INLAND EMPEROR

Event Alert: You Belong to Me (Riverside, February 13-16 + 20-21)

2009-02-13T15:10:00.000-08:00

Stumped for something truly sexy to do in the I.E. this Valentine's weekend? Like every good Imperial subject, I'm a big fan of celebrating special occasions at le Market Broiler (a hot spot for prom kids and the AARP set). But this February 13-16--and again from February 20-21--denizens of the empire have a unique opportunity to get down and dirty with some high art as YOU BELONG TO ME: Art & the Ethics of Presence launches its first among a series of public events at Riverside's own queer cafe and salon, Back to the Grind.

Celebrating artists who make their audiences into more than spectators, events include a musical concert featuring internationally renowned Luiseño performance artist James Luna, feminist spoken word artist and hip hop musician Ursula Rucker; a week-long workshop and evening of queer performance featuring the I.E.'s very own art star, Ron Athey; and an afternoon of conversations between the artists, UCR faculty, and audience members.

This weekend (Feb 13-16) kicks off a seminar on performance led by art legend, Ron Athey & UCR Professor, writer, and soccer aficionado Jennifer Doyle. Parts of the seminar will be open to the public, including evening, salon-style screenings of performance video curated by Athey & Doyle

Downstairs at Back to the Grind (3575 University Ave) 5:30pm-7:30pm Friday Feb 13 & Saturday Feb 14.
Join our seminar’s evening session for an eclectic program of performance “classics” and oddball cinematic texts representing Athey’s performance & filmic archive. Expect lots of nudity, explicitness, and creepy investigations of art & intimacy. Intended to be a relaxed and social gathering - discussion and talking back to the screen encouraged.

The screenings will follow two public lectures by Doyle:

“Critical Limits: Difficulty and Contemporary Art” Friday Feb. 13 2:00pm-4:30pm 2212 Humanities Building, UC Riverside
What happens when we encounter our limits as critics, as spectators – and why should we spend time unpacking them?

“My Bloody Valentine: When Sex & Performance Meet and Queer & Liberal Feminism Part” Saturday Feb. 14, 2:00pm-4:30pm Downstairs at Back to the Grind (3575 University Ave)
In the spring of 2008, the artist Aliza Shvarts found herself in the middle of a national controversy about a conceptual performance that engages with the possibilities of abortion. This talk maps the nature of that controversy.

Parts 2, 3 and 4 round out next week on Friday Feb 20th, with Ursula Rucker & James Luna in CONCERT@ 8:00pm 3787 Main (corner of 6th & Main); on Saturday morning, Feb 21, with Luna, Athey, and Rucker in dialogue with Professors Michelle Raheja, Jennifer Doyle, and Erica Edwards (respectively)11:00am-2:30pm @ Back to the Grind.

Public events conclude on Saturday evening, February 21, with an I.E reboot of Resonate/Obliterate, called (appropriately enough) Resonate/Obliterate I.E.: A Night of Queer Performance featuring Ron Athey, Julie Tolentino, Heather Cassils, and Zachary Drucker @ 8:00pm. 3787 Main (corner of 6th & Main).

MEDIA ALERT: I.E. Casinos and Asian Entertainers

2008-12-07T11:29:00.000-08:00

On Thanksgiving, Riverside's Press Enterprise featured a story on the Asian entertainment acts booked at local casinos to rake in even more "yellow dollars." The story reveals what I know from my own sordid experiences in the card rooms of southern California: it's a good bet you'll find plenty of Pinoy, Korean, Vietnamese and Chinese cardsharks hunkered down at the tables.

According to the story, bringing in Asian acts (and acts popular with Asians) not only services the growing communities in the Inland region, but also convinces those of us who live further afield in L.A. or Orange County to drive in for more prolonged overnight gaming getaways. Not that we need all that much convincing. [LEFT: The Golden Divas--a campy trio of Pinay mestiza vocal stars of yore-- performing tonight at Pala Casino].

"Agua Caliente is seeing patrons from Orange County and Morongo is pulling from San Bernardino and Los Angeles.

Ferrari [director of marketing operations for Pechanga Resort & Casino in Temecula--one of my fave places] said the resort's Saigon Thanksgiving show this weekend was booked only a month ago and was selling very well.

Ferrari said sometimes acts have crossover appeal, such as rock band Journey, whose show sold out quickly when the band played Pechanga earlier this year. The band's singer, Arnel Pineda, is from the Philippines.

Other acts are teaming up with American artists, such as Martin Nievera [Emperor: an old family friend], who will perform with Brian McKnight at Morongo in December."

Click HERE for the full story.

In the meantime, I'll let the Golden Divas take us out with their cover of Rihanna's "Umbrella" (performed live on the Filipino variety show, S.O.P.)

I.E. Holiday News Round Up | Shooting at Toys 'R' Us + Mission Inn Gets Totally Lit

2008-11-29T12:47:00.001-08:00

Riverside Countians had to one-up the Long Island Walmart trampling with a shooting that left two men dead at a Palm Desert Toys 'R' Us store. Though the gun battle was NOT about a toy, circumstances were inflamed by the long lines and buying frenzy of Black Friday. The Riverside Press Enterprise reports (click on the map for the full story):

"Bargain hunters scrambled from a Palm Desert Toys "R" Us on Friday after two men were shot and killed on one of the nation's busiest shopping days.

Riverside County Sheriff's Department Sgt. Dennis Gutierrez said the men were involved in a nonshopping-related disagreement near the checkout stand of the busy store.

'This confrontation was not over a toy,' Gutierrez said.

Police in the Coachella Valley city arrived at 11:32 a.m., a minute after receiving reports of shots fired inside the crowded store on Highway 111. Retailers such as Toys "R" Us generally offer deep discounts to draw customers on Black Friday, as the day after Thanksgiving is known."

****

On a much happier note, yesterday also marked the start of the 16th Annual Festival of Lights at downtown Riverside's The Mission Inn. I hadn't really thought about it 'til now but in the years since grad school, I've managed to bring friends from all over the world and So. Cal to the Mission Inn's twinkly, animatronic wonderland. It wasn't (just) because they were too broke to fly home--but more often than not, because they were too broke to fly home AND to the MLA for job interviews, papers and other professional tortures. Thank goddesses this will mark the last year that dreadful gathering is scheduled between Christmas and New Year's. (Click the picture for the Press Enterprise's account of yesterday's festivities).

The Emperor dedicates this year's Festival of Lights to all the loved ones--our beautiful, improvised families--from Koeln, Paris, Marseilles, Iowa City, Lexington, Seoul, Salinas, Bell Gardens and The Valley who have each claimed these lights as their own some time or other. Please come again soon. Y'all know you're always welcome. xoxoxo, I. Emperor.

L.A. TIMES: Unemployment Surge in the I.E.

2008-11-22T12:19:00.000-08:00

With an unemployment rate of 9.1%, the Riverside-San Bernardino-Ontario metro region ranks even worse than Detroit.

From Dan Pierson of the Los Angeles Times (click the picture below for the full story):
"The percentage of people unemployed in the Inland Empire has more than doubled from a year ago, and some experts predict the situation will worsen before it improves.

'It's a perfect storm,' said Brad Kemp, director of regional research for Beacon Economics, which recently conducted the second annual Inland Empire Economic Forecast Conference.

'It was one of the fastest-growing places in America,' he said. 'And when you have that kind of growth, you have the potential for loss.'

The downturn has all but erased the glow of optimism the Inland Empire enjoyed only two years ago, when newly minted mansions and an array of upscale retailers fashioned parts of the region into a more affordable Orange County in the making." [Right: The historic Fox Theater in downtown Riverside. Perpetually under renovation]

***
Sadly, this offers more fodder for the O.C./I.E. rivalry subplot in my book.

All in the Family | Benefit Big Band Concert + No More Blues CD

2008-10-21T13:16:00.001-07:00

When Kangagi and I hit up the Riverside Pride Festival in White Park last month (mentioned in my previous post), my mom and dad decided to join us. Much to my surprise--totally embarrassing, actually--my folks knew more queers at the festival than I did, from a would-be Project Runway contestant who made it deep into the casting rounds, to the middle-aged dyke who ruled the hand stamp check. We were the wallflowers, and they were the ones ass-bumping, cheek-kissing and saying howdy to every queer in town. [Left: Mom, Dad and me, ca. 1979].

For a minute I wondered if it was all due to the fact that their last name is DYKES (yes--that is my stepfather's real last name), but as Kangagi and I quickly realized, their inroads to the scene actually come from their church, the Riverside Community Center for Spiritual Living in Fairmont Park near downtown. This queer positive, predominantly African-American church (which hosted a booth at the pride festival), is where my dad has been the musical director for nearly a decade. And it's the community that nurtured my mom through her recent battle with cancer, from surgery to chemo to recovery. Even as I was frantically driving east on the 60 FWY in the morning hours of my mom's epic surgery, Rev. Lee was there with my dad and grandmother to pray with mom and soothe her nerves as she went under, and to help bolster our collective hope that everything would be OK.

This Sunday, October 26 at 7pm, mom and dad, my uncle, smooth Jazz dude Boy Katindig, and all of their musical colleagues and friends will "pay it forward" (if you will) by performing at a major fundraiser for the church. The "Raise the Roof Benefit Big Band Concert" will help raise funds for structural repairs to the building, as well help continue funding programs like the center's PFLAG meetings, youth choir, spiritual retreats and day to day operations. Many friends and family are already coming to participate in the festivities, which include fine dining at Mario's downtown, a silent auction, etc. The fam and I are profoundly moved by the generosity of our friends and colleagues, not only with their dollaz in this time of economic uncertainty, but also with their time. Join us if you can!

