driven, character soup that was Suicide Squad, this movie may have well been Lord of the Rings.

By the time Wonder Woman's release date was eminent, I had gotten over the fact that they casted a slightly skinner Amazonian demi-god warrior princess than I would have liked, ultimately because her cameo in BVS was spot on. Gadot, a former Israeli soldier, is buff enough for a slender 5'10" frame I suppose, but more importantly, she is stoic, elegant, and believably concerned with defending mankind...a staple sentiment that is shared by all heroes...although in a way, unique to the Princess of Themyscira. I think Gadot accurately portrayed the perfect combination of innocent and warrior.

Unlike the destruction of Krypton, or the murder of the Waynes, Princess Diana's upbringing is a
lesser known story, and for the most part, the establishment of her warrior roots was apropos, although I think a little more could have been done to illustrate that Wonder Woman is arguably the best comic book combatant in existence.

As a family hero movie, Wonder Woman was mostly perfect. Chris Pine stated in an interview that it's a different comic hero movie than its Marvel counterparts, as some of it is both a love story, as well as a coming of age story. Some of the scenes deviated from the overall feel of the film teetering on the verge of being campy (e.g. picking up a tank during a fight as her hair flows in the wind and fire consumes the background), but otherwise the action sequences were well choreographed, there was strong chemistry among the characters, and as much light-hearted humor as one can expect during World War I.



I think my biggest issue with this movie, and I'm beginning to realize that this could be a systemic issue with all of DC's movies thus far, is either the selection and/or characterization of the villain. One of the many problems with Suicide Squad, was that there were two antagonists, only one of which had a plausible purpose, and neither had a particularly compelling final battle. Similarly, Wonder Woman's foe was both a little far-fetched, and equally anti-climactic. Without divulging too much, I feel as though Diana was never in any real danger and the director, while admittedly having a lot to balance and live up to, didn't quite create the necessary suspense and sense of urgency analogous to a super villain intending to unleash a dangerous gas on humankind, or one in tune with the capabilities of the God of War.
 
All that being said, the cinematography was striking and the fight/battle sequences were well-timed, credible, and engaging. The creativity in demonstrating Diana's powers was sufficient, although I felt some was left on the table with truly displaying her full battle potential (e.g., boomerang tiara). However, her naiveté aligns with the idea that the Amazon princess is still discovering who she is, and is not yet fully battle tested.

In the end, Patty Jenkins and Zack Snyder delivered a solid origin story that successfully lays the ground work for subsequent DC movies and a firestorm of consumer paraphernalia unrivaled since Batman Begins. Wonder Woman is definitely worth the cost of the ticket and its battle cry sets the tone for the season of summer blockbusters. I give this movie a rating of three and half out of five brownie points, and I think I may be lassoed into seeing it again...enjoy!

Humpty Dumpty

As I sat on my patio this morning sipping coffee and reading my new book, Trevor Noah's "Born a Crime", I heard a cacophony of little birds chirping just above. One doesn't need to be from the jungles of Panama to discern that these frantic signals were not jubilation, but an alarm of danger. Seconds later, the ominous bully descended upon the tree's canopy, his black wings flapping aggressively like loose window shutters in a hurricane.

Determined to put up a fight, the little birds desperately chirped louder and flew from branch to branch attempting to confuse and startle the dark invader. The crow remained stoic and unexcitable, calmly surveying the maze of branches and leaves while the tree's inhabitants flurried about in desperation. Looking up from my book, I sat paralyzed as I pondered the possibility of intervening. Should I let nature take it's course, or attempt to help the birds? What if the crow hadn't eaten in weeks, and was resorting to petty theft for a respite?

While initially letting the universe unfold as it may, in the end, I decided I did not like the menacing crow causing a raucous and disturbing the birds, even if their chirping often wakes me well before my alarm is set to go off. Feeling a sense of kinship with my neighbors, I stood up and shouted at the crow and waved my book as intimidatingly as one can from 15 feet below in pajama pants and a cardigan. I'm certain the woman pushing a stroller as she walked by thought I was crazy.

Despite our synchronous teamwork, the ruse proved futile. As though a hand reaching in to a shallow, clear brook to retrieve a shiny gem, the crow's beak plucked a nest I hadn't noticed from a branch and absconded to a nearby rooftop with its prize. I had acted too late. Disappointed, I sat back down, but kept my eye on the bird as I watched it shake apart the expertly crafted nest to sift through its contents. Luckily, nothing fell out. I smiled sipping the last of my coffee, and after I was certain the bird noticed I was giving him the stink eye, I returned to the memoir of a baby born to interracial parents during apartheid....a much calmer affair indeed.

I have since left my perch on the patio, but can still hear the birds. Their chatter seems to have calmed a bit, and now sounds like spouses arguing in a flooded basement over not having purchased the other house. Surely the female bird was right...I assume her partner will have a long day of reassembling what remains of their tousled abode. At least they didn't lose anything far more difficult to replace...you know, like health insurance, or...say a planet.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

The Promise and the Vow


Slowly down the rabbit's hole a promise went to hide,
behind it pushed a solemn vow burying them deep inside.

Therein the tunnel's eye, the world began to spin,
and so began a falling rain, deep and dark as sin.

Sanguineous the pelting drops, that fell upon the earth.
until a raging crimson flood, drowned hope....and love...and mirth.

