in-between-thoughts

[in-between-thoughts]

Vampire’s Advocate — in defense of twilight and other pop culture artforms

Before you click ‘back,’ or write me a expletive-laden message, I’m going to get downright anecdotal on y’all.

In the 90’s, I was caught up in the fad that swept the nation called anime as a young and impressionable teen. The wave of improbably leggy,and impossibly-coiffed cartoon girls and boys was the bane of art school instructors everywhere, and I was another victim among millions. This over saturated, often terribly-executed style was shot and killed on sight by instructors. Doe-eyed first year students like me were told to abandon anime and to spend my time pursuing an art style more developed and more respectable.

Despite its obvious shortcomings, anime is quite honestly the reason why I’m an illustrator today. This experience with something that is considered niche at best and horrendously lame at worst, is why I have empathy for those who are enamoured with (un)popular, “low brow” art forms.

I’m definitely not a fan of Twilight nor a defender of its sparkly artistic merits, and don’t get me started on how awful it is from a sexism and racism standpoint (or its abhorrent support of psychologically-abusive, undead centenarians.)

Twilight, like the other illogically-popular, multi-million dollar franchises, are reviled for the very fact that it’s loved by so many. The enlightened hoi polloi despise pop culture as they feel it causes the original, ‘truer’ art form to be overlooked and even diluted. What I am defending, is the notion that popular media can serve a greater purpose: it renders art forms more accessible to the layperson, it inspires individuals to create, and my last point is to not worry, as they’ll grow up.

As a result of my tawdry love affair with anime, I am far more understanding towards those enamoured with something unabashedly mainstream. In art history class, I was made aware that high art was made to be relatively inaccessible on purpose. Modern or High art currently focuses almost purely on concept rather than any practicality nor technical prowess or craftsmanship, which can be alienating to the general populace.

In addition to the deliberate obfuscation of fine or modern art, the fact is that most people encounter the “lower” art form early on in childhood. Pulp fiction, catchy songs, and B-movies were all designed and disseminated with the lowest common denominator in mind. As a result, these mainstream movements end up in the hands of the youth far readily than any Rothko, Vivaldi, or McQueen.

So many visionaries began by experiencing culture through its most “low-brow” forms. Director Quentin Tarantino pays extensive homage (some would say blatantly rips off) to Hong Kong wuxia and 1970s Blaxploitation movies in his films, such as Kill Bill, Jackie Brown, and Pulp Fiction. Musicians such Bob Dylan and The Beatles were heavily inspired by folk music or the zeitgeist of the their Liverpudlian compatriots, respectively.

And it’s virtually impossible to find anyone in the gaming industry that wasn’t inspired by Mario, little 8-bit Plumber that Could.

This leads nicely into my second point of how it’s almost more important that we get books, music, art and culture into the minds of the young, regardless of the nature of the actual content. 450 million copies of Harry Potter were sold world-wide, and 125 million copies of 50 Shades of Grey were moved as well.

That’s 400 million+ of kids spell-bound by the 7-book tale of The Boy Who Lived, and 100 million+ of adults who were actually bound by the trilogy of a slap and tickle whirlwind romance.*

Does the potential of inspiring another generation to create content worth the risk of exposing their minds to absolute drivel? I’m not entirely sure, but I’m cautiously optimistic that the resultant media being better than the original message.

*I highly recommend The Boss by Abigail Barnett. It’s a healthy, ultra-sexy series of a D/s, with a character who’s actually interesting and not an absolute tit.

Lastly, while we may be despondent at the awfulness that is mass-produced popular media, we can maintain some shred of hope if we realize that these teenaged fans inevitably grow up and become adults. Sure, a bunch of Edward Cullen-obsessed adults sounds like a tenth ring of hell, but I’m of the belief that taste evolves and matures.

While my interest began with Sailor Moon/Dragonball Z (which are awesome, I don’t care what you say,) it eventually led me to experience animated masterpieces such as Satoshi Kon’s Paprika, and Hiyao Miyazaki’s Princess Mononoke. Having laughably-terrible tastes is all part of being a teenager, and I’m genuinely happy when someone’s a fan, because they’re likely to explore that subject for all its worth.

Ultimately, the nature of media designed for mass appeal is a double edged sword. I truly believe that even the most vapid-seeming of pop culture possesses an atom of good. To have a young person read crappy books isn’t the end of the world; it puts literature and art into their hands and minds, inspires them to create works of their own, and ultimately, furthers culture, as they’ll likely want to push the art form they love to its fullest potential.

That said, my old Fushigi Yuugi fan fiction and Sailor Moon self-insertion fan art, will absolutely never see the light of day.

[in-between-thoughts]

Race De-bait-ing.

When is feminism not equal? Well, according to many, when it fails to address the experience of those who have been historically-ignored over the decades of the existence of this movement. Trans women, black, Latina, queer, disabled, sex worker, poor women, their stories and lives were glossed over in favour of those who were less seemingly disruptive to the status quo.

A lunch intended to simply celebrate women creators in Hollywood, inadvertently put a white-hot light on this issue. Salma Hayek, director, actor, and activist had sparked the conversation when she declared for women to eschew the victim label and to embrace themselves as something beyond. Jessica Williams, former correspondent for the Daily Show, brought up a question: how does one do so, when they’re under attack every day, in regards to their blackness and their womanhood?

What ensued was a conversation that had occurred many times on forums, but never on such a large scale. To condense it, it went something like this:

BW: “To say that the feminist/woman experience is universal ignores how feminism intersections with things like race, class, sexuality, gender identity, etc. Many of us, especially black women, are under attack daily for simply existing.”Everyone else: “Aha! Now you’re buying into that state of perpetual victim status and unjustly separating yourself from the rest of us.”

This cognitive impass was demonstrated by William’s frustrated silence when Hayek and actor Shirley MacLaine implored her and other black women to “Find your inner democracy.” Many white and women of colour often have difficulty accepting the possibility that the realities of Black/Trans/Sex Worker women are different than theirs, and it results in frustrating conversations for everyone involved.

I did too, somewhat. I understood it topically, but it hadn’t really sunk in until I had viewed it through the lens of my own journey of healing from trauma.

And it’s safe to say that what black people and black women in particular endured in the United States of America for centuries, can be referred to as a type of collective trauma.

First, I’ll briefly detail my experience. For the first 17 years of my life, my mother abused me very badly. Over half of my existence was ruled by physical and emotional abuse, dominated with instances of brutal punishment and the emotional grinding down of my spirit. Either I got too big to hit, or she saw the Light, but she decided that what she had done was wrong, and stopped.

Now she’s a kinder woman, full of adoration and praise for me. Now things are completely forgiven and forgotten, right?

Not really.

To assume that her kindness now has made up for everything in the past,is downright foolish. Worse so, is when I am faced with her downplaying the abuse, or rewriting history entirely. Naturally, I react with outrage, as her actions and words both absolve her of her accountability and leave me stuck with my worst memories. Her response? To tell me to “Forget it, as it’s in the past,” “it wasn’t that bad, you’re just making yourself a victim.”

Starting to sound familiar?

Trauma is a form of legacy, and like all inheritances, they are heavy, complicated things. I was abused, for it was what my mother experienced as a child, and hers before that. Over the years, this heritage grew and grew, until it was a veritable megalith, dropped into the lap of a small, innocent child. To avoid being crushed, it was on me to break this boulder down into dust, and so I did.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, I chip away at it at every instance of every day.

This is an exhausting and time consuming task, but this is only a burden of my past — there is also the rest of my life and the things I face every day, too. Growing as a person, intricate and messy social interactions, careers, even just making sure I pay rent on time, these act as little rocks, seemingly invisible, but rocks all the same. They trip me up, weigh me down, and sometimes, they’re even hurled at me by invisible assailants from all directions.

And the whole time, I’ve got people asking me why the hell I’m having so much trouble, as they walk around with their smaller* burdens and challenges.

*people have larger burdens, people have burdens that seem insurmountable. It’s all relative, but compassion is key.

This whole geologically-fixated analogy was to demonstrate how life may feel like a chainsaw juggling act on a razor-thin tight rope for black women**. “Finding the democracy within” is not exactly easy if you’re trying to work through historical trauma, climb the corporate ladder, scale Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and enjoy a damn meal at a fancy luncheon without having to provide Bite-sized Teachable Moments (TM).

**and trans women, sex workers, disabled women, latina women, people struggling with countless other things.

I certainly am not declaring that I alone have discovered new ground, as it’d be quite rich of me to say otherwise. Honestly, I could very well be completely off-course, but for me personally, viewing it through the lens of my own journey in surviving trauma and trying to deal with the challenges of daily life, really helped crystallize it. The intricacies and magnitude of the legacy of pain, accompanied with the bullshit people deal with and injustices they experience on an institutional and social level… well, it’s hard to do all that, and to just be.

[in-between-thoughts]

Spare the Rod- Thoughts on the polarizing issue of Corporal Punishment

Corporal punishment as a child rearing tool is an intensely contentious topic, and rightfully so. Everyone remembers the innocence of their youth, so when that trust is betrayed by those tasked to protect a child, everyone is quick to respond with fury. Half the internet roars at the other, condemning them as irredeemable, abusive monsters for laying their hands on a child. The other half roars back, saying they've no right to tell them how to raise their child. When I read these FB thread battles, I feel just like Larry David did when it came to the Palestinian Chicken shop.

Yes, physical punishment is a tool we can have in our repertoire, but I am highly dubious of its efficacy as a method of teaching children right from wrong. However, in contrast to the majority of progressive liberals, I feel that a beating is worlds away from discipline, and the conflation of the two can lead to very serious consequences, both legally and socially. 

For the record: While my view on physically-disciplining children is in shades of grey, my view on whether or abuse of young vulnerable is acceptable, is pure black and white.

There is absolutely never, ever, EVER a valid reason to cause harm or psychological distress to anyone, let alone a young person who's completely powerless to leave or fight back. 

My own history has been one marred extensively by abuse and neglect; as a result, I have an intimate knowledge of the long reaching effects of the maltreatment of young people.

Being raised in an unstable household dominated by fear and abuse normalizes violence, either against themselves or against another person. Violence was taught to me to be not just an answer, but the only answer to anything, anyone and any situation. This is echoed in the statistics, that a startling majority of abusers were actually former victims of abuse themselves.

In addition to hurting me physically, abuse decimated me mentally - to this day, I grapple with issues of PTSD, suicidal depression, and anxiety, due to what I had endured before I was even 20 years of age. While the pain and bruises fade quickly, mistreating a young person can leave scars that last the entirety of their lives.

I have dedicated that lengthy description to really emphasize what effect abusers have on their victims. Threatening to destroy a soul before it even has a chance to bloom is a monstrous act, hence the public's understandably hyper-reactive state towards anything resembling the abuse of children.

Now, corporal punishment differs greatly from abuse; however, first I would like to define the parameters of what constitutes as such. That term covers everything from spank on the butt, to forty lashes with a cane in a Singaporean prison. For the sake of this entry, I'm referring to the lightest of physical punishment, as anything more than a tap on the butt or hand is crossing a line to me.

Even as a child, I knew the difference between the spankings and the beatings I received. The rare times I was disciplined, it was doled out sparingly. It stung but only lasted as long as it needed to. Not only that, but I was calmly told exactly what I did wrong, and the punishment was proportionate and understandable, even to the mind of a child. Sure, I'd cry and had some foreboding dread for a scheduled spanking, but never felt unloved nor terrorized.

