once they gave you answers, now they give you hell.

[ back | up | next ]

dateline: oZpartment

17 september 1996 9:34 p.m.

I just watched some television in my underwear with Derek. Really. I just hung up a couple of minutes ago. What joy has befallen us but a new series from the cultural gurus at Fox: "Burning Zone." I don't know why, but the name makes me think of a urinary tract infection. And that could've been a series worth watching... A team of scientists criss-crossing the continent in a tanker-truck filled with concentrated cranberry juice. Instead, the only thing worthwhile in this show -- and I'm drawing this from Derek's enthusiastic review -- is Tamlyn Tomita. She's a good actress. We both say so. But somehow I don't think it's just her acting ability that's getting him all excited. My barbs did bring up a good point, though. There aren't that many role-models for Asian women. Off the top of my head, I could only think of Connie Chung and Yoko Ono (and Derek just about threw up at the mention of Yoko). I'm sure there are more, but altogether they'd hardly constitute a crowd. I couldn't make up my mind about Margret Cho. She's very funny as a stand-up comedienne, her routine hitting the sometimes painful mark in examining the experience of being an Asian in America and in Hollywood. On the other hand, one viewing of her needlessly-accented, stereotype-driven, thankfully-short-lived series "All American Girl" had me convinced she'd set us all back twenty years. The only other woman that came to mind was Jenny Shimizu, who I personally admire. Yet, she's a model only-recently-turned-actress, and I can't help but wonder how much of her popularity is rooted in the longstanding fringe fetishism the fashion industry has for Asians. She's not that well known, either. At least Derek hadn't heard of her, but he'd be more than happy to do some research... Despite his overactive (and ironically misdirected) hormones, Derek did make an even better point. Our list of male Asian role models started and ended with Mr. Sulu. (Oh yeah, Judge Lance Ito. Forgot about him.) That really must have been something, back in the '60s. Back when Captain Kirk bonded with large light fixtures on planets colored by mad Crayola employees. George Takei at the helm, a Japanese guy, speaking perfect English. Four decades later, he appears in a "Murder She Wrote" episode as a jumpsuited janitor. Mysteriously, he seemed to have developed a very strong pseudo-Chinese lisp. "Zo zorry, missus Fletcha," he said, bobbing like a goose, "I wazah just sweeping hea." Even though I was maybe twelve when I saw it, I knew who he was... and I felt bad for him. The same-sex marriage trial continues here in paradise. I don't know about anyone else, but I'll wager my first born that the state is going to lose this case. As it should. Now, I've heard a lot of good arguments against them. It is my view that all of those arguments range from the highly debatable to the insanely laughable, but they've still been well-defended by those I've sparred with. Heck, I think the state should hire some of my friends. Instead, this lawyer is pinning the state's entire case on the single assertion that homosexual parents are, as a whole, bad for children. It's ridiculous to believe that sexual orientation defines someone's parenting ability. No reasonable person would argue that black parents are naturally better than white parents, or that married parents are naturally better than single parents. (Hey, a divorce was the best thing my dad ever did for my childhood.) To claim that absolutely no gay or lesbian couple can provide a loving, secure and stable family unit for a child is just as absurd as saying every "traditional" couple will automatically be wonderful, non-abusive, nurturing parents. I know "biological parents" that I wouldn't even trust with the care and feeding of a stuffed raccoon. Exactly what problem some have with people wanting to be more committed, more secure in the future of their families and estates, and more proud of their capacity to love, I have no idea. I cannot fathom what basis there is in denying equal rights to other law-abiding, taxpaying American citizens. It most assuredly can't be an expectation that the government regulate "morality" -- no one could be that insane. (Special thanks to Greg for the articles and much food for thought.) The verdict is in: I am a "stupidhead" for missing the Big Mele on Saturday. I've received several e-mails in the last few days with essentially the same subject: "YOU MISSED IT?!" The authors then went through a great deal of trouble to rub that fact in. They're saying this year's Big Mele, the fourth, drew somewhere around twelve thousand people. Even if, as some scoff, that's an inflated number from the promoters, it was clearly a huge festival. I was right about the traffic. Two hours to traverse a two-lane stretch of shoreline highway that normally takes 10 minutes. But according to Nate -- one of the aforementioned van-campers -- even having to use the infamous hillside port-a-potties was worth it. Word is No Doubt put on one of the day's best shows, which is tragic. Tragic because they were the only group that I really liked who I hadn't already seen in concert. To pacify my frustrated soul, I'm sitting here listening to their "Tragic Kingdom" as loud as Waikiki ordinances will allow. Still, it just isn't the same. It's pretty hard to mosh by yourself, too. At least I escaped the crowd-surfing grope fest that is a longstanding tradition at these things. (I'm still on the lookout for one guy from last year who, so help me, I will make regret he was ever born with hands). The stories I've heard so far would put Penthouse's "overcrowded prison" issue -- if they ever did one -- to shame. But, as one dear friend was sweet enough to write, maybe I'm just cranky because I missed out on all that action. Ha ha. Delete. It seems everyone at work went, too. The Kualoa suntans are a dead giveaway... that and they wouldn't stop gibbering about how awesome it was. I must have gone on a hundred water runs today, just so I wouldn't have to sit and listen to the whole spiel over and over again every time someone came over. What I should do, before I get any more flak, is steal someone's ticket stub and slip it in the cover of my binder. Of course I wouldn't say anything -- I'd just let classmates and coworkers presume my coolness. "Not only did she go," they'll think, "But she's cool enough to not gush about it like all those other hosers."