Mom's new CD (with the I.E. Based Skipper Productions jazz label curated by jazz bass legend, Henry Franklin), will also be available at the concert in advance of its official release date on October 30th. Titled NO MORE BLUES, it features some of my folks' favorite bossa nova and straight-ahead jazz standards. If you can't make it to the show and would like to buy a CD, just email mom at mariadykes@earthlink.net. I'll also post here when the disc is available on iTunes and other sites like Rhapsody and Last FM. Here's a little preview of their first single, the Antonio Carlos Jobim classic, "Triste":

Triste - Maria Katindig-Dykes

Otherwise, we hope to see you at the show!
Biggest Love,
The Inland Emperor

Raise the Roof II - A Benefit Big Band Concert
Sunday, October 26, 2008 - 7pm
General Admission, $25
3891 Ridge Road | Riverside, CA 92501 | Tickets: 951.683.2343

Calendar Alert! | Riverside Pride '08 (September 13)

2008-08-08T13:10:00.000-07:00

Polish your rainbow bling, and buy an ample stash of Mac's "twig and fetish" lipstick--RuPaul is one of the featured performers at Riverside's first local pride festival on September 13, 2008! If memory serves, there have been local pride parades and protests in the past, but none have been as ambitious as this year's program of performances, activities and an "art walk" in downtown's White Park (located right next door to ye olde Le Sex Shoppe and the all-you-can-eat Cabin Sushi--aka "porno sushi"--beloved by Media Sheep).

In my adolescence, White Park was the classic downtown wino park (like the one where Cornelius Hackl in Hello Dolly sings "It Only Takes a Moment"). But all the civic-led gentrification has seen it turn in to a more respectable picnic spot--proximity to Le Sex and all. [Above R: Cabin Sushi, photographed by Yelper Jan G. || Below L:White Park now]

The event is organized by the Jeffrey Owens Community Center, an Inland support and advocacy group that came together after the 2002 murder of a local AIDS activist and North High School Alum. Jeffrey Owens was stabbed to death in the parking lot behind The Menagerie (the I.E.'s oldest queer club). Unlike most corporate pride events that tend only to benefit the unholy triumverate of light beers (Bud, Coors and Miller), as well as other opportunists, Riverside Pride is being staged to increase awareness and raise money for local charities and local non-profit LGBTIQ organizations like JOCC. Click the poster below for a link to the Riverside Pride myspace page with more info about how to participate as a Volunteer, Vendor or Performer. Tickets are $10.

I.E. Quake!!! || 5.4 - Epicenter Chino Hills

2008-07-29T15:24:00.000-07:00

My favorite thing about an earthquake in So. Cal is the calm, butchy presence of "the earthquake lady," Kate Hutton from Cal Tech. I guess I'm not the only dyklette who grew up totally stoked for her no-nonsense, skirt-suited seismological updates. Check out Kate's interview with The Advocate back in 2001 for more lesbionic subtext. [Below Right: Kate in action]

I have to say, she seemed a bit grumpier on the Channel 7 Eyewitness news today, totally willing to complain overtly that the Governator's budget cuts leave little room for developing early quake detection technology. You go, Doc! When the Big One strikes, we'll all be waiting for you to tell us the real deal...

Despite the relatively slow roll we experienced out here, 40 miles west in Silver Lake, Kangagi and I still sensed we at least had something in the upper 4's on our hands. Today's 5.4 quake happened to be epi-centered in the I.E.'s very own Chino Hills, my Oh! Industry sistah, CBB's hometown.

When the quake struck, my mom was at the Tyler Mall (or is it the Galleria at Tyler now?) in nearby Riverside, getting her prescription glasses fixed, while Dad was at home, apparently just apres shower and hence nervous about not having the option to flee out of the house. I know, TMI.

Like everyone else, I couldn't get through using a cell phone (so much for their emergency effectiveness), but our prehistoric landline worked just fine. Dad reported no damage or toppled books at home (surprising given how they're such pack rats), but neither of us could reach my mom. She finally got a text through about 30 mins. later, and complained that "there's really no place to go in a mall that feels like it's built entirely out of glass."

Otherwise, there isn't much more to add to the good ol' Press Enterprise report. I wonder how the controversial, year-old Ranch 99 Asian Market is holding up? Check out Angry Asian Man's take from last April, or for all sides of the "we don't want this to turn into another Rowland or Hacienda Heights" story, visit the P.E. archive. Could today's quake be a case of the Karma Chameleons? Kate Hutton would probably say no. The ancestors meanwhile...

I.E. Summer Songs with Soul Sides

2008-07-23T11:05:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Paho Mann's "Reinhabited Circle Ks" project, my contribution to Oliver Wang's annual "Summer Songs" feature on Soul Sides crawls from the I.E. up to the Bay Area and back. Click on Club Tattoo for a peek and a listen...

In Memoriam || UCR Professor, Lindon Barrett

2008-07-15T12:21:00.000-07:00

Excerpted and reposted from something I wrote on Oh! Industry:

This morning we received tragic news about the passing of someone whose work, spirit and strength has inspired us for many years. Lindon Barrett, formerly the director of African American Studies at UC Irvine, and recently appointed Professor of English at UC Riverside, was found murdered in his residence this weekend in Long Beach, CA.
...
There is much to say about the beautiful complexity of Lindon's work--about the prescience of his early essay on Ann Petry's The Street; about his brilliant book, Blackness and Value: Seeing Double (Cambridge, 1999), which has continued to exert a tremendous influence, both theoretical and lyrical on scholars of critical theory, aesthetics, musicality and race. In honor of him, and of a life and work so richly consumed by (in his own words) the "sly alterity of the singing voice, a voice assuming much more than mere 'traditional' speech," we offer this tribute in song:

Good morning Heartache - Billie Holiday

Read the entire post here.
***
To follow up, a few remarks from the Chair of UCR's English Department, Katherine Kinney:

"The English faculty are devastated by the death of Lindon Barrett. Lindon joined the department just last year, but many of us had known him for years. He embraced his new position at Riverside, bringing a personal warmth and passion to the
department and his field of African American studies. A brilliant scholar, Lindon was just finishing a major book on slavery’s central role in the evolution of Western modernity. Lindon offered so much, personally and professionally, to the department, the campus, and the scholarly field of African American studies. He will be missed by friends and colleagues across campus and across the country."

Memorial services will be held on a date TBA in his hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada. Further information can be found here.

I am grateful to have had the opportunity, as brief as it was, to share ideas with him at UC Irvine's Humanities Research Institute. My heartfelt condolences go out not only to his family and former colleagues at UCR and UCI, but also to his Inland Empire communities, and to all who were inspired by him in this region that he occupied with such vivacity.

donwill +suhBURB's "Suburban Sprawl" album

2008-07-14T14:43:00.002-07:00

This is a little different from my own suburban soundscape of new-Ro inspired melodia, but worth a good listen nonetheless. Check out Suburban Sprawl--the latest collaboration between the producer, suhBURB and the Brooklyn based donwill of Tanya Morgan fame.

The collab was born like lots of things in the suburbs, during idle time:
"this project began in early 2006 i believe. suhburb would send these 15 minute long mp3 beat tapes to us and they would flow like an album. i remember the one that originally sparked the idea was the Brazil Beat tape (sounds like a porno now that i think about it) and when i had heard it i liked so much of it that i jokingly suggested to him that i would just write verses, two track it and release that. a few emails, aim conversations, phone calls and years later and we are both proud to present to you suburban sprawl."

Listen carefully for fun with digital watermarks in tracks like "Fly Me" and "Diwadiwadonald." Special thanks to la Doyle for passing the mixtape.com link on to me. Read the rest of donwill's liner notes here. And listen to the whole album right hurrr....

Skullphone at R.A.M.

2008-07-03T10:40:00.001-07:00

As the L.A. Times recently reported, Skullphone, the anonymous and elusive guerrilla artist (a la Banksy), is making a splash at the Riverside Art Museum in the city's historic downtown.

Excerpt:
AMID THE stately Mediterranean and Classical architecture of the Riverside Art Museum, a 1929 building on the National Register of Historic Places, the underground street artist known as Skullphone has left his mark -- a black-and-white human skull chatting on a cellphone. The gritty images are everywhere -- on a Dumpster outside the museum, in common areas and throughout installations by other artists.

I haven't had a chance to check it out yet, but will at some point in the coming 3 weeks as I try to cram in some I.E. fieldwork, despite being focused on the OC chapter these daze.

All this to say that I'm sorry I've been so remiss about posting here. The Inland Emperor lives, I promise! I'm aiming to post more frequently, but need to stick with quickie posts, re-posts and photo essays for now, as I try to keep up with the regular features at Oh!, and crank out some other pieces on the side...not to mention that whole book thing.