Now but barren lands of ash, with chambers dry as bone,
the promise crept up towards the sky, from its solitary home.

Upon a glance of dust and desert, anguish crossed his face,
for eternal love had been the vow, who had disappeared without a trace.




Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Evanescence

She stands in the kitchen when I arrive, her back to the world.
Her frame is elegant and she toils quietly…
as though a grooming leopard in a large tree.

Afternoon rays flow through the squinting blinds and set her aglow.
I’m drawn to her…she senses my presence and I notice her shoulders relax.
I hold her close, an embrace that never seems long enough.
She purrs softly as our bodies melt into one another.

I smile, slowly imbibing her scent: natural, sensual, with a hint of uncertainty.
Her skin feels warm like a smooth pebble basking in the sun.

Her hair is soft upon my cheek. The fine, curly hairs
that freed themselves from behind her ear tickle my nose,
and sway under my exhale like dandelions in the wind.

My heart beats steadily beneath a cage of sinew and bone,
but she does not know it wishes to erupt.
I tighten my squeeze as if to unite our forms,
hoping that she is comforted in this moment.

I wonder if my arms can shield and protect her like the jungle's canopy.
Before I can decide, I notice her perch is empty...
I catch but a glimpse of her tail, as she retreats into the shadows.


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Life

We’ve been in one of the worst droughts in history. On my way out of work today I noticed it was raining outside. Not the usual, lazy and short-lived drizzle that teases the parched earth, but a hearty, heavy rain that causes rushing currents that sweep the streets, wiping things anew. It was beautiful, like the sultry walk of a woman from whom you’ve been away for a long time. As she saunters towards the bed, the morning beams slanting through the window set her legs aglow, while the breeze gently plays with the bottom of the dress shirt she borrowed. The coalescence of familiarity and magnetism in this moment makes you smile, wanting both for the feeling to never end, but also to be replayed over and over again in slow motion like the melodic nostalgia of your favorite song on repeat.

I admired the vigor with which it fell. A coworker stood beside me for what seemed like a half an hour. At first we shared short vignettes of the last time either of us had seen such a downpour, and the places we had lived where similar displays were commonplace. Afterwards, we stood in perfect silence…only the sound of raindrops throwing themselves upon the window could be heard. The world before our eyes glistening wet like the fading watercolors on a painting being sprinkled with tears.

The ride home was not as evocative, but equally dazzling. The rain had been accompanied by lightening and strong winds that bullied the weak and sun battered trees who lacked the strength to entrench themselves against the onslaught. Sirens flared and police cars blocked streets, while highway ramps were littered with debris, fallen branches, and toppled trees. Parking lots were peppered with growing puddles and once hurtled shopping carts that lay on their sides as though dying cattle. Thunder rumbled its warning in the distance like an angry god.
I was reminded that life is never without this quintessential display of duality, in one moment a nostalgic flirtation, a venerated remembrance, an appreciation of nature’s ineffable talents. On the other, a reminder of our vulnerability through a breathtaking exhibition of nature’s might as though we were mere game board pieces helplessly being scattered about…falling where we may.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Butterfly Effect

I love movies. The visual art of story telling. The depiction of raw emotion, life, and circumstance. The quintessential portrayal of detailed, human expression. I immerse myself entirely...feeling the weight of despair, the weightlessness of space, a tree's leaves being gently carried across the screen, a pencil's scratching upon the surface of paper, a freckled smile, the sound of lips. Details, which in and of themselves, can hurl atoms through space, causing worlds to collide.

I saw two great movies this weekend. Gravity and Blue is the Warmest Color. While I normally would write an entire blog post dedicated to a single film, both of these movies, which are polar opposites, evoke similar feelings. Thus, I am compelled to address them together. One was a film about an engineer's experience in space, as well as her personal struggle, the inability to let go of a past trauma. I found it poignant and simultaneously fascinating that her experience was so traumatic and indelible, that she was unable to let go of it even in the most remote, quiet and vast locales imaginable. To carry a weight so heavy that even in the vacuum of space's weightlessness you cannot wiggle from underneath it, is a powerful thought.

Conversely, Blue carried with it a weight we've all had to bear, and with which we are intimately familiar....that of breaking up, or losing our first love. The parallel of helplessness in both movies was palpable and salient, even though the path of each female protagonist was, for lack of a better description, on entirely different tangents. One, a young woman gripping with the harsh realities and intricacies of maturation, sexuality, and the dynamic of relationships while navigating the emotional oceans of life. The other, of a woman who's life has lost all meaning and is devoid of feeling, except for one that blinds her to even the magnificence of a bird's eye view of our amazing planet. Both characters faced the eminent danger of losing air or being eternally lost in the cosmos at any moment.

Both movies were fantastic, equally moving, and powerful. Admittedly, however, they are a little stressful, but entirely worth it. Just be warned that Blue is a French film with subtitles, and has a few scenes of graphic nudity that can only be found on Cinemax or HBO. Also, it's just shy of being 3 hours long.

Although I've never been in space to watch a sunset, to witness the glow of Aurora Borealis hovering over the North Pole, or to bask in the radiance of infinite stars and the blue shimmering brilliance of Earth...I hope that if given the chance, I shall choose to stop and appreciate the view.