This was much different than my beatings, which was handed out in an unpredictable, highly reactive or emotional fashion, with the abuser losing complete control of their emotions towards a child. I was left broken, feeling completely unsafe in my home, unloved by my caregivers and confused at the disproportionate magnitude of their punishment in relation to the infraction. For the record, abuse doesn't always present itself in a volatile, uncontrolled fashion, but a commonality shared by survivors is that they often walk on eggshells around their abusers, never knowing exactly what will set them off. Perpetrators of mistreatment may try to justify their abuse by any means, but at the heart of it, abuse is the desire for someone to control and subjugate another through violence or psychological terror.

To those spanking their children, I implore you to reach out to others, for advice, alternatives and even support. Raising your children is such a complex landscape to navigate and we all do it with only the map our parents gave to us when we were young. As a result, it's very easy for us to lose our way, or feel overwhelmed. It really does take a village to raise a child, and having a broad support network is crucial for both you and your child’s mental well-being.

To the general public, the last thing we need is to cast judgement and drive people into secrecy and shame. We should ask and examine why we do certain things, and exchange methods that are safe, verified by mental professionals and beneficial for both parent and child. I believe that we should do all we can to ensure that all caregivers have the tools they need, for they are literally shaping the future to come.

In order for genuine change and evolution of a society to happen, we need a great deal more conversation, rather than condemnation.

#child abuse #discipline #abuse #ptsd #trigger warning #content warning #childhood #child rearing

[in-between-thoughts]

Inner Monologue - My thoughts on dating as..

A queer lady of colour:

“Jesus, everyone here is white.”

I’m usually one of three non-white people in any social gathering, even here in Montreal. I get it, it’s a numbers thing, but it still sucks. Having someone who “gets it” is really relieving, mentally. Additionally, not having to babysit someone’s Liberal White Guilt is a great burden lifted. Talking about things other than race/gender politics and having to constantly assure or acknowledge the fact that yes, they’re a great ally, and no, they’re not culturally appropriating by liking yoga, can be exhausting.

“No I’m not straight. No, I’m not gay. I’m..ah, forget it.”

Being super prominent and loud about my sexuality is so early twenties.

Of course, I am a proponent of visibility as the first step to cultural acceptance, but the notion that I’ve got to wear my politics on my sleeve/hair is one that I’m reluctant to subscribe to anymore. That said, it really sucks to have accusatory assumptions thrown in my face, especially by people that I deem queer friends and allies. Of course it’ll happen from randoms/acquaintances due to heterosexuality and all that and that’s nothing a small clarification can’t solve. However, when people I think will understand clock me in the face with their bi-phobia or erasure hurts a lot.

As a Chinese Canadian:

“Please don’t get creepy, please don’t get creepy, please don’t get creepy..”

When someone mentions things like how they taught English in Asia, or love anime, there’s a klaxon with a countdown in my head that goes off before they reveal their fetish for Asian women. For the record, this hasn’t been the sole domain of white dudes, in fact, a great portion of it has also been from white ladies, black men, and even Asian dudes. It’s never flattering to imagine that the only reason they’re interested in talking to you, is because of your phenotype. Many feel that finding someone exotic or other instances of benevolent racism are actually complementary, but it’s putting a preconceived notion in your head without getting to know a person. 

Many a time has someone’s face become crestfallen during a conversation with me as they discover that my accent, personality and cultural background is quite similar to theirs, because you know, I was born here.

“Ugh, no, I don’t only like white boys…and no, you won’t get your turn to have me.”

On the flip side of fetishizing Asian women by white people, there’s the accusation of race traitor that’s often branded on me by other people of colour. Instead of being understanding of how it feels to navigate a world not quite made to accommodate you, Asian men and men of colour become quite possessive of “their women” being taken. Couple that with the internalized message that they’re undesirable, these men often lash out at me and other women in an attempt to regain power by taking our agency and ability to choose who we love or fuck. We’re not a commodity to be possessed, we’re not some toy pony to ride on, and it’s heartbreaking and frustrating to constantly have to defend my reasons for loving someone.

“You don’t find (insert race) attractive.”

When I hear this, I wonder if this individual managed to meet every single person of a certain race and gauge their attractiveness to them; they must be exhausted.

This is a sticky issue, straddling the line between the personal and political. Preference of an entire race of people is baffling to me. Yes, tribalism is a thing, but in most major cities in North America, we meet and befriend people of all cultures and races. Who you surround yourself with shapes your preferences, and who you choose to be around is completely on you. 

Plus, hot is hot. Rain or Godfrey Gao doesn’t look like your dad or brother, and if they do, they need to #holla at me.

As a former ugly duckling turned decent-looking and rage-filled swan:

“What is wrong with yo-oh, you’re trying to flirt with me.”

I’m admittedly terribly obtuse, but even I notice when men hit on me “incorrectly.” It seems like there’s only shy guys or obnoxious bros that exist*; the art of flirtation and social grace seems to be a task too arduous to master by the majority of people. When you talk to a woman how society has taught you, you’re going to have a terrible time. The majority of the messages we receive on how to treat people we’re interested in, are generalized or just plain wrong.

If you’re interested in someone, be interested in us! Cookie-cutter come-ons aren’t cute and everyone wants to be treated with respect and dignity. Ask questions, express your interest in a respectful and clear manner and while it may not always work out, it’ll at least ensure that you err on the side of caution.

*Or the dreaded Nice Guy. Ack.

“Wait, what the hell do you want, anyways?”

The current state of dating makes my head spin - everyone wants NSA sex in casual encounters, except they don’t? I’ve found men and women alike are extremely dishonest with each other and themselves in what they want. Maybe it’s because we’re dealing with conflicting messages in what we want and what we should want; many claim to want or reject a monogamous relationship, in order to snag a person they desire. My experience in non-monogamy and naturally forthright nature results in my being very communicative about my intentions in a relationship. This is often met with confusion or even mind games, which has led to a lot of frustration on my end. 

Whatever you’re into, whoever or how many you’re interested in, just be honest to yourself and others.

And there’s a huge difference between playful flirting, and straight up messing with someone, in order for your own amusement, or sexual access. Flirting is consensual, rather than one-sided, confusing and a giant waste of time for the other person.

As a loudmouth extrovert with a love of smart, shy and quiet folks:

“Do you hate me? Oh wait, you’re just quiet.”

The perpetual struggle that introverts face is constantly answering, “No, I’m having a great time, I’m just quiet,” at any social function. 

Many years of my life were spent either steamrolling over INTJs* or wondering why they were so disinterested in my friendship. To facilitate in my interacting with them in various states of undress, I’ve had to become emotionally perceptive, which is a Herculean task for an extrovert, let me tell you. It takes a fair amount of practice, but other Human Puppies, take inventory of your crush’s energy meter, and perhaps consider calming down for a few minutes in order to not fry their circuits.

Plus, shy folk tend to be much more fun in the biblical sense, even if you’re an atheist. That shy person in the corner at the party may have the most interesting abilities with their mouth, knowwhatimeani’mtalkingaboutsexstuff

*Sorry sorry sorry sorry! Sorry.

Anyways, Dating is really hard. it really really is. This was a quasi-actual attempt at a humorous little list, with what hopefully amounts to some nuggets of advice in there. Go forth, negotiate consensual sexy acts and have awesome, mutually-beneficial fun!

#sex #dating #chinese canadian #queer #lgbt #humor #blog #personal

[in-between-thoughts]

Mother

This was written in June, but it took me a while to be ready to post it. -- Today (June 25), my mother informed me that the doctor had found a small mass on her gallbladder. Luckily, the subsequent scans revealed that there wasn't any cause for concern, but that millisecond of sheer terror I felt upon learning that news stuck with me. Little, sometimes grand reminders that our parents (and by extension, we) are mortal, is a universal and disquieting notion, one, in my case, that brought to mind our troubled history together. Like some kind of fever dream genetically concocted by Sigmund Freud himself, I am the daughter that should have been born a son. And like any good son, I am up to the gills with Mommy Issues. My mother and I have had a difficult relationship, one that was fraught with abuse, codependency and yes, the typical door-slamming, shrill screaming matches between daughters that claim “they don’t get us,” and the mothers who loudly concur. We have a strange, yet functional dynamic, more of two good friends instead of a child/caregiver relationship. This was due to the fact that she was frankly, an absolutely shit mother, but as a result (or maybe it was mutually exclusive,) I was a nightmare hellcat of a daughter. That said, neither party has been completely innocent in the matter, and while I’m likely to put the blame on her for setting me on such a turbulent path in my early childhood, I do have to temper that anger with the knowledge that she is/was a human being, complete with flaws and baggage, herself. Right now, I’m filled with a sense of discomfort at exposing this past, as with Chinese culture (and general decorum,) you never talk shit about the family, but fuck it, I like to over share. She was never taught to love in a healthy manner by her parents, and this deficit was the root of our codependent and violent early relationship. Growing up feeling unloved and nursing a burgeoning martyr complex, she believed that love and respect were nurtured only through material goods, and the installing of fear, respectively. Like many a child who grew up during times of great famine, she was under the belief that if one provided food and shelter, it was more than a sufficient symbol of love for their child. Don’t get me wrong, she was also an unbelievably loving mother, but that love always seemed to be given in exchange for something; if I did well on a test, or did something that pleased her, it would be doled out then, contrary to her claims that this emotional was unconditional. When we moved and she began her small business, that love became rarer and rarer; the nights of us chirping happily and my listening to her stories were replaced with (seemingly) constant hours-long beatings, and my crying myself to sleep for close to a decade. The majority of my time was spent asking, Why? What did I do that was possibly that bad? And with my still-developing reasoning skills, I deduced that she was right, I was bad. I was the reason why she did this. When I see kids on the playground, I sometimes nearly come to tears, because I see how small they are, and how small I was. No one that small should endure strikes, nor believe that they’re better off dead. Many years later, with some distance between me and this period of my life, I decided to recommence therapy. While I’ve made a great deal of progress in my own self-healing, there still leaves a lot to be desired, in terms of my ability to enjoy life to its fullest. These demons that chased me throughout most of my life, I decided to stop running and face them, I suppose. Therapy has only just begun recently, but I have made small realisations that let me know that I am on the right track. My entire life, I felt unwanted and unsafe around those who were supposed to cherish and protect me. This feeling of unworthiness and the notion that love hurts shaped my childhood, well up to my early twenties. The things my mother would scream, curses and verbal barbs she’d immediately forget, remained etched onto my mind. I was perpetually told that I was too much of this, too little of that, and worst of all, that I was comprised only of the worst parts of her and my father. It’’s not a stretch of anyone’s psychoanalytical prowess to see the evident projection that was happening here. All that my mother hated about herself, all the shortcomings that were hoisted onto her by her parents, were given to me, like some of twisted familial legacy. It’s horrifying, unforgivable, but as I got older, I realized that it was also painfully human. And my mother is most certainly human, with all the beautiful and heart-rending aspects that come along with being imperfect. While she gave me a legacy of pain and neglect, she also gave me so many wonderful gifts as well. The woman that taught me that I had no worth to speak of, also taught me the importance of loyalty and love for my family, despite all their shortcomings. She was volatile, emotional, but also she’s one of the most admirably steadfast and giving person I’ve ever known. What my mother lacked in a formal education and ability to separate opinion from reason, she made up for it with a tenacity possessed by very few. This stubborn streak certainly made its way to me; a trait that has certainly landed me in hot water many times, but my ability to weather storms is why I’ve gotten through the trials that came my way. For many years, I thought I truly was only an amalgam of the worst qualities possible, and that she was a one-dimensional villain, hell-bent on taking her rage out on me. But now, the lens of age and increasing wisdom has shown me not a single-note person, but rather a multidimensional, complicated person, who sacrificed so much in order for her children to have everything she was deprived of as child. My being older than she was when she gave birth to me, gives me more perspective on how young she was. I mean, at 23, she immigrated across the globe, and at 26, gave birth and raised a child, all the while working 3 jobs at a time to get her family over to Canada. My secondary education, childhood in a democratic, egalitarian (relatively-speaking) society, still would have left me completely unprepared for the struggles that my parents went through, being newly-landed immigrants with two children. Nowadays my mother and I get along for the most part. While I am very much my mother’s daughter and proud of it, I am more than her double-edged lessons and legacy of abuse. All those things she taught me in her volatile, messed-up youth, were just that, the outbursts of an emotionally ill-equipped, confused young woman. Incidents like her gallbladder scare serve as a momento mori of sorts; a reminder that her time on this earth is limited, and so is mine. She won’t always be around, and while my wounds will always be in the process of healing, I think that the remaining time should be spent laughing and loving, because we never know how much of it will be left.