The Imperial Accent

2008-03-30T13:16:00.000-07:00

It's been forever since I found a sliver of time to actually post something here. I even failed at the simple tenets of self promotion (no prefatory blast about the LACE Listening Party this March, for example--see flier to the left). What finally pushed me into posting today is a shout out from my Oh! Industry sistah, CBB, about a piece I read at the listening party that actually followed up on some of my previous remarks here at IEmperor about the Riversidian love affair with British pop bands. A girl I knew in high school (who shall remain nameless), spoke in a British accent our entire freshman year to try and convince us she helped choreograph some dance routines for Wham! Riverside has a long history of collective fascination with all things British (i.e. the annual Riverside "Dickens Fest")--which might explain a few things about my twisted career path. But for me it's always been about the music. I never would've memorized Shelley's poetry when I was 14 if I hadn't heard about him in pop songs...

||Excerpted from my SUBURBS listening party at Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions||

BRITISH is the other accent I always have in mind, when I think about the music that maps the empires of my familiar. The Inland Empire to me was never a homogeneous conglomeration of little boxes, but truly the crossroads of empire. [Right: the "Riverside Enterprise," 1931 - from UCR's Asian American Riverside Archive]

Despite the region’s much maligned name, I’ve come retrospectively to understand that it is all too fitting: from the defense industries that once resided there "making America strong," to the re-creations of Spanish missionary culture in its downtown revivalisms, to the more genteel, Citrus-era Victorianism affirming, even now, a Brit stranglehold on “Culture” as well as "Anarchy," long after the sun has set beyond the British empire.

My suburban adolescence constantly toggled between the accented stylings of soft rock balladry—the esmooth sounds of Pinoy culture I return to over and over again in my work, and the slinky, synthy sounds of an Imperial New Wave--that much heralded second British Invasion sold to the So. Cal kids by Richard Blade (actually Richard Shepphard of Torquay, England. He changed his name to “Blade” when he moved to L.A. in 1982 as an homage to the film Blade Runner).

In many ways, Richard Blade--on shows like Video One on channel 9, Video Beat on KTLA, and of course as a DJ on KROQ, "Roq of the 80s"-- curated the “remote intimacies” of my youth. "Remote intimacy" is a phrase I’ve borrowed from queer studies legend, Jennifer Terry. While she's used it to describe, literally, some of the circuits of affect generated by certain war games and surveillance technologies, I personally imagine “remote intimacies” describing the fan communities for whom intimacies cohere across virtual networks of desire (through the radio, music and television, on the internet, and now online through social/friendship networks). Remote intimacies account, both technically and affectively, for the symbiosis that can happen between disparate subjects---between Latin@s and Morrissey, for example, or between suburban queers of color and anglophilic ear-candy in general.

For me “remote intimacies” means imagining our own spaces in correspondence with others. It's something akin to, but not as official as “sister cities” or "town twinning" (like Cannes and Beverly Hills). Unlike most urbanites who assume the sub-urban is always oriented towards its closest city, I like to think that these imaginary correspondences sometimes have to happen across greater distances, both conceptually and topographically with other ethnicities, accents, nations... even other empires that feel more benevolent (though they surely aren’t), simply owing to the fact that they aren’t ours.

I loved Duran Duran because nothing seemed more exotic to me than Birmingham, England. Out here where we’re so far West we were almost touching East again, my adolescent mind didn’t quite process the fact that all the locales in their videos had little to do with the Birmingham of my fantasies. Instead, they recaptured the colonial imaginaries of a British empire re-styled by Vivienne Westwood: “some new Romantic looking for the TV sound” on a re-drawn Planet Earth.

Little did I know that that Birmingham in all of its gritty, working class industrial glory might’ve actually been closer to Riverside, CA than I thought.

There's more to say on this subject, but for now I'll leave you with a song that was never a single, yet remains one of my favorites from Duran Duran's watershed RIO album. Maybe then you’ll understand why I didn’t so much let myself get captured by another empire, but made "my own way" towards something else by walking tall and jaunty like John Taylor’s bassline.

Media Alert: Mt. Rubidoux on Bravo's RHWOC

2008-01-27T12:01:00.000-08:00

The sacred place where every troubled teen of Riverside has learned to drink, make out or both (successively), recently made a cameo in The Real Housewives of Orange County. Yes my friends, that imposing dirt hill of big boulders and an even bigger cross, Mt. Rubidoux (pictured left during Easter Sunrise service way back in There Will be Blood times) has finally had its close-up. Quinn, RHWOC's new Christian housewife, and the self-professed "cougar" of Coto de Caza, visited her born-again mom in Riverside before the season finale. During an awkward scene on mom's patio with a view of the Rubidoux cross, Quinn processes her very un-Christian urges to ravage, pre-maritally, a golf pro she's been dating named Billy. She pauses first to notice however, that "wow this is pretty for Riverside. Totally surprising!"

Girl, you know it's true.

BTW, I too have been up Mt. Rubidoux multiple times for Easter Sunrise service--an obligatory gig on a rotating basis for every High School choir/chamber singers group in the Riverside Unified School District. Most of my time on the mount was spent violating everything on the sign posted at the entry:

Home-o for the Holidaze || A Photo Essay

2007-12-23T23:45:00.000-08:00

The fuzzy little fella under the tree is my parents' very cuddly, very effeminate boy dog, Yukon. For all intents and purposes "Yuki" is my younger sibling. Like all bullying older sibs, I'm having the little one do the dirty work for me--soften up the crowd with those shiny button eyes for what will be a quick and dirty post on this night of the 23rd...the eve of Christmas Eve.

To get to Riverside today I took the Metrolink, So. Cal's commuter train system and a distant cousin to something like the LIRR. On weekends the Metrolink goes the roundabout way (the only way available to the Empire from L.A.'s Union Station on weekends), through San Bernardino, Riverside's scrappier and scruffier neighbor to the Northeast. What is usually about a 50 minute drive on the 60FWY door-to-door from my place to my folks' took about an hour and 45 on the Sunday San Berdoo line that chugs alongside the 10 past El Monte, Baldwin Park, Covina, Northern Pomona, Claremont, Montclair, Upland, Rancho Cucamonga, Fontana, Rialto and downtown San Bernardino before docking in downtown Riverside. The train was filled with holiday travelers, mostly Latino and African-American teens heading into the I.E. to see the cousins, aunts and uncles who re-lo'ed to the 'burbs in the 80s or 90s (see Next Friday, which was set in one of my scenic station stops today, Rancho Cucamonga).

The Metrolink ride yields plenty of stories, especially because the route provides picture-window glimpses at the backyards, freight doors and storage dumps that families, businesses and cities like to keep tucked out of view. I too will keep these stories close to the vest for now and let a few pictures do the talking. Part II of this post closes with a tableau of what the holidays look like at the parental abode on Santee place. In the meantime, this is how we enter the Empire...

1. Union Station

2. L.A. River

3. Three

4. Mobile Home Park

5. Montclair Station (Mt. Baldy, Hinterground)

6. Yellow 1.0

7. Yellow 2.0

8. Boxcars near Rialto

9. Yellow 3.0 (between San Bernardino and Riverside)

10. End Stop

11. Raincross

PART II: Santee Place
We all know the holidaze are chaotic, but they feel especially tumultuous for a Virgo like me when I schlep out to the parental hoarding pit. My folks have got to be the worst pack-rats EVER. I know they look sweet, well groomed and tidy on the outside, but at their very core they can't resist squirreling away every soy sauce packet* or spork in the event of the apocalypse (or "The Big One"--the latter being more immanent). I think their Bohemianism crossed with some of their "Fisher King" tendencies account for my unbearable Virgoan obsessiveness and minimalism now. [Left: Graveyard of craft books, hall closet]. When I arrived this late afternoon, I had my annual hissy fit about all the stuff crammed into every nook and cranny of the house: an assortment of catalogues for things like dog visors and Kleenex cozies; unread Rodale's "Organic Gardening" magazines from 1989 onward; DVD's from Columbia House that they forgot to reject through the monthly mailer; ceramic dolphin clocks gifted to them by acquaintances from the church of Religious Science; coupons from Dr. Butchko, I.E. Vet. It's all still here. Clearly I need therapy to work through all the residual immigrante and class shame triggered by all my parents' stuff. [L: Santas and Friends]. This time, I just decided to take pictures.

I know this might sound a bit too "American Beauty," but taking pictures of all of the oddities chez Mom and Dad really helped me see things differently. It made me actually appreciate some of the accidental beauty behind their otherwise chaotic accumulation. It helped me breathe. So in the spirit of Christmas sharing, here's something from my family to yours...Maligayang Pasko! Mele Kalikimaka! Frohe Weihnachten! And all that jazz...

a. Beethoven and Friends

b. Everything but the kitchen sink

c. The kitchen sink

d. Crown Rib Roast

e. Capicolla fr. D'Elia's

f. Gallery

g. Nativity Scene + Buddha Guest Stars

h. Notes

i. Screen, Elephants and Rudolph

j. Bongos || Romy Katindig Model

k. Hip-Swaying Outdoor Santa

l. Santa's Sleigh + Great Ideas Book Series, 1961-1974

m. Mom

n. Dad w. Sick Puppy

o. Tannenbaum

* The genotype "soy sauce saver" isn't mine, but belongs to the venerable HN Lukes.

No Wonder || From Yentl to The Shondes

2007-12-15T15:31:00.000-08:00

This Catholic Pinay lesbiana (on the Far From Heaven-side of butch) knows what “shonde” means. It’s Yiddish for shame, disgrace, pity or outrage. And I knew this before I peeped the definition thoughtfully provided on the website for queer dramarock sensations, The Shondes. I know what “shonde” means because—interfaith confession time—I fancied myself a spiritual Jewess the minute I saw Yentl on VHS and felt tingly about all the cross-dressing, carts of books and “like buttah” showtune meditations on female education and the Talmud. I was so moved by the sepia-toned, candle-lit, made-for-Barbra-by-Barbra exultations about desire, feminism and faith that the very next day I rushed to the B. Dalton bookstore across from WhereHouse Records at the Riverside Plaza to buy a copy of The Essential Talmud, and the collected works of Isaac Bashevis Singer. Drink it in here...