#personal therapy abuse mother

[in-between-thoughts]

White as a Ghost- The Whitewashing of Ghost in the Shell and the Intrinsic Problem of Producing Movies in Hollywood

(Credit: Indiewire.com)

Like some feverish wet dream for a writer at The Onion, the first still for the live-action remake of the anime Ghost in the Shell came out, and Scandinavian-Jewish-American Scarlett Johansson was cast as the iconic, and very Japanese protagonist, Motoko Kusanagi. Progressives, fans and race dynamics bloggers everywhere, cracked their knuckles in preparation for the 140+ character diatribes that they planned to unleash on the Internet.

For those not in the know, Ghost in the Shell is a hugely successful comic and animated series created by Masamune Shirow. It asked and occasionally answered questions on mortality, humanity, technology and how much cleavage you can safely pack into skintight leotard (answer: a lot.) 

Kusanagi, aka The Major, was a character that was pivotal in the development of my own feminist and personal ideology; she was sexual and unapologetic about it, complex, and damned good at being a leader to her men. The thing is, declaring ScarJo’s casting as Motoko as just “racism” doesn’t do this complicated matter justice. It’d be so much easier if it were only due to the fact that a secret shadow committee was hell-bent on keeping those pesky ethnics and womenfolk oppressed. 

To all the protesters, I too stand in solidarity, as she is #NotMyMotoko, and am insulted by the history of white actors cast in roles of colour.

Alas, this and other unfortunate (mis)castings are more likely due to the nature of the movie industry itself - the capitalistic clusterfuck that is development hell, the fact that movies are made by dispassionate studios and not fans, and the shortage of interesting women characters resulting in actresses snapping at the bit for great roles.

As well-meaning and enthusiastic we fans are, we truly have no idea about what is involved in the process of making a movie. From what I gather, it’s an intensely complicated process, involving meeting after meeting with top brass, and a lot of staring at numbers. In fact, the more I researched it, the more obvious it becomes to me as to why they call it “development hell.”

The first step in making a movie, is apparently called “the pitch”-unlike what we may believe, when one presents the pitch to a studio, the story is likely not even conceived, nor considered. According to David B. Reynold’s speech “How Movies Really Are Made: What they don’t always teach in film school,” it’s all about the Benjamins. Usually a director or producer will foot the bill and fund the research it takes to gather all of the following statistics for the big executives at a Hollywood studio:

“Target audience, genre, venue release, regional markets, competing films already in circulation, competing films to be released into circulation within the next 18 months, talent comparisons, director comparisons...distribution expenses, percentage of projected returns on investment (which must be at least 2.5 times)... franchise potential and also how many of the 12 potential revenue income streams (following) are captured by the film project.” (Reynolds, David D. “How Movies Really are Made,” presented by Mark C. Maine.)

Crikey. Hopefully I haven’t lost you there in that pile of jargon. I presented this quote to demonstrate that creativity, politics and passion have absolutely nothing to do with whether or not a movie gets approved by Hollywood executives; in fact, Reynolds stated that they prefer to not have the story shown to them at all, so they can remain emotionally detached in examining the viability of the project at hand. 

Once pitched and green-lit, the executives begin looking at exciting things like the screen rights, screenplay, budgets estimated, locations scouted, storyboards constructed, and then the most important part: getting it distributed.

(Source: Backstage.blogs.com)

Even if you make the most egalitarian, progressive, and brilliant movie in existence, it doesn’t mean anything if no one except you and your grandpa watches it. In order to ensure that there’s funding for all of the people involved in making the movie and money left over to line the pockets of the investors and distributors, only A-list celebrities with immense draw get signed onto the film to ensure maximum return on investment.The quality of the performance is probably only important to distributors for winning Academy Awards and Oscars, and the personal satisfaction of the director and actors themselves.

And currently, who are the A-list actors with a proven track record in La-La Land? White folks. Why is that, are actors of colour intrinsically terrible at acting? I’m sure the executives of 2016 don’t think so. 

They can only draw from the pool of actors who are signed by talent agencies. And who are the talent agencies more than likely to hire? White folks. Why? Because they’re far more likely to get hired by studios for roles. It’s an endless feedback loop, like some sort of Moebius human centipede (ew.)

(For your stomach’s sake, I only included this handy diagram of the Hollywood talent>studio>movie funneling system.)

The conclusion to the 2015 Hollywood Diversity Report: Flipping the Script by the  Ralph J. Bunche Center for African American Studies at UCLA explains it best, and is infinitely less gross than my explanation:

“The talent agencies tell us they are in the business of selling to the networks and studios the kind of packaged projects they demand. Networks and studios...ironically suggest that packaged products could be more inclusive were it not for overly narrow talent rosters. Dominated by white male members, the academies continue to celebrate the work of white males..insisting they do so in the name of talent and artistic merit.” (p.53)

In addition to our ignorance as to the process of getting a film green-lit, fans also forget that it’s the movie industry, keyword, industry, def. noun, meaning hard work. 

Movies simply mean something different to the directors and actors than they do to the general population. For us (geeks), films are a means of realising our favourite literature, an escape from the world for 90-120 minutes, or even a life-changing, transcendental piece of cinematic magnificence

We don’t realise that to most directors and actors, it’s just a job, after a while. Sure, they love what they do, but they can only love it so much and for so long; people like Rupert Sanders and Scarlett Johansson hop from project to project and while they try to immerse themselves as much as they can in the source material, they simply can’t replicate the length or intensity of the love a GITS fan would have for this movie. 

Evidence that fans probably make better films than most major studios are shown in the Listverse article, “10 Fan Films that are Better Than Hollywood Movies,” or “Comic Book Jerk’s 31 Best Fan Films.” 

In a perfect world, films should be written, cast and directed by skilled people who have an intimate knowledge or connection with the subject matter. 

I mean, take a look at this fan-made Punisher short film (CW: sexual/assault and violence against a women sex worker of colour), and the possibilities of the greatness fan-made or fan-funded movies are clear as day: 

The actual actor for The Punisher made this short film, as a love letter to his fans and a fuck-you to the studio execs who’d inevitably want to make a bankable, but terrible sequel.

Obviously, we have to keep in mind that these short fan films are only a couple minutes to a half hour versus 90-120 minutes of a Hollywood blockbuster, and there’s a metric fuckton of legal red-tape to contend with in making fan movies. That said, as shown by how the  Deadpool movie was greenlit via leaked test footage by Reynolds, we the people can make shit happen if we put our minds, mouths and money to the task.

Lastly, I believe that two of the biggest factors in ScarJo taking the role of Kusanagi are the nature of acting itself, and the complete lack of  interesting characters for women actors to play. Acting is basically make-believe, where very skilled people take on the persona of a character. I mean, Ms. Johansson is not actually a paramilitary cyborg, hunting computer hackers, and she’s well aware of that. I’m willing to guess that she and others view race as potentially a complete non-factor to the character of The Major.

Most directors, casting and actors have a policy of “race-blindness” when it comes to playing roles. Thing is, they often err on the side of Caucasian, citing racism when people speak out against roles for people of colour getting whitewashed.

It is likely that she, the director, and casting are/were oblivious to fact that race does matter for The Major, as there’s so few representations of powerful and complex Asian women in Hollywood. Unfortunately, this shortage is at odds with, or overshadowed by, the overall fact that there’s still not as many great women roles in Hollywood as there are for men, period.

In 2013, women were only lead roles in 25.3% of the 174 top films examined for the 2015 Hollywood Diversity Report (p.10), and I presume that a fraction of that fraction were roles of actual substance. Kusanagi is a skilled leader, intelligent, sexy, badass as hell, and a character who’s grappling with extremely complicated existential questions - who wouldn’t want to play that role? I imagine that lots of women actors auditioned for this role, as they did for everyone’s favourite bisexual Aspie computer hacker, Lisbeth Salander of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo fame, or Appalachian archer turned accidental revolutionary hero, Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games Trilogy. 

The fact that I could only name these three off the top of my head, versus the giant list I could make of comparable male leads in the same amount of time, lends credence to the popular belief that we are in dire need of  more diverse heroines for our women and girls. (And that I’m bad at popular movie trivia - I’m not, I’m a frickin’ juggernaut at Scene It.)

Finally, I want to reiterate that I’m a frustrated as you are at this casting, and I am not playing Devil’s Advocate. The days where an impassioned and racist director could get films like Song of the South and Birth of a Nation approved by virtue its oppressive, political agenda are long-gone.

This isn’t because racism is over, as we all know that’s a concept as fake as Trump’s hair; but rather, Hollywood has lost its lust for propaganda over the decades, while keeping its love for cash intact.

As an Asian girl growing up with predominantly white male protagonists in the media, the significance of a character like Motoko Kusanagi was not lost on me. The #OscarsSoWhite and #HollywoodSoWhite movements definitely put some pressure on Hollywood and what we need to do now, is to vote with our damn wallets and game the system. 

They only listen to the bottom line? Put your money where your politics are; spend money and loudly support media that shows diverse characters of varying ability, size, race, gender ID and sexuality. (That is actually happening, as movies with diverse casts are being shown as financially successful by the now 40% of moviegoers who are of colour, as stated by the 2015 Hollywood Diversity Report.) Boycott homogenized, whitewashed portrays of beloved characters, even if the special effects look dope as hell. 

As easy as it is to just yell “Racism!” and be done with your day, the entire capitalist Hollywood studio system itself is contributing to the lily-white landscape of the silver screen. Ultimately, the executives care about dollars and cents, and less so about hashtags and blog posts demanding diversity. 

If Hollywood claims it colour doesn’t matter, let’s show them it does; by making them pay rapt attention to where we put our green. 