I knew it was deeper than my brief flirtation with the Baha’i faith circa the 7th grade. But I didn’t realize until much later what it all meant: all those grainy, black & white dreams of Brooklyn scored to the pizmonim-inspired harmonies of Fiddler, or those fantasies about being a stranger among them in Cicely, Alaska with Dr. Joel Fleischman on Northern Exposure. For this nerdy, only-child from Southeast Asia coming of age in the white, working-class suburbs of Southern California, Jewishness meant intelligence, humor, showtunes, culture and cute glasses. Not only did Jewishness (or at least the made for TV versions I encountered) compliment my own sense of strangeness and my own sense of ethnicity, but oddly—thanks to my belated, analog encounter with Yentl—it also told me something about my budding queer sexuality. Only two months before I came out as a big homo, my Yentl costume on Halloween was misread as “Shaolin Kung-Fu Master” by all the other college dorkuses around me. A shonde in so many ways. It seems no accident that I am currently employed in a Gender Studies program with an endowed "Barbra Streisand Chair in Sexuality and Intimacy." Someday...somehow...somewhere...

It’s because of this awkward sense of communion (pardon the Catholicism), and a recommendation from a McSwonderful friend that now, more than 15-years later, I have found The Shondes...

Read my complete interview with The Shondes at OH! INDUSTRY.

Dwell in Suburbia

2007-11-19T14:33:00.000-08:00

I know the Emperor's blogworlds have become quite confusing for all five of you loyal readers out there, especially with the recent debut of my collaborative project, OH! INDUSTRY. But rest assured the Emperor hasn't gone gently into that bedazzled night never to return to my very own 7-11 parking lot of lemonhead wishes and big gulp dreamz.

As many of you know, O!I is actually all about reliving nights in the parking lot with retroactive simultaneity, despite being spread out across different empires of the familiar. But for the sake of keeping things tidy (in the Virgoan way), I'll shelve things like this: personal posts and ruminations here on Inland Emperor, to go along with all of the archival suburban materials. There's bound to be overlap every now and then (Girl in a Coma performing in a suburban mall, etc.), so when that happens I'll keep the longer posts on O!I and offer a lead/link here to guide you over there. [Right: Whatever has become of me?]

But let's dwell here for now. In fact, the true inspiration behind today's Suburban zeitgeist alert is the December/January double issue of Dwell magazine (aka the style manual for creative class 'flipping') on NEW SUBURBANISM. Thanks muchly to JTizzle for alerting me to this. More to say at some other point, perhaps even in the book, about the heinous, and yet not-so-secretly alluring style culture promoted by Dwell and publications of its ilk. [Left: Mr. & Mrs. Hipster in New Suburbia]

In the interest of full disclosure, I always thought of Dwell as a wannabe Wallpaper without the heft, literally and figuratively. That shit was THICK. Anyway, since my own lust for moderne design was first ignited by Wallpaper (and my born-in-to-modernism Deutsche ex), Dwell always seemed like the totally poseur rag to me. Of course I came to realize that I was actually the big poseur for thinking that I could seemlessly inhabit the very bourgie, and often very white worlds featured in glossy repose throughout such publications. Hence all the debt (and nice furniture) I'll be living with from here to tenure. I've resolved not to be a total hater, and by extension, a total hypocrite. So let me admit now that I am actually fond of the "design" ethos in healthy, non-prescriptive and budget appropriate doses. No more Design Out of Reach for me. [Right: Race as a hipster commodity. Let me entertain you...]

Anyway, I don't want to be a total grumpus, and I've already prattled on about the stuff I said I'd talk about later ("heinous and alluring style cultures of modern design magazines"), so I'm going to tiny dance my way to a reparative moment. If anything, this month's issue of Dwell pointed me to what looks like a must-see exhibit going up in February at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis (February 2008), and continuing on to the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh (October 2008). [Left: Angela Strassheim's Untitled (Elsa), 2003, will be featured in Worlds Away.] Titled Worlds Away: New Suburban Landscapes, and curated by Andrew Blauvelt at the Walker, and Tracy Myers at the Carnegie, the exhibit features paintings, photographs, architectural models, prints, sculptures and video that bust apart what I like to think of as the suburan mythos at the heart of the American national imaginary.

In his Dwell interview, Blauvelt expresses the hope that Worlds Away will provide both reparative and "more provisional" approaches to the suburbs: "there are definitely pro and anti--or ambivalent--camps, but the stance isn't 'Oh I hate suburbia; therefore, I'm not going to deal with it.' It's more about how to intervene and interpret it knowing that it's a multibillion dollar industrial complex. It's that kind of shift that we're trying to hint at."

The emperor concurs. In short, it seems this project intersects with my Relocations book in generative, substantive, and yet non-threatening ways. I know I'm looking forward to taking a research trip to the exhibit this spring. Hopefully I'll have the opportunity to be in touch with both Blauvelt and Myers about it as well. In the meantime let's all dabble with the Walker blog's interactive feature: Tell us a story about your suburb.

"If Ever I would Leave You..." R.I.P Robert Goulet (1933-2007)

2007-10-31T12:30:00.000-07:00

Oh no not in spring time...
Summer, winter or fall...
No never would I leave you...at all...
--"If Ever I Would Leave You," Robert Goulet
Original Broadway Soundtrack to Camelot (1962)

The Emperor is saddened to hear that Robert Goulet, the man whose virile, yet approachable barritone made that showstopper from Camelot say something, passed away yesterday morning.

Goulet was the kind of guy you'd expect to hear while your parents (or grandparents in my case) sat around next to their slammin' hi-fi, sipping scotch and twirling their toes in the shag carpet. For many years Goulet's vocal talents and matinee idol dreaminess were eclipsed by the camp iconicity of his own abundant mustache. Case in point, Will Ferrell's hilarious Goulet sketches from SNL:

But for me he'll always be Lancelot--always that powerful voice singing over the crackle of grandma's hi-fi, promising it will never leave.

Sadly, I couldn't find actual footage of him singing "If Ever I would Leave You" to Julie Andrews in full Camelot regalia. But here's RG and another broadway diva, Barbara Cook, crooning tunes that will break your heart:

Event Alert: Inland Emperors Art Exhibit (9/8-10/27)

2007-10-09T12:39:00.000-07:00

[Image Credit: Robbert Flick, photographer and Professor of Fine Arts at USC.]

We're not affiliated, but nevertheless this might be of interest to some of you...

Inland Emperors (September 8 - October 27, 2007)
Reception: Saturday, October 13, 6-10pm
dBA256 Gallery and Winebar
256 S. Main Street
Pomona, CA 91766
909. 623. 7600

What distinguishes the art scene east of the 605 – okay, the 57 – is less its variety than its longevity. The Inland region is one of the cradles and incubators of California art from the inception of “hard edge” painting to the subsequent course of sculpture’s “ceramic revolution”. Inland Emperors, an exhibition celebrating this longevity and innovative artistic activity opens at dba256 Gallery September 8th and runs through October 27th. Inland Emperors is the inaugural exhibition for dba256 Gallery which is located in the heart of downtown Pomona’s Arts Colony.

Works by notable Inland Region artists include Karl Benjamin, Alexander Couwenberg, John Divola, Tim Ernst, Robbert Flick, Sant Khalsa (with poetry by B.H. Fairchild), Doug McCulloh, Thomas McGovern, Susan Rankaitis, Sandra Rowe, Paul Soldner and Larry White. Critical essay by Peter Frank. For more info, visit:

http://www.dba256.com/352/index.html

**************
At first glance, it's not the kind of I.E. art I'm necessarily interested or invested in. It's a bit 57-centric and I'm definitely more 6oFWY, but I'm guaranteed to make a research stop nonetheless. Plus, I actually really do admire Flick's work conceptually and aesthetically. I can't make the reception on the 13th, however, because of the ASA conference in Philly this weekend. Anyone interested in a Pomona adventure before the end of October?

Devil in the "Details"

2007-10-04T11:57:00.001-07:00

I woke up this morning to Ben Affleck's face on my doorstep. Another sign of the apocalypse. And another sign that it's time to get crackin' on finishing (or starting to finish) Relocations. This month's issue of "Details" unfurled to reveal not only Ben's "serious face" and dewey chin-dimple, but a teaser headline about "Why the Suburbs are Cooler than Downtown" (?!?!?!?) Talk about zeitgeist. Or is this just more proof that The Secret works? Anyway, I could rant ad nauseum about why the article is lame and why the idea of a "cool style culture" relocating to the 'burbs is totally NOT what I'm saying in my project. People always assume.

But then I'd have to explain why I subscribe to Details in the first place. (Note to self: consider cutting wispy man-bangs off this week). In the meantime, check out the Details guide to the "hottest 'burbs" below. I'm sad/glad to see that the I.E. is nowhere to be found on the list.

FR. DETAILS, November 2007

THE CITY: CHICAGO
THE ESCAPE: NAPERVILLE
Naperville, 30 miles west of Chicago, has the character—innovative restaurants, independent shops, fairs and festivals—that the city has started to lose.

THE CITY: LOS ANGELES
THE ESCAPE: MONTROSE
Set in the foothills of the San Gabriel and Verdugo mountains, Montrose is just 20 minutes by car from downtown L.A. It feels more like a small town than a suburb—albeit one with a nationally recognized wine and cheese shop, Goudas & Vines.

THE CITY: NEW YORK
THE ESCAPE: COLD SPRING
An hour from Grand Central on the Metro-North railroad, Cold Spring has panoramic views of the Hudson River, good restaurants, downshifting creative types from the city, and proximity to the vibrant art scene of Beacon.

THE CITY: SAN FRANCISCO
THE ESCAPE: MILL VALLEY
Mill Valley: Across the Golden Gate, 10 minutes north of San Francisco, you’ll find a renowned farmer’s market, outdoor tai chi classes, redwoods, and canyons—and not a Gap store in sight.

THE CITY: WASHINGTON, D.C.
THE ESCAPE: TAKOMA PARK, MARYLAND
Takoma Park, Maryland, one of Washington’s first suburbs, is more affordable than other neighborhoods and has a great variety of restaurants. It’s a little crunchy, but it’s hard to argue with the well-regarded schools and impressive music and arts festivals.

THE CITY: BOSTON
THE ESCAPE: WALTHAM
Twenty minutes west of Boston, Waltham is home to Brandeis University and has the sophistication of a college town without Boston’s hordes of overserved undergraduates. The restaurants around Moody Street provide city-quality offerings.

Gold and L.A.C.E.

2007-10-03T15:31:00.000-07:00

A quick preview of what to expect from the Emperor's Suburban-themed listening party at L.A.C.E. this March 2008.

I. SOLID GOLD (is this the real life? is this just fantasy?)

II. P.O.T.H.

The Raincross Connection + Virgo Roll Call

2007-09-09T09:48:00.000-07:00

Looks like Riverside's signature Raincross (R), the civic symbol originally designed as a logo for the Mission Inn, has had something of a gangsta and Hot Topic-inspired crossover. My gal pal J-Stack (maiden name, J-Sto), must really be homesick for the 'Side now that she's professing in Binghamton, because she took time out during her first hectic weeks on the job to send me this:

CITY'S SYMBOL CROSSES OVER
(click title for full story in the Press Enterprise)

As if there weren't enough raincrosses around Riverside, the ubiquitous bell and double-barred cross has been appropriated by gangsters, graffiti artists, and teenagers in general...

Riverside adopted the raincross as an official city symbol in 1968, and it is featured in the new city logo selected in 2005. More than an official emblem, it has seeped into Riverside's collective consciousness.The raincross is stamped in concrete overpasses, shaped into gates and fences, printed on the sides of garbage cans and on city street signs. Police patches feature a raincross. Businesses all over town use the image on their signs and stationery. The Mission Inn and downtown stores sell raincross ties, key rings, jewelry and more. The ladies wearing $2,500 diamond-encrusted raincross necklaces from Marden Jewelers might be shocked to hear it, but Riverside police often see gang members with raincross tattoos paired with gang numbers and letters.

Something tells me we'll be peepin' some of these on L.A. Ink in the very near future.

ALL VIRGOS ARE MAD
The Emperor had a very lovely birthday in the I.E. that kicked off the Virgo season and sullied the Raincross in several ways. I'm not one to share felonious details, so let's stick to the horoscope stuff. Virgos have been going through a rough zodiacal patch lately (what with the eclipses in our sign and all the power, tumult, health issues and transition they bring), so I thought we all deserved a big Imperial shout-out and virtual hug! Here's the Virgo roll call as my calendar, ravaged liver and wounded pocketbook remember it:

Aug. 23 - Yours Truly
Aug. 28 - Joon Oluchi Lee*
Aug. 29 - Molly McG* & Rosi Pahl (ex-mutti out-law)
Sept. 2 - JTizzle, Anjali A., and Ms. Mark Ng (who had a huge Three-Oh! bash at the Bungalow Club)
Sept. 7 - Gabriela M.
Sept. 8 - Alexis L.
Sept. 9 - Marcia O.
Sept. 13 - ML aka "Moe" Cheng
Sept. 19 - sistah out-law, Helen Cutler

Hit me up on email if you'd like to be added to the roll call, or if I screwed up your date. 'Til then, lay low and let's soothe ourselves by re-organizing our cupboards (literally and spiritually) while looking at the stars and seeing how they shine for us...

*I accidentally flipped Joon and Molly's bdays. But as Ms. McSpiritFingers herself reminded me, she shares the 29th with "wacko Jacko," the artist formerly known as Michael Jackson.

Emperors of the Felt: Poker Stars from The 'Side

2007-08-20T16:12:00.000-07:00

Hometown boys alert!

Two of the poker profession's greatest young players are Inland Emperors. Phil Ivey (L) and Allen Cunningham (R below) were both born in good ol' Riverside, CA. Each have 5 WSOP (World Series of Poker) bracelets, and Cunningham was named the WSOP Player of the Year in 2005.

Ivey actually grew up in New Jersey, which is, let's face it, an entire state with a Riverside ethos. Cunningham, though, stayed here in So. Cal, and even attended my college alma mater, UCLA, before giving up on his engineering degree for the pleasure and profit of the felt. The dude couldn't afford NOT to quit school to become a poker pro. Cunningham raked in bank at the cash games at the card rooms off the 5 and 110 (The Bike, Commerce, Hustler) before he moved to Vega$ to "work" full time.

As some of you may know, I fantasize about this scenario all the time, and have recently started hitting up the card rooms on a bi-monthly basis to keep the "live game" skills sharp. In fact, I'm going to quit smoking at the end of the month so I have a modest tournament bankroll to play with.

I started playing poker in my first year of grad school ('96-'97) with galpals and manfriends from my Berkeley English Department cohort. We knocked back shots of Jameson and bottles of filling, Bay Area micro-brewed beers (why?!?), while playing mixed, low-stakes cash games like Hold 'Em, Anaconda hi-lo, your 5 and 7 card varieties of stud, Black Mariah, Queen's Baseball, and even our own made-up games like "Cabin Fever" (4 up, 4 down, no one wins). It was a great way to blow off steam. As I learned in my eerily accurate horoscope today, strategic card games like "pinochle and poker" are a perfect way for Virgos to unwind when they aren't using housecleaning as therapy. All of us needed our poker time to get sloppy, maneuver, act-out, be sexy, clever or weak--things we weren't allowed to express in our everyday grad school lives. The cards and the game were a repository for all our displaced competitive energies and fears of failure. We dealt by shuffling up and dealing.

This probably explains why the poker world is filled with former academics, teachers, and lots of Ivy Leaguers, from Yale homegame compatriots like Alex Jacob (2006 US Poker Champ) and Vanessa Selbst (heroic butch final tablist at the 2006 WSOP Hold 'Em Pot Limit Event--pictured L), to Andy Bloch from the infamous MIT Blackjack Team. Nicknamed the "Professor of Poker," Howard Lederer and his bad girl sister, Annie Duke, are the children of a boarding school English instructor. Their Harvard-educated parents, now divorced, jokingly refer to themselves as "The greatest breeders of poker players in the country." Even the infamous "Poker Brat," Phil Hellmuth, ended up marrying a woman from the Stanford University psychiatry department. Ah....a match made in heaven. Or perhaps required by social services.

Poker is also the profession for choice for lots of badass immigrant Asian dudes and their sleek and sexy "dragon lady" counterparts (as ESPN likes to hype them). It all started with the legendary Johnny Chan, whose skills were immortalized in Matt Damon's poker flick, Rounders. Some prefer the mulleted "Prince of Poker," Scotty Nguyen, or the trash-talking Men "the Master." And we all gotta give it up to the "soft and silent" Indonesian national hero, Johnny Juanda, and lady sharps like Dee Luong and the media darling, Asian-Canadian sistah Evelyn Ng (R).

As for me, I've been ramping up my Hold 'Em game this summer. Kangagi and I have been lucky enough to find a cool posse of dykes of color scatttered up and down the 5, 105 and 405 FWYS for regular home games, tourney excursions, and tribal casino trips. I've won big (Pechanga). I've lost big (Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas). I've made it to 5 final tables for 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th and 9th place finishes (out of 90 players) in the 2K "play money" tourneys on Full Tilt. And I've experienced full tilt after bad beats in cash games against the zumanity at the Riviera, or even just in our homegame at the hands of Maria "bulitlit" Butalid, our resident "Just For You" pocket-rocket demon.

All this is to say that if you combine my cumulative poker experience with all of the nature/nurture/kismet called forth by the demographies I discussed above--Inland Emperors, Asian immigrants, and disgruntled academics--a future with poker is definitely "in my cards." (Kick drum, cymbal crash).

Cue Belle and Sebastian's "It Could've Been a Brilliant Career."

If any of you out there on the "interweb" from the Greater or Lesser Los Angeles area would like to hook up with our modest home tourneys and cash games (with buy-ins at anywhere from $10-$25, and a winner take all or 1st-3rd place payout structure), holler via email.

The more, the merrier and the bigger the prize pool.

Let's shuffle up and deal, yo!

Balikbayan II: The Multimedia Round-Up

2007-08-14T18:06:00.000-07:00

Cue the Pinay sing-along...