#hollywoodsowhite #diversity in hollywood #motoko kusanagi #ghost in the shell #hollywood #race dynamics #race #feminism #oscarssowhite

[in-between-thoughts]

Hello from the Other Side

Hello, Tanya. Well, me ten years ago. The Tanya that’s probably just finishing up her first year in art school, all bright-eyed and full of hope. You, who’s starting to feel the strain of a relationship becoming toxic, but is too damn stubborn to give it up; you’ll have five more years of him and that lesson will have burned itself into your head. After eighteen years of being abused, you’ll go a little while longer with some bad folks, but you’ll never, ever have to go through that again, I promise. These last ten years have been some of the most formative, peaceful and love-filled years in your life; you’ve discovered parts of yourself that you feared were broken beyond repair and have blossomed into something you probably wouldn’t recognize. You, the girl that’s been through hell and back, but still managed to always want to make others happy. I hope you’re eating well, and sleeping properly, but I know you’re not. Have those scars on your arms and psyche healed? They will, I promise. I’m writing this to you, ten years in the future- which is the present, that’s instantaneously becoming the past. It’s all very complicated, some smart people can probably explain it better. I miss you. I really do. Time has made me realize how special, wonderful and hurt you really were. Are. Whatever. Despite that yearning, that you? She’s gone to sleep now as she finally has a safe place where she can rest, with people who can keep her safe. Things have gotten better, in so many ways, and more so than you could ever imagine. Our demons have been reined in, as we’re finally getting help for the pain and depression that has followed us for all of our lives. You’ve grown up to be this beautiful, self-assured, funny, quirky, interesting woman, who has thankfully gotten better taste in men while having kept her impeccable taste in friends. Not only that but you’re married now, can you believe it? Probably not, because you’d never think that you’d be able to commit long enough to be married. For the record, I can’t believe it either, and keeping promises is still something that’s absolutely terrifying. Relationships that you have now are funny, ridiculous, and difficult and wonderful, and even better, you’re able to express your love for whomever and however many people you please! It’s amazing, they’re amazing, it’s all just so freaking AMAZING. And yeah, you’re still a huge dork, and loving every second of it. Best part? Other people love it too. Despite everything you’ve gone through, that spark of life has never even come close to being extinguished. Your tenacity may get you into trouble, but my god, has it made you develop character. Keep it, temper it and learn to wield it with mastery. Hey, me from ten years ago? I love you, and please take care. PS: You really should have paid attention in French class. Yes, it’s lame, but no, you’ll actually need it for something one day. What? It’s a surprise. -- Howdy, me, ten years from now. Yeah, I said howdy. Deal with it. Have we found life on other planets? Unlocked the secret to immortality? Finally admitted that climate change, might actually be a thing? Things here in 2016 are pretty chill - I’d get into it, but you’ve probably heard it all before. I’m married right now, and ideally, still to the same person, by the time you read this. Yeah, I know, marriage is a dumb cultural institution and I’ve got a 50% chance of it not working out, but I love being a contrarian, you know? More than anything, I hope you aren’t alone - unless it’s by choice. Essentially, I hope you’re not unhappy; we’ve probably grinded a lot in these ten upcoming years, and deserve a little bit of joy. Right now, I’m finally getting this mental illness crap under control, but I still feel like I’ve got a soul that resembles burn victim. Have the nightmares stopped? I hope so. Did you travel the world? My wanderlust is currently tempered by my love of this cozy condo, and my two cats, but it flares up from time to time. In ten years, I can’t even imagine the adventures you’ll get into, the strange food you’ll eat and nice people you’ll (consensually) strangle. Speaking of which, I hope you’re still doing juijitsu and making art. Knowing me, you’re probably pushing your body and mind to the limit, because that has always been a part of you. Hopefully they’ve got cyborg technology by then, and you are rocking that, because trust me, I’m pretty sure these joints are going to be in horrendous shape by age 38. Sit up straight, will ya? My, well, our parents must be getting on in the years, how are they doing? Please take good care of them, I know you will; despite all of their shortcomings and frankly, horrendous treatment of you, you never could bring yourself to be as cruel as they were. They may not have been good parents, but they’re wonderful people. Give them a kiss for me. Lastly, did you end up having children? I currently can’t imagine it, as I’d never want to pass on the legacy of abuse nor mental illnesses to an innocent child. Maybe you’ve beaten the odds, and have given life to perfect, beautiful kids. If you’re anything like me (ha), you’ve done everything in your power to give them a life that we never had; they’ll never know the pain of a hand striking their face, nor the torture of crying yourself to sleep every night. Kids or not, I know you’ll have done all you can to change the life of at least one person for the better, as that’s my current mission, too. So anyways, thank you, and I hope everything is well, Me in Ten Years. See you soon.

#blog #time travel #personal #random #tw #abuse #self harm #eating disorder

[in-between-thoughts]

Fluff Piece - A hare-brained treatise on body hair

(Conchita Wurst, my queen)

Body hair is so fascinating to me - it’s subject to the the whims of the individual and society on a whole. It’s can represent a perpetual reminder of our simian ancestry, an indication of one’s sexual maturity, or in the minds of some people, something truly awful that must be exterminated, one follicle at a time. Hair is so sensitive to context and trends - a head full of hair is beautiful, but clumps of it in the shower causes revulsion for reasons unknown (many say that it stems from an evolutionary standpoint). We love the thick burly beard on lumberjack hipsters, unless you’re socially-perceived as a woman and then you’re apparently open season for internet trolls, mockery and even death threats. 

Hair on a man’s chest signified virility in the 1970s; however now, men must be as waxed and hairless as a baby seal, lest they induce nausea in the delicate womenfolk of this epoch.

I’ve never had strong feelings about the grooming habits of others, until I became intimate with someone else’s body from a sexual or martial art situation. As a feminist who is body positive, I feel that I generally don’t have any right to tell people what they can or can’t do with their bodies. So imagine my conflict when I was in situations where body hair came in close contact with me and I was a bit uncomfortable with the sensation and odour; okay, honestly, it was a bit of a squick*. Am I a body-shaming neckbeard who demands only perfect, plucked and polished bodies in every facet of my life? I sure hope not.

*A squick is a fanfiction-created term, regarding something that kind of repels us.

Especially for grappling, the level of exposed body hair my partner possesses is extremely pertinent to my health. Politely requesting that someone (temporarily) don a long sleeve shirt that covers up their skin during training is respecting both your and their bodies; exposed skin leads to exposure to transmissible skin diseases, and indicates a slight lack of consideration for the other person who may not want your chest or armpit hair in their mouth. This has less to do with me being grossed out by the concept of body hair, and more to do with overall hygiene. We grappling enthusiasts come in contact with enough disgusting substances on the mat, sweat, blood, drool, dirt, not to mention the microbes, viruses and fungi from God knows who. Perhaps because of the high number of rolling partners one may have in a night (3 to upwards of 6,) we want to limit the transmission of microbe-infested body hair and germs.

When it comes to sexy situations, I am generally more laissez-faire in regards to how hirsute my partner may or may not be. Perhaps it’s the blood rushing through parts of my body other than my brain, or the more likely reason that most sexual encounters are one on on (usually); I am generally more accepting of the /ahem/, landscaping of a sexual partner than a grappling one.

While I do have personal preferences to the level of grooming I would potentially prefer my partner to have, my sentiment is that as long as their overall personal hygiene is at a safe level, hair isn’t really an issue. I’ve encountered others who are absolutely terrified of body hair on others, and I find the phobia very curious; is this generation chock full of misogynists who desire to infantilize women?

I don’t know if the patriarchy has as much to do with this as certain academics would think (although men feeling entitled to shame a woman into acquiescing to their tastes most certainly is a sign of a hegemonic ideology), as this seems to be more a trend that spawned from pornography. Like all fads, it waxes and wanes in the arena of public opinion, and its endorsement varies from person to person.

During the Great Brazilian Bikini Wax craze of the early 2000s, we saw the decline of the hairy nether regions; perhaps due to being easier to film and the notion it exposes more penetrative action shots, bald became beautiful. However, in recent years, porn stars like Sasha Grey, Stoya and others brought back the more natural look, and now there’s all kinds of pubic landscaping in the stickier corners of the internet today.

Finally, in virtually every instance, I don’t feel that my opinion is just cause to shame, criticize or attempt to enforce another’s level of personal grooming. Their body is their own and everyone should respect that. My feeling is that only when it affects those around you (or in you),should you perhaps take another’s feelings into account. This is very contextual - no one has a problem with removing the occasional strand from their mouth during intimate acts, but boy, am I grossed out when I pull a wad of sweaty mystery hair that’s been on the mat and is currently now residing in my tonsils.

Honestly, I’m interested to see where our body hair trends take us. Perhaps we will have one day have Hunger Games-esque coifs between our ears or between our legs. Only time will tell.

#body hair #jiujitsu #sex #grappling #feminism #confusion #personal opinion #thoughts

[in-between-thoughts]

Thorough Bred: One-Trick Ponies and All-Rounder Workhorses in the Octagon

(source: Telegraph.co.uk.)

UFC 196 has now been entered in the book of MMA history. Another fight, another night where heroes and heels alike fell, or came out victorious. This evening delivered the usual; some underwhelming bouts in the prelims, but it also provided a brilliant night of knockouts, bloody brawls, and four potential rebuttals to the age-old adage that warned against beinga “Jack of all trades, master of none.”

Brandon Thatch, Valentina Shevchenko, Holly Holm and Conor McGregor - four exceptionally-skilled strikers tested their highly-specialized skillset against four experienced, and well-rounded MMA veterans. One by one they were all literally brought down to earth, and held down at will by battled-tested and skilled grapplers Siyar Bahadurzada, Amanda Nunes, Meisha Tate and Nate Diaz respectively. Three of the four were choked into submission by Rear Naked Choke, and all four lost their bouts.

There will be no detailed fight breakdown, as folks like Lee Wiley, Robin Black and Jack Slack’s abilities far surpass my meager skills as an MMA analyst. This piece will instead be raising that old question from the dead; is it better to be a jack of all trades, or a master of one? Did those four devastating and decisive victories over striking-oriented fighters act as a brilliant demonstration of the virtues of being well-rounded in the Octagon? Maybe.

In all honesty, a part of me was surprised at the relatively panicked and less-than-technical responses that all four used in answer to their anaconda-like adversaries. As fans and fighters alike, we learned the importance of having a well-developed ground game when pioneer Royce Gracie deftly tied boxers, kickboxers and karatekas alike into human knots and submitted them handily in the early days of the Ultimate Fighting Championship. The one-sided floundering on the canvas echoed those early days, as fighter after fighter either instinctively gave up their backs to (understandably) avoid the punches raining down from above or tried ultimately futile defensive reactions to their opponent wrapping around them like a noose. While these strikers all displayed a basic understanding of jiujitsu and wrestling, it was very evident that it was not nearly enough to counteract the years of extensively training in all aspects of MMA possessed by their opponents.

Don’t get me wrong, this disappointment is tempered with the intimate understanding that we demand the virtually impossible from these athletes. When a fighter doesn’t demonstrate mastery of at least three domains of mixed martial arts, we immediately disregard them as absolute failures, or flash in the pans. Flyweight UFC fighter Zach Makovsky has stated to me time and time again, that there simply never seems to be enough hours in the day to train all facets of mixed martial arts; to train boxing, Muay Thai, wrestling jiujitsu and to combine them together is an extremely tall order. One that is made far more difficult when you have to incorporate strength and conditioning, and to somehow allow yourself the time to recover quickly enough to do it again the next day.

A Division 1 wrestler, Makovsky spent years learning both Jiujitsu and striking in order to learn how to seamlessly blend them into one another. 

When Joe Rogan says that MMA is one of the most difficult sports on earth, I believe it; having dabbled in all three facets of the sport myself, I was blown away by how exhausted I was after 2 minutes of MMA-style sparring. Aerobic and anaerobic activities are chained together without pause, and both my fast and slow twitch muscle fibres were screaming in agony 30 seconds into sparring. Hence my understanding attitude towards the fighters, as I can’t even imagine how difficult it is to prepare for fight and develop a fledgling skill at the same time. That, and it’s against our nature to not panic when we lack the countless repetitions of a technique to override basic human instinct when we’re under attack.