Mr DJ, can I make a request?
Puwede ba 'yung love song ko?
Mr DJ, para sa 'kin ito
Sana ay okay sa iyo
Hihintayin ko na patugtugin mo
Thank you ulit sa iyo
Kahit luma na ang aming awit
Nais po ring marinig

[PIC: My dreamy mirror-stage view from the balcony of our rental in Makati]

Kahit man lang sa aking alaala
ay makasama ko siya
Nasaan man siya
mayro'n mang iba ito'y para sa kaniya
At sana'y nakikinig siya naaalala kaya niya?
Ang love song namin noon na niluma na ng panahon

Mr DJ, salamat sa iyo sumasabay din ako
sa love song namin noon na niluma na ng panahon...

That voice, ladies and gentiles, belongs to none other than the Philippines' reigning grande dame of cinematic love teams and saccharine song-stylings, Sharon Cuneta. In "Mr. DJ," Sharon's 12-year old croon sounds mature for its age, but still endearingly coltish. "Mr. DJ" was her breakout hit way back in 1978, the same year my mom and I first left the Philippines to move to the States. I was 5. Sharon Cuneta was my first unrequited crush. How could a budding lesbeaux not fall in love with her or this song ?!? She asks Mr. DJ (quite politely, peppering her refrain with lots of "thank you's" and apologies) to play her favorite love song just in case her dear heart will hear it and remember their time together, even though her beloved is with someone else and the song itself is old. [RIGHT: Sharon retro tee at the Mall of Asia, Pasay City. The largest mall in--you guessed it--Asia. Oh were I small enough to fit in the petite Pinay sizes!]

Like the pubescent girl singing sweetly to Mr. DJ instead of directly to her lover (gotta appreciate the Catholic mediation), I felt both sentimental and hopeful when I got to Manila. Hopeful that I'd hear, smell and taste the things I knew, while sounding, smelling and feeling familiar enough to my luma ("old") love.

Ang love song namin noon na niluma na ng panahon
(Roughly: The love song that was ours back then, that now ages with the passing days...)

[ABOVE LEFT: Reunion at the Iloilo airport with Tita Mellie, my 75-year old great aunt (grandma's sis), and Bibing, who is technically my aunt but more like a big sis in our extended-fam "compound" in San Antonio Village, Pasig, Metro Manila. RIGHT: Onas family portrait. The baby on the dashing gent's knee is my grandma, Linda Onas Katindig; the girl in the pink dress is Tita Mellie Onas Morales; the adults are my great grandparents...Lola Salud Penuela Onas in the carefree years before WWII.]

The strange thing about it is that Mr. DJ, or rather the collective DJ's of everyday culture--the cab and Jeepney drivers blasting their radios; the barkers at the beach bars in Bora'; the "Palawan Idol" winner singing "More than Words" & Jobim classics between shifts tending bar at El Nido; the Manila Municipal government who use swanky sound systems to pipe soft rock into Rizal Park (the city's monument to the slain national hero, Jose Rizal)-- all managed to play the old songs that were mine.

Para sa 'kin ito.
This is for me.

Of course I know it wasn't really just for me. But my Balikbayan narcissism and diasporic sentimentality allowed me to experience the everyday soundscapes of Manila, Iloilo, Palawan and Boracay as my own personal audiotopias. (I've been really into reading Josh Kun's book lately).

[MONTAGE: Street scenes from Chinatown and Divisoria; (R) Rizal Park].

Maybe some of that narcissism has to do with the musical legacy, for better or worse, of my mom's side of the family. The Katindig clan are often remembered as the Latin Jazz "innovators" of the Philippines. In the late 1950's my grandpa, Romy Katindig, and his 4 bros lead the Latin charge with their shiny tight suits and wicked mambo king looks. I'll try to scan a picture for a future edition of The I. Emperor.

My mom's bro B oy Katindig is carrying on the family name, I suppose, but in the "smooth jazz" realm. Yes, his name is "Boy," like Boy George--but to all you folks not fluent in Pinoyisms out there, "Boy" is the nickname given to the eldest son in just about every Pinoy fam. Anyway, my mom made a go of it for awhile as a budding popstar in Manila. But regardless of her success, she could never get any respect for being the "girl singer" in the fam and it pisses me off to this day. We've all let some of that baggage go ever since my grandfather died in '89...let's just say the macho music man bullshit is something I have experience with, first hand. Anyway...

The same night I landed in Manila, I had a chance to see my great uncle Eddie (grandpa's older bro) work the vibraphone during his weekly gig at Merk's, one of the last remaining 24/7 jazz clubs in the city. Tito Eddie, otherwise known as Eddie K or "the Filipino Kenny G" for his saxational stylings, has been taking a break from the sax, which as some of you know is my instrument too. He's now revisting the instruments he played back when he was in the band with my grandpa Romy. Here's a glimpse of him vibing it up:

Richard Merk, the owner of the club and an old family friend, is a Dean Martin-inspired playboy and crooner who was once linked to the "icon of Philippine cinema," and "the actress of the people," Nora Aunor. That night at the club, through my San Miguel "Strong Ice" goggles, I was was shocked to see Tito Eddie looking so old. It had been awhile since he stayed with us in the I.E. as part of his ill-fated attempt to immigrate to the states. After a botched marriage of greencard convenience with a "working woman" he hooked up with in L.A., he was deported back to Manila. But I digress....As a gal pal exclaims in the video, "he can still kick it!"

[MONTAGE: (L) Merk and Me after too many Chivases on the rocks; (R) from left to right, Kangagi, Blissie, Merk, Joya, Tito Eddie and yours truly, bloated after platefulls of Bangus belly (Bottom L) Merk giving me and Tito Eddie an Earful. Am I dressed like these dudes, or what?!?]

Most of our time in Manila involved reunions and sentimental surprises scored to pop, jazz and Pinoy indie rock. Seeing the uncles and aunts who I grew up with, and with whom I scampered away from the ghosts supposedly shacked up in the ancient Duhat tree in our carport, made me remember how much I hate the bullshit interactions of the profession and other uptight situations. I mean, my balikbayan journey to Manila had the potential to be as artificial as it gets--all the burdens of family reunion that require manufactured sentiments for the long lost cousin/niece/pet. But as I mentioned in my previous post, it was easier than I could've imagined, and for that, rewardingly complex. It all flowed and me and my original homies--Tito Ogie, Tito Jojo, Tita Bing--picked up where we left off. It was as if nothing had really changed except for our waistlines, hairlines, and in my case, my accent. I've resolved to go back as soon as possible. And not just because of the sexy beaches with polvoron sand. [(R) Puka Beach, Bora] I just want to see them again. Color me emo. I certainly don't plan on waiting another 24 years...

Honestly, I was stumped when the Merk called me out from the crowd during Tito Eddie's show and asked me to tell everyone what I thought had changed in the 24 years since I was last home. I made a crack about "democracy" and everyone, including the senators in the audience catching some "sounds" and gin, laughed. The real answer? Everything and nothing. I know what I'm saying right now sounds eerily similar to the the final scene in the stage production of Dogeaters. But give it up to la Hagedorn for hitting the nail on the head with that one, and for reaping the corniness for all its scrumptious truth. What can I say? I'm a sucker for dramatic symmetry. A child of the corn(y).

[(R) Building a mystery...strolling through the garrisons at Intramuros, the original walled city that was Manila during the Spanish Occupation]

Again, all of these feelings require more than words. (OK, lame song title riff, but it's my blog and as far as I know, no one really reads it). I'll let the pictures paint a thousand words...The reason I know all the lyrics to "Feelings," and Bread's "If"?

Ako'y isang Pinoy!

Action Alert: Save My Neighborhood Dairy Queen!

2007-08-14T13:48:00.000-07:00

We interrupt my already interrupted Pilipinas travelogue to call all you Blizzard-loving sistahs to action! I was just informed by J-Sto (after she read another Ramona High School pal, Nova's blog), that MY CHILDHOOD DAIRY QUEEN is on the City of Riverside's redevelopment chopping block.

Yeah sure, the DQ ain't nothin' but a chain, and the "something different" logo calls out the fact that it's trying too hard to be otherwise. But like I say over and over again in the RELOCATIONS project, it's what you make of the chain that transforms it and you. Chains of love, baby!

Even though this DQ (built "mid-century" in the 50's) was part of the whole prefabbing of America, it's still a place with grain and moxie. It's still my place. It was my first hang, a mere S-shaped block and a half away from the 'rents place. [MAP: From Midway down Santee Place to the green arrow on the corner of California and Monroe] I'd ride there on my first banana- yellow 10-speed bike with the brown ram's-head-handlebars and the "I heart My Dog" sticker on the rear reflector. Soundtrack of choice: "Ghost in You" by the Psychedelic Furs on my Walkman. I had to rewind the casette manually to put it on "repeat."

This DQ is where I'd go to cool off after a game of street-baseball using novelty mini-bats and chewed-up tennis balls with the neighborhood fellas, all who adopted me as their immigrant tomboy. This was one of my first tastes of "America" and its dreamy soft-serve.

Plenty has already been leveled at that corner called "California Square." Some of it I don't mind. While I loved the Alpha Beta grocery for its healthy selection of Smash Hits mags, I'm down with the fact that it's evolved into a Maxi Foods, a Mexican chain that services the new demos of West Riverside. My mom buys all her oxtail there for crockpots of Kare-Kare.

But I sure do miss Geno's Pizza (I was the "Centipede" stud). And I owe my wicked Rom-Com knowledge to my very first video store directly across the faux-courtyard from Geno's: Marie's Pick-a-Flick. Marie, the deaf Native American owner, and her Wilford Brimley-eseque former G.I. hubby used to give me free movie posters. I was probably the only 11-year old within the city limits (or anywhere for that matter) who wanted the one for "That's Life!" starring Julie Andrews and Jack Lemon. You gotta give it up to my proto-geriatrica.