(Source: Flickr)

Are MMA fighters better off at abandoning learning offensive-style Jiujitsu and wrestling, and focus primarily on their striking and some takedown defense? While I highly doubt it, I don’t ever allege that my MMA experience and ability to construct game plans is better than the likes of Greg Jackson and their respective coaches. All I’m saying is that my opinion on this matters aligns closely with my coach, Firas Zahabi’s - he feels that the key for success is to have all the pillars of MMA, striking, wrestling and grappling at parity. Zahabi walks the walk, as he is a very accomplished amateur Muay Thai champion, an excellent wrestler and a high-level Brazilian Jiujitsu practictioner, well before he even had heard of the Octagon. Not only that, but this ethos molded and is also echoed by one of the greatest fighters to ever step into the cage, Georges St-Pierre.

There wasn’t an element that GSP (nor Zahabi, for that matter) couldn’t threaten you with - he could out-strike, out-wrestle and impose his will on the ground. What does one do when your specialty is being matched by your adversary (probably how Josh Koshchek felt) and they’ve got far more tools at their disposal than you do? Honestly, I believe we saw the answers to that question last night.

Once again, this isn’t a piece disparaging the skills and accomplishments of these fighters. I have nothing but the utmost respect for these brilliant, dedicated athletes, who took risks and ultimately fell short that night. Failure is the best way of helping us improve; fighters and all artists alike need to be able to assess their weaknesses in a dispassionate manner, and strive to work until they become our strengths. While common belief is that you’re only as good as your last fight, I believe that all martial artists are a work in progress - their oeuvre is like the Nazca lines, they’re only able to be properly appreciated in their entirety. Perhaps these fighters will take this time to reassess and skill-build; as a fan, I’m very excited to see what they will do next.

#mma #ufc #gsp #georges st-pierre #zach makovsky #martial arts #mixed martial arts

[in-between-thoughts]

Schroedinger's Babe - The quantum quagmire that women and girls navigate their whole lives

(Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/jieq/2371783536) 

Disclaimer: Obviously this entire post can/will probably come off as a “It’s so tough being so pretty as a (mostly) cisgender hetero able-bodied lady!” But that is not my intent; my desire for this essay is to demonstrate that women-identified and frankly anyone who spends time female-bodied experiences the oppressive nature of what I imagine is patriarchal power structures throughout their entire existing as femme/female/a woman. 

Masculinity and maleness must also be so exhausting at times, but having never spent time in that gender identity nor biological form, I really can’t comment on it. If there are any texts that describe the experience, I would love to hear about it and will gladly link it.

There is an inexplicable but marked change in a young girl’s life when she reaches puberty; no, I don’t mean the changes in her body and mind, induced by the influx of new hormones kick-starting the transformation to adulthood. Instead, I’m referring to the change that society undergoes when a girl becomes of age: how it forges a link between her character, aspirations, intelligence and integrity and her attractiveness to men (or supposed lack thereof.) Once a girl inches towards the precipice of adulthood, she’s immediately got proverbial cinder blocks strapped to her feet, and promptly booted off said cliff. 

From my highly unscientific calculations, there appears to be a small window of ~0-10 years where a woman can enjoy life sans living as Schroedinger’s Babe; that is, the quantum, contradictory and binary state of being while existing in a small, suffocating little box. No nuance is given to our young women; we exist solely as virgin/whore, too hot/not hot enough, and a number of other oxymoronic double standards.

To fully place you, the reader, in the world of what it’s like to be a young girl, I will use myself as an example. While this is predominantly my experience, there are common threads in regards to how society treats and views us that link the lives of all kinds of women.

(Actually me. Baby’s first smashing of the bourgeoisie.)

So, as a baby, I was adorable; hell, we all are. As a baby and toddler, there wasn’t really much to discuss of my life, other than the fact that I was free. Yes, I didn’t have bills to pay, but also, what abilities and personality that were developing in my little brain were never qualified nor discredited by my appearance, outfits nor hairstyles. The heartbreaking thing is, the majority of young girls have comparable levels of self-esteem and aspirations to young boys until we hit adolesence.(Source: http://www.nytimes.com/1991/01/09/education/little-girls-lose-their-self-esteem-way-to-adolescence-study-finds.html)

When I became a teenager, I was no different than the majority of other young girls, in our drastic dip in confidence and goals. My body was becoming that of a woman’s, but my mind was still child-like and reeling from the influx of new hormones in my system. Society took notice of my blossoming womanhood, and began to place increasing pressure for me to Shut up and Look Pretty. No longer was I encouraged to dream big, nor able to interact with my peers without the yoke of Hot or Not placed upon my young shoulders. Gone was that simple freedom of childhood, as growing up renders all human interactions far more complex than before.

Girls realise quickly that sexual attention from boys is the new currency and they’re living in a starvation economy. Soon enough, back-stabbing, psychological warfare and actual fistfights break out among their peers and rivals, as they all scratch and claw to be at the top like proverbial crabs in a bucket. 

(Source: Wikipedia)

Young men rapidly learn that their approval (especially in groups) is tantamount to godliness for girls, and they begin to wield their words like weapons or badges of honour. 

For myself, the majority of my first years into adolescence were dominated by thoughts of being Hot or Not. Instead of schoolwork, my thoughts were occupied by boys - not just simple crushes or day dreams, but my trying to determine what they wanted from me, what I did to deserve such verbal barbs about my appearance, and why the hell does the way I look now matter to random people? Unless I was presenting myself as sexually available, I was mocked, and treated as a second class citizen. While it seems like I am a unique case for those in the #notallmen camp, I imagine many women can relate to experiencing or witnessing similar things, as insecurity and misogyny tends to run rampant throughout those years.

This isn’t to say that boys were all awful, but rather that young men are usually encouraged by their peers or society to control the behaviour of young girls through insults, social pressure and approval. Boys who thought I was pretty, funny or intelligent all kept quiet, as it was considered social suicide to be publicly respectful towards young girls.

I try to view this through a lens that’s as objective as possible, regardless of the hurt I experienced; these too were gangly, hormonal teenagers such as myself, trying to navigate an increasingly-confusing and complicated world. My beef is that the adults who run advertising, movie productions and those write policy. They are simultaneously aroused and terrified at the budding sexuality of young women, and appear to be hell-bent on seeking means to control or capitalize on it. The media and policies of this nation/continent constructs the narrative on which which young people learn how to treat others, and I find these adults need to act a lot more like, well, adults. If you don’t believe me, just look at the sociopolitical landscape of (North) America - we’ve got Planned Parenthood under actual and political attack, Barely Legal/Teen Girls pornography and a dearth of young women in STEM careers.

So, I’ve survived the gauntlet of adolescence and have reached my twenties, cue the happy makeover music and montage of my being wined and dined by all sorts, right? Wrong.

(Source: Clueless, like, totally, duh.)

Turns out that the prize for having emerged from the hormone-addled chrysalis of adolescence as a reasonably-pretty butterfly, was to land in a quagmire as intractable as the one from which I just extracted myself. What the movies never warned me about was the rampant policing of self-esteem and entitlement continues well into adulthood. Now that I’m considered attractive to hetero men, I’m required to accept this mantle of Babeliness and all the sexual servicing, smiling in public and reception to harassment that it entails. By no means am I allowed to enjoy my appearance; any indication of self-love or even admittance that I’m cute will be quickly negated via abrasive comments. (Hell, even right now, I’m feeling awkward to even refer to myself as attractive in this piece.) The guys who creep on women’s selfies, are usually the same guys who will claim that all said women are vapid attention whores. 

As I regard my twenties in the rear-view mirror, I’m also realizing that being Schroedinger’s Babe doesn’t end there; once I’m older, I’m apparently supposed to either be a Sexless Hag or Hot Cougar/MILF (I’m pretty sure most people know what that acronym means now.) 

Susan Sarandon’s décolletage during the SAG award ceremony is a great example of the bizarre attitude we have towards older women; people either couldn’t comprehend a woman having the gall to display her breasts once they’re past their best before date, or they behaved in a completely disgusting manner about her "still being bangable, despite being old as hell.”

(Source: CNN)

When mature women are beyond the reach of anti-abortion laws and Hollywood, they’re then supposed to fight savagely against the relentless march of time. Up until the moment a woman is buried in the ground, she’ll be pitted against 18-25 year old women; they’ll be the yardstick against which our attractiveness, and therefore worthiness, will be compared for the rest of our days. Not a single moment of reprieve is given for women - we can’t age with dignity nowadays, or allow ourselves to age at all without scrutiny over how hot we look.

These issues of being not taken seriously because you’re pretty, or dealing with dumb teenage boys seem trivial to some, but they’re indicative of the discomfort we possess when young girls grow up to become women. Growing up is tough enough as is; you’ve got to develop your own identity, separate from your parents, but now one has to not buckle underneath the constant pressure to be sexy but not too sexy (or else if you get assaulted, you’re asking for it), be smart but approachable, be receptive to male attention but not too receptive, etc etc. It’s enough to make one more unstable than a cat in a box filled with poison gas.

#feminism #ageism #adolesence #teenager #teen #social justice #media #hollywood #blog

[in-between-thoughts]

The Fatted Calf - The dangers of building up stars in the UFC

(Source: MMAfighting.com)

(I did some editing to make some sentences flow better, and some proofreading, as my laptop likes to eat up words as I type them.)

Regardless of the snappy Reebok uniforms and slick commercials that cost upward of $1M, the UFC remains ultimately an entertainment corporation. The company relies heavily on revenue generated by betting and Pay Per View buys from the fans; as a result, Zuffa Inc has a vested interest in grooming marketable fighters. The remaining 500-odd fighters, barring certain Irishmen, are not backed up by the marketing clout of the UFC, and are often forced to generate their own hype via call-outs, Twitter beefs and blood-soaked (and career shortening) victories. With every new star that steps into the Octagon, the machine that is the UFC marketing department becomes exponentially more adept at projecting an aura of sheer invincibility around its protégées. Grooming a star with carefully selected fights and hyping them up until their momentum is abruptly stopped is absolutely heartbreaking to watch, and even more so when the fighter is a young person who is just starting to mold their identity and forge their mental fortitude.

Sage and Paige. Look at how blond and darn marketable they are!

This leads me to talk about the two of the youngest, biggest,and blondest stars in the UFC roster: Paige Van Zant and Sage Northcutt. These two Next Big Things have had a great deal of ad time generously set aside for them, much to everyone else’s chagrin. 

PVZ (as she’s commonly known), has had the fortune of being a bubbly blonde girl with a predilection for knockdown, drag-out brawls. Relying on sheer tenacity and excellent cardiovascular conditioning, Paige slugged her way to victory in her last two fights and became slated to be a near-future contender against Featherweight Champion, Joanna Jedrzejczyk.

That marketing momentum came to a (temporary) end during her match against Rose Namajunas, in UFC Fight Night 80. A last-minute replacement, Namajunas was portrayed as the +125 underdog against her scrappy opponent; however, while the bout was painfully one-sided, it was not in the direction everyone expected. Paige’s heart could only get her so far beyond her relative lack of skill and experience. Up until her eventual loss by submission in the 5th round, PVZ wore a heartbreakingly vulnerable expression beneath her mask of blood - the holes in her game were made clear as day for the gleeful Internet haters under the bright UFC lights.

(Source: MMA Mania)

(Source: BJJee.com)

Running parallel to Paige, her male counterpart (whose name sounds hilariously similar) Sage Northcutt has been named the new Adonis by the UFC. Raised by his hands-on father to be a winner from the womb, Northcutt has spent his 19 years on this planet winning kickboxing tournaments, pursuing a degree in petroleum engineering and probably reading to blind orphaned puppies. Couple that with his Abercrombie and Fitch model looks and his impeccable Southern manners, the entertainment company has been very diligent in fast-tracking him to superstardom, since his being discovered on the reality show “Looking for a Fight.” This Bizarro Nick Diaz found early success during his explosive debut in his match against Francisco Trevino, and a freak submission victory against Cody Pfister, winning $80 000 (in his last bout) and the love of MMA fans in the process. During his most recent fight however, Sage’s weakness in the domain of ground fighting was on display while he was dominated handily by last-minute replacement, Bryan Barberena. Ending on his back from a cartwheel kick gone wrong, Sage’s guard was easily passed, and Barbarena submitted him in seconds with a seemingly improperly-implemented arm triangle*.

(Source: Bleacher Report)

*In the Gracie Breakdown, Rener states that there was actually a great gap in what the audience saw and how much time actually elapsed. He was saying that there was approximately 10 seconds that actually passed when Bryan Barberena sunk in that choke. Also, that it was a modified Von Flue choke, rather than an arm triangle. Full video on the Gracie Breakdown here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjjCvU33jas

Instantly after these two losses from the two precious golden children of MMA, the Internet was ablaze with claims that everyone new these two were overhyped and under skilled. Everyone likes to admit that they’re impervious to the marketing department of the Ultimate Fighting Championship, but that’s a fallacy - advertising agencies have a crack team of psychologists and graphic designers on hand in order to best deliver their messaging into the brains of the public. 

My misgivings are not with young up-and-comers- Sage/Paige can’t help it if they’re paid far better than the other fighters, and frankly, I think it`s an issue of the other fighters not being paid enough. The majority of my apprehension is primarily is with how the UFC brass has a tendency to keep potential stars in a proverbial ivory tower, while they let the rest of the athletes fend for themselves. Giving this treatment to a select few breeds discontent amongst the roster, and undermines the UFC’s desire to render MMA a legitimate sport by way of its blatant nepotism. 

Sage and Paige possess great heart, but are woefully lacking in experience and technical skill., Ideally, I believe they should spend quite a lot of time on skill-building (rumour has it that PVZ doesn’t do any training outside of fight camps and Crossfit, and Sage is coming to Tristar Gym this spring,) and hone their craft slowly, with challenging opponents before they’re the main card bouts again.Finally, before we all dogpile on these fighters, we should respect that these two young people are living their dreams and  displaying both their strengths and weaknesses under the microscope of the public.

#mma #sage northcutt #paige van zant #fighter #reebok #fitness #martial arts #mixed martial arts #blog #sports #jiujitsu #brazilian jiujitsu #ufc

[in-between-thoughts]

Gimme that cake, cake, cake - The commonality between confections and pleasure.

(Image source: Freefoto.com)

Orgasms are a lot like cake - bear with me here. So, we’ve got this totally screwed up attitude towards sex, pleasure and climax - if you object, just take a look around, there’s all sorts of tips, creams, devices, books, extend, multiply, slice, dice and julienne your big O. That is, unless you have too many, too few, too soon, too late, or God forbid, not at all. 

Additionally, the suggestion of sex and orgasms are omnipresent, but actual frank discussion about the giving and receiving of pleasure is noticeably absent. If we began to regard orgasms in terms of something like cake, maybe we’d stop being so goddamn weird about it all.

Everyone loves and wants to have cake, and that’s awesome* Generally, the majority of us like cake. What’s not to like? It’s delicious. Same with getting off, it feels good, relieves stress and can promote intimacy.Thing is, you don’t always desire cake - some days you want it more, some days less, or some folks, they don’t want cake at all. One’s desire for how much confectionary delights they, has no bearing on their moral compass. When people use your level of loving food as a sign of how much integrity you may possess, they generally are sucky people, and this attitude should perhaps extend over to sex, too. *Not literally everyone is interested in orgasms or sex, and that’s quite alright!

There’s no bad time for cake* With past partners, I was informed that there is a great deal of guilt or pressure for them to satisfy someone, or indicate their satisfaction through climaxing. Apparently, if one doesn’t finish (and especially at the same time) as their partner, they have essentially stated that they do not find their partner attractive. That’s a hell of a lot of baggage to put on an neuro-physiological reaction of the body and mind, and really takes the fun out of gettin’ sexy with somebody. If we think in terms of cake (my favourite metric), we then realize how silly it is to demand that we or our partners must have cake at a specific time. Sugar, icing and butter, all mixed up together, is enjoyable at any time during a meal. We’re not necessarily bound by law to have it after the main course; it’s purely societal customs that keep us from doing so. Hell, we could have it before, during and after the main course, as we’re grown ups, dammit! *Within reason. Try not to have orgasms nor cake during a driving exam or open-heart surgery.

 You won’t die if you don’t have it, I promise. Many equate getting themselves/their partners to orgasm as a sign of their sexual prowess. Tying your ego so closely to this act is fallacious as you don’t absolutely need to have sex for it to be pleasurable for all parties involved. Sure, we’d like to have a climax, but we won’t tear our hair out in frustration if we don’t have it right that moment. If you had dinner at a friend’s house, complete with amazing amuse-bouches, scrumptious entrees and an incredible main course, you wouldn’t consider it an abject failure if you weren’t served with dessert as well. As much as it’s wonderful, it’s really the cherry on top of the sex sundae.

There’s no right or wrong way to have cake. With a fork, spoon, hunting knife, chopsticks, your bare hands, or even just your mouth, there’s no set rule for eating cake. Just enjoy it.

Cake is as delicious when had by yourself, as with others. Need I say more? Sometimes you gotta satisfy that urge, Han Solo style.

Practice the same etiquette you would with cake, as you would with pleasure. Seems like this part trips everyone up. So many mentions of (usually) the guy getting his and then immediately falling asleep, it’s become a tired old stereotype. You wouldn’t scarf down an entire cake in front of someone without offering them a slice, unless you were a real asshole. Conversely, you have to make your desire known clearly, as some folks need a bit of a nudge in the right direction. Most people are more than happy for to help you have your cake (and eat it too.) This definitely ties into consent. You wouldn’t force feed someone cake, regardless of how awesome you think it is and how they definitely should have some, right here, right now. If the person isn’t clearly enthusiastic about the idea of sleeping with you, wheedling, shaming or browbeating them into acquiescing is an asshole (and illegal) maneuver. 

Cake comes in all forms, shapes and sizes. There’s the toe-curling kinda pleasure, ones that afterwards, even your neighbours will need a cigarette, there’s the gentle waves of pleasure that wash over you, or even the sneeze-and-you’ll miss it kind of orgasms. Not to mention, that sex and pleasure can be linked to things that aren’t simply phallus in orifice, and that queer forms of sex are all just as valid as heterosexual intercourse.

 Don’t throw it at someone’s face unless requested. Flinging icing on someone’s face only really happens on film - ask beforehand, you know?

#orgasms #sexuality #sex #porn #food #confectionary #cake #humor #funny #blog #relationships #dating

[in-between-thoughts]

American History X : Some half-formed thoughts on Formation

Author’s note: Do feel free to comment or inform me of potentially problematic terms and notions. I tried my best to not exotify nor fetishize anyone or anything, but I imagine I’m likely to fall short due to privilege or lack of education. Plus, do feel free to recommend me books by other Other authors!

Apparently Beyoncé and the Superbowl are sort of a thing right now, as Beyoncé has both dropped a blazing-hot new single titled “Formation” and performed said single at the Superbowl. Like all things black and women-fronted, it caused two opposing tsunamis of adoration and indignation to crash into each other in the social media sphere.

Black people, especially black women, are thrilled with this revolutionary music video and song, as it has boldly celebrated the verboten intersection of blackness and womanhood. Select white folk have clutched their pearls or Confederate flags in horror, declaring racism, ignorance and probably some war crimes against Beyoncé. To be so in-your-face with its nod to the Black Panthers, Jackson 5 nostrils and Red Lobster during the Superbowl Half-time Show is out of place, racist and frankly, not American, they say.

Oh, but it is.

Naturally, the notion of a wayward Chinese-Canadian woman writing on what it means to be black in America is a mindfuck at best, and exploitative/appropriative fetishism at worst. What I think I may be qualified to write about, is of my fascination and love of the “subcultures” in (North) America; that is, the Chinese, black, hispanic/latin (Author’s note:  I am genuinely unsure of what the acceptable term is, please comment and advise),First Nations/Indigenous, queer/LGBT, disabled, neuro atypical (again, unsure!), etc, groups that reside in this great land of ours.

As a Chinese girl growing up in a small (and racist) town, tales by Wayson Choy, Maya Angelou, Leslie Feinberg, and so many others were both teachers and lifelines. These tales showed me glimpses of other lives, and the lives of Others; a rich and unique cultural milieu that served both as backdrop and backbone for countless real and fictional heroes and villains. More importantly, they showed me that while hatred hasn’t changed so much over the years, neither has love, nor the sheer will to survive in such a suffocating, oppressive society.

Subcultures are generally also countercultures, I find.

Black (and other) culture was a result of people forcibly kidnapped, sold and subjugated in a land far from their own, and the music, art, words they created mark the path of their liberation and healing that continues to their day.

Black culture, in all its wildly variant forms across the nation, carries the scars of slavery and centuries of institutionalized racism, but it also carries immense beauty.  Beauty that was borne from slaves coming together against a nation that simultaneously needed them and detested their very existence. Within a hostile land, they created their own food, vernacular, fashion, religions, that hearkened back to their roots, but incorporated other cultures and evolved as they lived in America and navigated through Jim Crow Laws, Civil Rights, Barack Obama, and Black Lives Matter.

This tale can be witnessed in so many other cultures, I see the beautiful idiosyncrasies of (modern and old) Chinese-Canadian, indigenous and queer cultures and marvel at how so much can be created both alongside and under the radar of a dominating and domineering white majority culture. Additionally, I am continuously amazed at the perseverance and humanity of these people, at how they celebrate what is unabashedly theirs.

I’m absolutely thrilled that Queen Bey has presented us with this beautiful, meticulously-conceived and executed conversation starter. To me, it is a way for people to announce, “No, we won’t be quiet, we will love ourselves freely and do so for and by people like us.”

And isn’t the loud and proud expression of individuality and pursuit of happiness what it really means to be American?

#black #black lives matter #beyonce #superbowl #race #race dynamics #chinese #chinese canadian #queer

[in-between-thoughts]

Ground and Pound - Comparing and contrasting society’s atittudes towards MMA and Porn

No nudity will be featured in this piece, but there’ll be images and discussion of violence, and sexuality. Any image of porn stars that appears  to be dehumanizing, is primarily meant to portray the one-dimensional opinion that the public has, and is not my actual viewpoint. 

Upon speaking with the eternally-awesome Stoya (Link NSFW), I was made aware of the parallels between pornography and mixed martial arts. Both are vastly entertaining, and while porn is quite more ubiquitous than the other, they both encapsulate very primal human urges, if not the most primitive of desires, to fight and to fuck. The convergences and divergences I’ve noticed between the two forms of entertainment are in predominantly in their media reputation, the public’s view on health and safety, and the heartbreaking lack of protection for the welfare of the talent.

(Waste of human skin and probably the average person’s view of an MMA fighter, War Machine - seriously his legal name,  during his court hearing for his kidnapping, attempted rape, and attempted murder on porn actress Christy Mack. Used the abhorrent argument that she was “unrapeable” due to her profession.)

MMA and XXX both have an awful public image to the average person. One is seen as human cockfighting for blood-thirsty psychopaths, and the other is viewed as the industry for vapid young women, rife with daddy issues. No sense of autonomy nor self-determination is granted to the people of either professions, and any semblance of individuality is glossed over by the media with the overarching, hegemonic social dialogue of the powers that be. While yes, emotionally-troubled people, and former addicts may work as MMA fighters and porn actors and actresses, they aren’t the majority demographic of either domains.