I ultimately graduated from DQ slushies to Flaming Hot Cheetos and bottles of Cisco, Bartles & Jaymes and Club "Sex on the Beach" at the liquor store tucked next to the produce entrance of the AB. The owners confused me with my mom and didn't card me all through my senior year at RHS, so I was the BBPOC (big booze pimp on campus) for Thespian cast parties. H-O-TTT. Aside from the DQ and its precarious life, that liquor store is all that's left of the California Square that held me ever so tight through my awkward adolescence. Even though it's just another So. Cal stripmall, these places are special to me and to so many. Each square foot of that transient lease-space has staged countless rites of passage.

If this isn't enough to make you want to run out and chain yourself to the bulldozers, maybe Nova's story will:

Sunday, August 05, 2007
Save the Riverside Dairy Queen!

Many of you in the Inland Empire see all the new development in the IE. Some of the developments are no doubt for the better; the Riverside Plaza is so much better than the old Monkey Wards building. The latest is revamping the shopping center on Monroe/California Avenue and the demolition of the old Dairy Queen building. I believe this should be seriously reconsidered by the City. Those of you who reside in the 'Side know this little building with two walk up windows is nostalgic; it's also part of the charm of Riverside that might be quickly dismissed by those who never truly lived in Riverside. This Dairy Queen has history, memories, long lines, and not to mention some good blizzards! It's unique from most Dairy Queens because it's a tiny building built in the 50s, and walk-up windows that only sell soft serve, no food. There was no air conditioning or cash registers until the 90s! [Photo below features Riverside resident, Melissa Lewandowski, who began the letter-writing campaign to city officials].

The DQ is one of the rare buildings left in Riverside that have a little history and charm. In LA there are tons of cool old buildings that remain [comment from I.Emperor--"It's an epidemic sistah. I suppose the grass is always greener"]. An LA business like Pink's in an old structure that hasn't changed since the 40s, but people still love it after so many decades. The DQ in Riverside is certainly no Pink's in LA [I. Emperor--"It sure isn't...it's BETTER!"], but is nonetheless legendary in its own vein. This hits home for me since this particular Dairy Queen is where I had my first job. Interestingly enough, today I work for a city/redevelopment agency that would generally take the opposing position in this situation. For those of you who still live in the Riv, if the Dairy Queen means anything to you, write the Mayor & appropriate City Council Members. It may not be too late! Please click on this PRESS ENTERPRISE article for details on the story: Thanks!!!
Nova

Balikbayan: The Metanarrative

2007-07-30T05:00:00.000-07:00

I'll get us started in true Pinoy fashion with a song. The EraserHeads' hipster cover of a Hotdog classic, "Manila." Given the popularity of canned meats in the 'pinas, especially WWII-era mess like SPAM and Vienna Sausages (mmmmm all that nitrate goodness!), I always found it totally appropriate that one of the Philippines' most definitive and best selling pop bands of all time is actually named "Hotdog."

As the song says, I'm goin' back to Manila. Or rather I just went back for my first balikbayan journey as a grown-up without parental chaperones. Balikbayan translates literally to "return to country" in English, but refers in a more spiritual and colloquial sense to the Pinoys and Pinays living permanently abroad who return to the country, and who implicitly always have a country to return to. The official def, according to the Philippine National Statistical Coordination Board (for immigration purposes) is "those of Filipino Descent who acquired foreign citizenship and permanent status abroad." This was my first time back since I was 10-yrs. old, circa 1983, and since I acquired my US citizenship and passport in 1989, when I was 16.

Needless to say this was all a very big deal for me, my beloved Kangagi who accompanied me, and my fam waiting anxiously in the I.E., concerned that my So. Cal accented Tagalog would somehow lead to cultural alienation in forms both benign and fantastically violent. It's the kind of stuff that inspires memoirs and fictionalizations of fuzzy disaporic feelings and deep psychic drama.

Beyond the flipside (so to speak) I've also imagined that this could be the moment that all the bullshit stuff played out in academe about racial authenticity would finally get to my head, and that my "failure" as a brown subject in the US would be affirmed by the threat and promise of the "cultural alienation" feared by my own kinsfolk (primed as they are by the paranoia-inducing local news).

As if things weren't heavy enough, this was also the kind of sitch more often than not aggravated by white scholars who (consciously and un) like to to see brown folks inhabiting their "real" exotic selves, while waiting with baited breath to bestow ethical judgments upon those who might fail to fit the bill of "a real person of color"--whatever that might mean. In collusion with cultural nationalists in the academy of the most self-serving stripe, these culture vultures (very literally) just can't wait to call you out for a coconut: brown on the outside, white on the inside. And there's nothin' like a balikbayan journey and its potential pitfalls to tickle the imperialist impulse of folks who like to collect color, and purport to know you and "your people" better than you do.

But back to Hotdogs.

Play it again (this time, the original):

Fact of the matter is, despite all the twisted emotional stuff I freehanded for you up above, the experience of going back to Manila after "walking the streets of San Francisco," and trying all the "rides at Disneyland" as a post-diasporic So. Cal suburbanite, proved to be way easier (and for being so easy, way more complicated) than I or anyone else ever expected. Like the song "Manila" in all of its incarnations--the scratchy, beat-laden, remixed cover of a tinny original that itself covers the musical idioms of the jauntier Billy Joel songbook, crossed with Latin horn shouts, and the Americana Dixieland of Disney's Carnation Plaza, which is in turn culled from the French quadrilles, blues and bluegrass of Cajun, Creole, BlaLatino New Orleans--my balikbayan journey was "quesorap," a punny ad I saw at the Budget Mart convenience shop in Iloilo. And we all know how much Pinoys love puns.

Queso (Spanish for cheese) smushed together with sarap (Tagalog for "tasty"), combines for the English equivalent of "cheesetastic," while adding the post-colonial, Spagalog layer of meaning with "Que sarap" ("very sarap," or very tasty).

I'm gonna spare y'all a more complicated explanation for, and explication of, all these sensations and insist for now that we keep it simple. That we keep the cultural affirmation I experienced for my love of soft rock and fried foods in the Pilipinas as simple and profound as it really was and is. As simply profound as the pop architectonics of the song that asks we be brought back again and again to the place I've never stopped knowing in my soul and stomach, despite having been "gone too long..."

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Stay tuned for Part II, the not-so metanarrative that promises to be picture heavy. But before then, another take on "Manila" from the pop It-Girl, Ms. Right Now, Sarah Geronimo:

Quickie, Mart - Kawa Market

2007-06-13T12:29:00.000-07:00

There's trouble in Rivercity (R: Fig. 1, One man's Orientalism is another's...? The Chinese Pagoda at the Downtown Public Library, Riverside, CA). I should've acted sooner and re-posted this information courtesy of a non-partisan, myspace civic activist group called SAVE-RIVERSIDE. The Save Riversidians recently commented on one of my old posts, "Show Me the Mizithra," about the City of Riverside's dastardly plans to shut down Kawa Market, a 100-year-old mom & pop shop that became an Asian market some 30 years ago. In that post I went on and on about the "resilience of mom & pop" operations in Riverside and reminisced about the alive and kickin' Kawa, the place my mom and I went together to buy Pinoy treats like the pugent and salty breakfast fish, tuyo or smoked, shredded tinapa with some 2-liter kegs of Squirt or Cactus Cooler to wash it all down. The Mayor and his merry band of citycouncilfolks made a chump outta me.

Kawa has no future. Its owners Lin Lin (aka "William") and Wendy Guan have surrendered the property to the City's "eminent domain." In the words of Press Enterprise Columnist, Dan Bernstein (an accomplished whistler who my dad accompanied on the piano for a gig at RCC's Landis Auditorium), "Riverside surrenders something too."

Where is your scrappy soul, my hometown?

Its raggedy afterglow remains, perhaps, on homemade videos such as this one featuring Riverside City Council Candidate, Mike Gardner, bellied up to the Kawa counter for some good old fashioned politicking alongside the Guans. For more curiously poignant "Save Kawa" video (so much to say, so little time), see the "Save Riverside" site linked above or visit Riverside Land Grab:

From the East to Electrelane (with Tenderness)

2007-06-01T11:31:00.000-07:00

I'm knee deep in my summer of indulgence. A better jag than my usual summers of indolence. I've had plenty to write about from So. Cal's east, Inland and adjacent, including a "geographies of Long Beach Pride" meditation (technically south...but "the east is so many things" qua Electrelane). The LBC pride chat has been wedged in the back of my foggy noggin ever since my Delta y Kappa posse collectively gorged a Medieval Times-inspired roasted turkey leg before Jennifer Hudson's set on the mainstage. But today, with the slight shiver of an L.A. June gloom in the air, and with a faded base-tan from my own recent overcast off-days spent rolling in the sand in Laguna and Malibu, I'm going to wax tender about my week spent gloriously awash in the sounds of another beach town's finest, Brighton's ELECTRELANE.

I'm a relative latecomer to the band's music, which is to be expected from an I.E. popslut, no doubt. I'd only heard of them about 3 years ago despite their nearly decade-long career, and went to see them for the first time at the Troubadour in 2005 when they opened for Dutch punk grandaddies, The Ex. I was actually lured to the show by a coterie of academic friends, one of whom had (and I presume still has) an intense fanboy lust for guitarist, Mia Clarke. I came away from the show enamored of the all-female band from Brighton and less than enthused by the rage-against-age Nederlander masculinity of The Ex.