As with any job, there’s a number of different reasons as to why someone would choose a particular career path. That said, due to the comparatively lower pay, mixed martial arts is typically pursued by those who have truly fallen in love with the sport. Many former athletes in sports like wrestling and judo, have begun to realise that MMA can be a viable avenue to pursue, once they have achieved their dreams in their respective crafts.The same applies to porn; many choose this particular profession for reasons such the easy money, for flexible hours, and for the, ahem, friendly work environment. There was a poignant quote by actress Dani Daniels, about how porn allowed all the highly sexual people, the “freaks” and perverts to find something that would allow them to make a living, do what they love and to do so in a safe environment. 

I am forever baffled at how much judgement folks give to people who are simply making a living; no one sends scathing tweets or emails to insurance salesmen or stock brokers, saying that their profession is destroying humanity from the inside. No one in their right mind would interrogate said salesman/broker about their obviously traumatic childhood to their intimate details of their lives, assuming that somewhere, something must have happened to twist their psyches enough for them to pursue a career in something so steeped in violence or abuse and objectification towards their own gender.

However, when it comes to mixed martial arts or sex work of many kinds, we are quick to presume that they are people sorely lacking in moral fiber, are automatically a voiceless, helpless victim of their circumstance/the patriarchy, or someone with an intrinsic fault in their mental circuitry for having chosen such a profession.

That said, a Wall Street Broker is far more amoral, sex-crazed and coke-addled than any porn star out there, I’m reasonably certain.

Another strange double standard that I have noticed in regards to the public’s attitude regarding the transmission, protection and health standards of infectious diseases in the two industries. Close contact sports and sex have a great deal to do with each other; due to the physical contact, one can contract a number of diseases from a partner in either training or sex. The socialized idea that sex, especially in amounts deemed promiscuous and therefore unacceptable being inherently dirty or dangerous, appears to greatly taint our attitudes and policies. 

Sex workers apparently need to be policed by laws that are created by politicians with no regards nor understanding of the nature of their professions, and more as a means of placating a public that’s outraged by their existence. Measure B, a proposition that enacts the mandatory use of condoms during sex on screen was pushed on porn stars. They cited that it was due to the lack of regulation and infrastructure in regards to the recording and transmission of infectious diseases, thus this near-unconstitutional infraction on people’s right to autonomy was justified.

Porn performers are viewed as diseased derelicts who have indiscriminate sex with everyone, including some branches of the animal kingdom. However, many are unaware that grapplers and MMA fighters are exposed to an exceptionally high number of pathogens and blood-borne infections, and there is no form of self-regulation within a gym, let alone the industry as a whole. Ringworm, staph infections, molluscum, impetigo, herpes gladiatorum - you know that your sport is probably filthy if you’ve got a strain of herpes named after you. The mats are usually crawling with bacteria, viruses and fungi, as there’s upwards of 50 people sweating and bleeding on them several times a day. Not to mention that during sparring, fighters get cut either through strikes, errant fingernails or being scratched up by the metal cage; they often continue for the rest of the round, or even the rest of the day with their wounds open. If this happened in pornography, it would be an unmitigated nightmare.

For the record, the majority of gyms and athletes take precautions regarding the disinfection of the mats, their equipment and their bodies. I just feel that there’s far more of a stigma regarding skin infections versus sexually-transmitted infections, despite their both being passed on through close contact.

In all honesty, I feel that MMA on a whole should take a page out of porn’s book in regards to self-regulation, if only for UFC fighters or high-level professional athletes. Regular testing and treatment for skin infections and bloodborne infections (and not just for upcoming bouts,) clear awareness and disclosure of your overall health status, and quick visual checks of your partner should be near-mandatory, especially since a large number of fighters travel from city to city. Fighters should also be aware of the dangers they face on the mats, in regards to keeping the health of their sexual partners safe. I get tested quite regularly, and it’s really a terrifying notion that I am far more likely to catch something from someone at my gym than from a sexual partner.

Both industries have a sad trait in common, that they often are not paid nor protected nearly enough. The depressing thing is, the average lifespan of a performer or an MMA fighter are very close in duration. While there are millionaires at the top of the heap, such as Jesse Jane and Georges St-Pierre, there are countless others who barely make a comfortable living (due to low pay or an unsustainable lifestyle.) Yes, they get paid to fight or fuck in front of an audience, and often work very minimal hours unlike the rest of us 9 to 5 desk jockeys, but there’s not enough knowledge about the high costs, emotional/mental/physical behind the scenes.

Porn ladies get about 1000$ per scene, and the rates vary, according to the type of sex act; the more extreme the act, such as a double penetration scene and gangbang, the more it will cost. However, the more an act pays, the more likely it is to be really physically tough on their bodies. Sure, they’re paid a thousand dollars to have sex and a lot of us really would like to do that, but the one hour of footage is actually 5-6 hours of nearly non-stop pounding, and this doesn’t include the hours of makeup, waiting, prepping (douching, stretching various orifices and enemas) and still photography that is required during a full day of work. 

Anyone with a vagina and butthole can attest to how sore they get if they’re been penetrated for over an hour, and imagine if their partner was equipped like some form of equine. Not to mention the mind-bending costs of keeping up appearances: waxing, dying, plucking, painting, cutting, injecting, powdering, smearing of colourful goo, all of these add up quickly. All of these costs don’t even include the extremely expensive rent in Los Angeles, aka Porn Valley, and the lifestyles and hedonistic trappings/addictions that is unfortunately very common for the average pornstar.

For fighters, it’s an even more dismal situation, the average payout for a professional, non-UFC fighter is about 1000$, usually $500-1000/$500 to show up/win, respectively. This may seem like good pay for ~15 minutes of actual combat, but keep in mind, there’s usually an eight-week camp, not to mention paying your trainers, transport, nutrition and the living costs we all contend with, not to mention the lifetime of training it takes to gain the skill to fight in a cage.

Conor McGregor and Artem Lobov, posing with what appears to be a metric fuckton of cash.

Even a UFC fighter isn’t exactly rolling in dough, despite posts of big fight bonuses peppering the fight news media and the lavish lifestyle of the very upper echelon of the sport. The average yearly salary for a fighter is about $38k/year, and since the Reebok deal nixing their own sponsors, they can’t even make extra money to help last them in between fights.

In both MMA and porn, there’s an exorbitantly high cost to pay for these professions, with very little preparation for real life after all is said and done. Sure, fighting or fucking seems like a glamorous lifestyle, as you have tons of fans and cash at the top, but no one is there to teach these young people how to plan for longevity. We’ve got twenty to thirty somethings who feel invincible, with no means of tempering their impulsive behaviours. Even Tyson or Jenna Jameson, who respectively made $300 million and ~$30 million during their reign as the king and queen of their domain, are now bankrupt and addled with personal, legal and financial problems. Clingers-on and sycophants surround them, (perhaps intentionally) leeching off of them mentally or financially, content with not telling them how to manage their money for times of famine, but rather telling them that the feast will last forever.

In terms of physical health, both XXX and MMA wear their performers down at an alarmingly fast rate. Late nights, a breakneck lifestyle and exposure to countless diseases and injuries, are shared by both industries, but combat sports easily take the cake for the most thankless, risk-laden job. We are all familiar with the cautionary tales of Muhammad Ali and Freddy Roach who both have Parkinson’s Disease from their career as pugilists, but while they both have left a legacy that will endure, there are countless others who suffer the same aftereffects of decades of head trauma, penniless and alone.

Lastly, an observation is made between porn and mixed martial arts, is how both are used as an example of what the real world is like, despite being some form of entertainment. Trust me, that is actual phallus-in-orifice sex, and MMA is probably the most realistic form of unarmed combat we’ll ever see, but keep in mind, these are done by experienced individuals, and you should probably not try this at home. 

Credit: XKCD

You’re not going to fuck like a porn star, nor would you want to; the positions are often uncomfortable and are generally chosen and choreographed to maximize your viewing pleasure. As for MMA, don’t pick a fight with someone on the street. Just because you saw someone look like an absolute badass during a fight scene or movie, street fights are dangerous and you’re probably going to look like an overblown idiot, scrambling around for a maximum of 30 seconds before someone pulls you off the other person. Also, let’s not forget the legal, social implications, as assault is illegal and everyone’s got a cell phone nowadays. You may end up losing your job, endure internet-wide humiliation, just because you wanted to show someone how tough you are(n’t.) 

Protip: Never mess with someone who has the word ‘Shark’ in their name. Long live Sharkeisha. 

Fights in real life never look as slick as Keanu Reeves makes them look, they’re primarily just posturing and haphazard flailing of limbs for an embarrassingly short period of time. There’s also never a good reason for fighting anyways, apart from having to defend the life of someone in danger.

The general popular often maligns porn and MMA. The performers and athletes put their well-being on the line, only to be reduced to walking stereotypes, and stripped of their right to self determination and respect. They expose themselves to disease, drugs and long-term bodily damage and are often left without a financial or emotional safety net. By no means am I painting either in a negative light, just noting the similarities and differences in order to hopefully better inform the general public of what’s involved behind the scenes.

#sex #porn industry #pornography #mma #fighting #martial arts #blog #sex work

[in-between-thoughts]

The blue card of happiness - on four years in Montreal.

My Opus card expired this year. As I threw away my blue and orange metro card, a flood of memories and emotions washed over me. This card was one of the first things I bought when I arrived in Montreal, and its expiration after its four year lifespan acted as a yardstick of how much I have grown and changed. 

 Before I moved to the land of whimsy and croissants, I was living in Calgary, Alberta. My college years were over and within a year of graduating school, I had lost my job at a design company, left my psychologically-abusive boyfriend, and essentially up-ended my entire life. All the experimentation, failures and awkward sexual encounters one usually engages in during college I had missed out on due to my freakish work schedule and a complete loss of identity because of an unworthy partner. I had so many questions I needed answered, so naturally, I spent the next year exploring, making mistakes and having the empty, alcohol-soaked fun that television portrays as actual fulfillment. After the collective hangover wore off, I then realized that I had simply outgrown this city and that gnawing sense of unease in my chest was because I had become stagnant as a person.

“Why did you move all the way to Montreal?” Folks ask me regularly. 

I never have a good answer; perhaps it was due to all the praise my friends Ian and Kinsley gave to this beautiful city, or maybe I just simply wanted a change of scenery. Ultimately, I think it was due to the fact that it wasn't easy. Montreal is a long ways away, 3,536.5 km away from my life in Calgary. It would have made more sense and been easier to move to a closer city, like Vancouver, or Edmonton. Moving to Montreal meant I wouldn't have spoken the language, I would have little to no job prospects, and I would barely know anyone there; it would be scary, lonely and difficult--exactly what I wanted. An easy life has never particularly appealed to me, it's probably in my genes-- when my mother was 23, she decided to leave everything she knew and immigrate to Canada. To leave and move across the country as far less difficult than going across the globe, which made me braver about the entire experience,as I always could go home if things didn't work out.  

If I could look like Adrianne Ho, that’d be great, thanks.

If life were a movie, Montreal would have instantly transformed me into a beautiful, magically tall, French-speaking sophisticate. Instead, the initial months of having landed were rife with depression, loss, suffocating loneliness and daily struggle to acclimate to this new language and culture. Eventually, I managed to get my footing in terms of language, and the city began to open up to me in bits and pieces. Montreal has given me so much; I've met wonderful caring people, and even found people who I will treasure for the rest of my life. I've been disappointed, romantically, personally and professionally, and I've also changed myself for various reasons, only to find that I was on the right path the whole time. This city, through the foreignness and hardship, has pushed me to grow more than I could have ever imagined. 

I'm 28 now (in my typical lazy fashion, it took me a few months to get around to writing this.) I've gone from sleeping on a found mattress (don’t try this at home kids--bedbugs are no laughing matter!) on a hardwood floor, to living a very happy life, doing what I love, with my lovers and two cats. While my past still haunts me, I've stopped running from it and have begun the arduous task of exorcising my demons. When I look at this little blue and orange card, I can't believe that it holds so much; it’s held four years of stress, ups, downs, love and heartbreak, of unforgettable people and indelible experiences, and of the first time in my life I've felt truly safe and loved. I wouldn't trade this for anything, and before my time in Montreal is complete, I imagine I will have collected a lot of these little blue and orange cards.

#Montreal #memories #survival

[in-between-thoughts]

Let it Bleed - Ruminations on pain and how we as a society, deal with it.

(Loss by Lycanium on Deviantart.)

Much like my other posts, this certainly will not conclude with a solution wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. Humans have emotions and those feelings are mercurial, complex and sometimes completely irrational. And much like my other posts, trigger warning/heads up, as I talk briefly about self-injurious coping mechanisms.

“Oh honey, you don’t know what real pain is, look at so-and-so.”

“You’re too pretty to cry, come on and smile!”

“Stop your crying, man up. Boys don’t cry.”

Throughout the course of our lives, we’re told how to handle our sadness and pain. From the time that we are young boys and girls*, we’re told to swallow our sadness, that others have it worse, and other attempts to placate or silence us. No matter how well-intended, these messages cause us to internalize our pain, and as a result, what we learn as children carries through to adulthood and affects how we treat one another.

More often than not, our parents/caretakers, peers and the media aim to instill a means of regulating pain via silencing or refusal to acknowledge sadness. No decent parent wants to see their child cry, and they erroneously believe that our silence indicates acceptance of our pain, whereas it usually signifies our learning that our tears do not have a place in our lives.

North American society tells young boys to become emotionally-constipated men, and that the only acceptable emotion for males to express is anger. For girls, we’re told that our tears are foolish and that what truly matters, is how we make others feel, our own mercurial, hyper-emotional selves be damned. However, this method backfires immensely, as people are more likely to communicate pain through internalized/externalized acts of violence or to self medicate via eating disorders, self-mutilation, drug usage, abusive situations or other means of self-harm and punishment. 

No matter what your sex or gender, these methods of handling suffering obviously aren’t working, as evidenced by the number of people who are in prison for violent offences, rehab for drug addictions or in the offices of therapists.**

Pain is a confusing, almost reptilian emotion. Evolved to keep us safe and alive, its far-reaching roots conflict immensely with the complexity of higher brain function and the murky, ever-changing waters of interpersonal interaction. This is further exacerbated by our tendency as social creatures to avoid rocking the boat; just think, how likely are you to actually tell the truth when someone asks you “How are you doing?” We know that no one really wants to hear the truth.

Over many years, through therapy, trial and error and conducting postmortems on social interactions and relationships, did I manage to find healthier ways of processing pain. Previously, I severed my mind from my body through means such as compartmentalization/dissociation, and rather harmful coping mechanisms. Nowadays, I concentrate on allowing myself to hurt and also, to really be truly honest with yourself and the way you react and deal with issues. 

Too often, we deny the fact that we aren’t okay, and spend our mental energy cultivating and curating a perfectly-crafted public persona, both in social media and real life. Bottling up your pain, anger, and dissatisfaction just results in feeling numb, until you lash out at yourself or loved ones at a later date. I speak from extensive experience; if you cauterize one emotion, you cauterize them all, and honestly, only temporarily so. 

Allowing yourself to admit that you’re hurting is the first step to accepting and ultimately overcoming your pain. Once you’ve got that level of clarity, you can find means of channeling it into ways that are healthy and beneficial to you--journaling, singing loudly in your bedroom alone, exercising (in moderation) and talking to a therapist are all really great ways to put your well-being first and start the path to healing.  Don’t worry too much about making others feel uncomfortable, your friends are there to care for you, and they appreciate and honour your pain--wouldn’t you do the same for them, if they were in your shoes?

Secondly, taking an honest look at what defense/coping mechanisms you have in your life is integral to healing and growing as a person. Most of us are very content with ignoring things that prevent us from improving ourselves, and we spend the rest of our lives chasing our tails and basically never learning How to Fucking Deal (to borrow a phrase from author Marya Hornbacher.) Being ruthless about what coping mechanisms benefit me, or harm me, has been extraordinarily helpful in becoming a less reactive, more capable person.

Was what the other person said/what they did truly meant to hurt me, or was merely a (forgivable) lapse in judgement? Was my reaction logical in regards to the event? Did I communicate with them in a way that both of us can understand? How much of what I feel right now is linked to the actual conversation, or does it have to do with my own emotional baggage?

All of these questions help me take a step or ten back and avoid reacting in a manner that I will regret, or shutting down completely. It’s really freaking tough, as like I said, pain is a very primitive, and messy emotion, but as a sentient being, I am accountable for my actions and reactions.

As per usual, I don’t have a foolproof, concrete solution that will help you to Improve Your Life in Ten Easy Steps! Hell, even last night I had trouble listening to my own advice, and often have to reassess and modify my behaviour through conversations, hard work and therapy. However, these methods of allowing myself to express pain or sadness and to introspectively untangle my interactions has been far more beneficial than the empty maxims of toughening up, or turning that frown upside down.

*This piece mentions only men and women/boys and girls, and I don’t mean to imply that there’s only two genders, but rather, that society imposes only two possible avenues for the expression, or lack thereof, of processing pain.

** Not that going to a therapist /rehab is bad, obviously quite the opposite. More focusing on the trauma that lands us there, and lack of social support, as purported by Dr. Carl Hart in his book High Price.

#pain #trauma #processing trauma #relationships #personal #blog

[in-between-thoughts]

Protagonist Potpourri - Diversity in the Media

Barring the most neckbeardy of keyboard warriors, it's blatantly obvious to most that there is a desperate need for an increase in diverse characters and stories in popular media. In 2011, Brull calculated that minorities made up only 10.5% of films and ~%15.05 in over 150 video game titles, in the New Media and Society study. Despite the argument that this is a result of companies pandering to the alleged screeching of social justice warriors, I think that it's mostly due to the fact that diverse characters are just a lot more interesting. Series like Sense8, Shutter, Wicked and the Divine, Saga, Last of Us, OITNB and Mad Max deftly demonstrate that solid storytelling with a wide range of fleshed out characters, can actually fare extremely well financially as well as critically (even though they're not without their problems.)

As an illustrator, I personally enjoy having a larger spectrum of race, gender identities, body types, able bodiedness (if anyone knows the proper term, please let me know!) and sexualities to draw from when creating an original character, also known as OC by the hip youth of today. Apart from, you know, being the thoughtful thing to do, representing a larger slice of the human population is just way more fun.

(Strong Female Characters, by Kate Beaton.)

Unless you're Rob Liefeld, most artists are not content with resting on their creative laurels; we are usually always observing and looking for newer and improve techniques and methodology. Drawing the same Strong Male and Sexy Female character ad nauseum is probably a circle of hell reserved just for misbehaving concept artists. There's only so many possible designs involving a cishet, white, able bodied character, and it's very easy to retread over the same path. I am of the firm belief that we the people want quality stories and characters and we increase the likelihood of that, if we look for inspiration from more than just a handful of stereo/phenotypes.

(Oh, Rob Liefeld.) 

Even if you're loathe to admit it, the world is navigated differently if you deviate from the majority. It's reflected in their body language, speech, mode of dress and even their demeanour; to creators of content, this is basically a motherlode of inspiration.

For example, let's take a deaf character and place them in a noisy science fiction universe. How would their body language or mood be different from the others, if they weren't inundated with constant noise in their environment? How would their clothing represent their deafness, if it does at all? Do they have the means, or desire to obtain hearing devices? If not, how come? If so, how would they go about buying or making one themselves? These are all questions I came up with, off the top of my head, and this thought experiment can lead to interesting destinations if you stray from the path more traveled.

(Obviously Legend of Korra, which is owned by Nickelodeon.)

Representing people who are often overlooked or marginalized is a worthwhile endeavour, but there most certainly is a way to do so effectively and conscientiously. Most creators balk at the thought of being on the receiving end of a very public call-out/evisceration on social media, and perhaps this leads them to stick to creating the "default" white/male/able-bodied/cishet archetypes that are tried and true. While I don’t have a foolproof formula for creating problem-free OC, there are some ideas that may aid you in erring on the side of caution.

Avoid tired tropes: Creating a non-white/diverse character is a great first step, but if you pile on stereotypical, tired cliches, it’s a step right into a bear trap. Using tropes for a character design is not only problematic and possibly bigoted as hell, it’s also really lazy.  Sure, you may argue that stereotypes have a grain of truth to them, but why would you want to repeat what so many have said before, often to the detriment of an entire group of people?

Don’t be gross: Appropriation, and exotification are very real issues, and they are generally a result of a lack of knowledge about a (sub)culture. It’s very obvious when cliched shorthand for an entire culture is applied topically from the view of an outsider looking in, than items and clothing chosen by a character who is an actual participant in said environment. On a similar note, sexualizing all characters of one gender, is not exactly treading new ground; if the only aspect of their persona worth portraying is that they’re sexy, then it’s indicative that there’s a great deal more of pushing you can do for your character design. Sure, some things may be for shits and giggles, but if you’re putting something out there for the world, why not make it something beautiful (as in elegant problem-solving) and be somewhat socially-responsible?

Research, research, research: This and the following point are the two best ways to avoid the (justifiable) ire of the intersectionally-minded folks. Knowledge is the best way to prevent problematic, intellectually-lazy and uninspired character designs. The deeper you research and thoughtfully plan out the universe your OC lives in, the more likely you can portray them in a way that’s logical and realistic (or not, either way, it’s all based on our reality by means of its similarities or otherwise.)  Everything you put on your character, or in their head should be considered, both for how well it fits into your narrative, and also for how it fits in the context of our society today.

Ask Questions: This one’s a bit scary, but ultimately very beneficial for your craft in developing intriguing protagonists. Nothing beats first-hand knowledge of what life is like for a person of a particular race/sexuality/gender orientation/ability/etc, than asking a person who’s experiencing that everyday. Not only will they present you with points that you may never have considered yourself, they can point out when you are creating situations that are problematic, and propose alternate scenarios that are novel and more creative. Yeah, design by committee sucks, but this is more getting fresh eyes on your work than censorship and browbeating.

(Shutter, a brilliant comic. Check it out!)

Having characters that are diverse can create new and more compelling narratives, ones that deviate from the crowd. Isn’t that what we are all striving for, unique characters that are memorable and stand out? Characters need adversity within a story,where trials and tribulations arise in an organic fashion instead of being shoehorned for drama’s sake. Not only that, but the world contains 7 billion people, and it’d be foolish of us as creators to only portray only an infinitesimally small slice of humanity. Apart from being unrealistic and bigoted, it’s also extremely uninteresting. Through extensive research, thoughtful design choices and a receptive attitude to feedback, we can add a bit of colour to this humdrum landscape.

(Ohanzee/Hanzee from Fargo. Just put him here because his story arc is great.)

Mary Robinette Kowal, Twitter: 

 ‏@MaryRobinette  Dec 17

It's not about adding diversity for the sake of diversity, it's about subtracting homogeneity for the sake of realism.

#poc #diversity in games #diversity in media #diversity in comics #comics #graphic novels #art #illustration #character design