Little did I realize that later that same year, Electrelane's music would serve as the soundtrack for the torturous unfurling of my own new love story, my own new sense of desire, friendship and place. The Kangagi brought Electrelane full force into my life with a mournful mix simply dubbed "Late Nights." It was quickly loaded to my pod as I retreated to Europa, Europa to sort things out over winter break, where I listened to "Birds" on endless, interpretive repeat as I wandered through Deutschland forests and sludgy Parisian streets trying to figure out what the sonic narrative meant to us. Would mean for us.

In retrospect some obscurists and completists would call us out for our trite song choice--for scoring a made-for-tv moment of puppy love to the melodic single instead of to one of the band's more sweeping and "cinematic" instrumental explorations. But aren't the predictable conventions of love part of what endows the whole experience with an element of formalist pleasure? And isn't it that same, strange dialectic of urgent improvisation and impeccable formalism that makes Electrelane sound so fucking good?

Two years since and the Kangagi and I are jolly muppets in love who get to hang with the band--and most importantly, we get to hear them play live whenever they roll through So. Cali. You see, little did I know in the midst of all my Shelleyan brooding that Kangagi's good pal (let's call her D.Mac for the purposes of this blog) is lovebirds with the incomparable Emma Gaze, resident heartthrob and co-founder of Electrelane, along with vocalist, keyboardist, virtuoso, Verity Susman (alter-ego Vera November). Emma (E-z) is not only an "ace" of a good time (did I use that Brit idiom properly?), but she drums with the disciplined antsiness of a British schoolboy. At least she does in my imaginary, which is shaped by grad skool Victoriana and Inland Empire New Ro' Anglophilia. I mean it as the highest of compliments.

This week we had several Patrick Fugit in Almost Famous (but much cooler) moments courtesy of D. Mac and E-z, be it peeking from the wings at the sold out crowds at the Greek as Arcade Fire rumbled through their set, or smoking responsibly on the tour bus so as not to set Griffith Park ablaze. It was also on the bus where we got to hear pocket-sized mack daddy bassist, Ros Murray, wax poetic about the facial expressions of Mary Lynn Rasjkub (aka Chloe O'Brian) on 24. Perhaps this obsession with tempo and gesture in its primetime formats is what makes Ros the kind of languidly cool bass player who can keep a rhythm section honest.

But the best moments were reserved for their return to the Troubadour last night. This time, Electrelane were the headliners of a sold-out show. While catching them on tour with Arcade Fire, one of the moment's IT bands from Canadia, is certainly something to behold, especially in an atmosphere of nachos, tumblers of beer and backwards baseball caps at the corporatized Greek, there's nothing like seeing the band in their own moment, amongst their own fans in the admittedly gentrified but still studiously scruffy Troub.

Opening for them was the French queer popster and one-woman tour de force, Tender Forever. TF served up delcious nibbles of chanson in a sonorous rasp that would make Bjork jealous. Melanie Valera (she who is forever tender) provided one of the evening's best moments when she covered Justin Timberlake's "My Love" with just her voice and a ukelele, subsequently making the pop whores amongst us ticklish and grateful, while challenging the hipster-curious to loosen up a bit and quit pretending to hate melodies.

By the time Electrelane took the stage the crowd was squirming with anticipation. They were ready to genuflect before Verity's power chords on the organ and Mia's metal-jam riffs delivered with such elegant control that it was like seeing some wild, pheromonic scent harvested into a precious glassblown bottle of eau de toilette. A few tunes in, Electrelane played their latest single, "To the East," an Ostalgie lovesong saturated with a kind of wistful comfort. Any song with a nod to Gdansk (a place I fetishized as the site of a major women's tennis tournament in my proto frat-dyke days) deserves to be a hit.

From my vantage point at the far end of stage left, I could see the band was begging for more on the monitors. But regardless of what they might've heard from onstage, the sound was perfect. The band was tight and sonically communicative with each other, as well as the audience. The rhythm section was precise, the proggy progressions and jams were disarming rather than intimidating. The crowd shouted. The crowd called. As my desperate grasp at the eau de toilette metaphor above belies, I actually don't feel like I have the capacity to describe what I heard, saw and felt on stage last night with any veracity or eloquence. If there were enough youtubers in the world, I suppose I'd be able to find a lovely bootleg clip of Electrelane performing their signature cover of Springsteen's "I'm On Fire" as their encore. Instead, I'll close with a vid clip of their new single from No Shouts, No Calls.

"It could be home...it could be home...it could be home..."
For now this music is.

The Stars are Hollow

2007-05-18T12:50:00.000-07:00

My butch cred, tenuous as it already is, might suffer a blow from this admission. I blubbered like a baby the other night because my beloved Gilmore Girls screwballed their way through the quaint corners of Stars Hollow for the very last time. Though I'm usually pretty damn diligent about keeping up with developments in the televisual landscape, I was totally checked out this time around. I was so consumed by end of the semester bureaucracy that I didn't even hear that the show was cut from the languishing CW prime-time line-up for next season.

Or was I just being a delinquent fan? I've been so wrapped-up in this season's Idolatry that I'd let GG episodes gather dust in my Tivo playlist until I felt like having "a very menses evening" with my fave trash snack: Totino's wafer thin extra- crispy Supreme Pizza.

I know lots of fans have moaned about how awful the first half of this, the 7th (and ultimately final) season, played out. Lorelai marrying Christopher in Paris? The tedious plotline about Luke's custody battle for the irritating "oops kid" he sired for Sherilyn Fenn? Both industry and popular wisdom thought the show was done-zo after Amy Sherman Palladino decided to relinquish most of the writing duties to other scribes last year. But this is not the stuff I want to dwell on here.

I'm just gonna miss it, damn it. I'll miss Luke's infuriating yet oddly endearing butch woundedness. Like many butches, he was afflicted with an old-school lesbionic aphasia around Lorelai. Never could say how he really felt or what he really wanted. Always underselling his efforts. Always hanging back. Waiting for the right time, but temporally challenged. FUN FACT: the character of Luke was originally written for a woman. That says something, I think, about the tone of this TV romance. HOTTT.

I'll also miss the girls themselves. The inappropriate desires they enacted and engendered in others. The finale, despite taking some flack from TV Watchers in journoland, the blogsphere and beyond, was appropriately quiet and absurd. No big weddings and cymbal crashes. Just a party and the butch-bottomy remark from Luke to Lorelai, "I just like to see you happy" before they kiss. The show ends with a shot of the girls chatting and chewing as they so often did in Luke's diner. It's an external shot, and they're framed by the plate glass of the diner while Luke himself arranges ketchup bottles in the background. This creates the effect of our noses being pressed up against the glass, as if to say "this world continues elsewhere: you just can't watch anymore."

When I started working on my RELOCATIONS book project, I imagined ways in which the "small town ethos" (like Stars Hollow's) often became appropriated by suburban artists and suburban types as an analogue for their own eccentric encounters. These encounters might provide a precious 'grain' for those daily experiences alienated from the "contact" of urban settings. The oddball everyday. That's what GG served up in generous greasy helpings.

The show also had some great tunes, long before gaudier forms of music branding hit the primetime scene (The O.C., Grey's Anatomy, etc.--Kangagi has a great paper about this and the Patsavas TV soundtrack empire). The hipster soundtrack was attributed to Lane Kim, the Korean drummergirl whose main mischief involved hiding cd's from her 7th Day Adventist mom in the floorboards of her room. I personally could've done without the "town troubadour" in seasons 1 and 2 (a pal of the Palladinos), but now that the town square is silent, I'll probably miss him too. In honor of the Gilmore Girls' soundscape, I created my own "Stars Hollow Mix" of tunes from the show (featured incidentally or as part of the diegesis) a couple of years ago. I shared it with some core GG watchers like Doylie and Gia. I've added a couple since this season. I share it now with you so the stars won't feel quite as hollow...

1. "I Can't Get Started" - Ella Fitzgerald
2. "Cities in Dust" - Siouxsie and the Banshees
3. "The Crystal Lake" - Grand Daddy
4. "Know Your Onion" - The Shins
5. "Flower Girl from Bordeaux" - Esquivel
6. "Teenager" - Camera Obscura
5. "Why Does it Always Rain on Me?" - Travis
6. "Time Bomb" - Rancid
7. "Legal Man" - Belle and Sebastian
8. "Church of the Poison Mind" - Culture Club
9. "Que Sera Sera" - Doris Day
10. "Suburban Homeboy" - Sparks
11. "The Man Who Sold the World" - David Bowie
12. "The Killing Moon" - Echo and the Bunnymen
13. "I Will Always Love You" - Dolly Parton
14. "My Little Corner of The World" - Yo La Tengo

And a late addition (in video format):

Ringtones | Genoa | mp3 downloads

Empire States

2007-04-28T11:09:00.000-07:00

The emperor is bedraggled after a long couple of months of hustling and flowing at fine institutions all across the US of A (see the "halogen lit" tour I alluded to several posts ago). Never has my heart simmered in the refrains of Journey's "Faithfully" with such earnestness. I'm obviously lying about the "never" part. [Picture: Main Street, Riverside, CA ca. 1920]

Anyway...smack dab in the middle of Emperor's road show was a "homecoming" date of sorts. Even though I never went to or taught at UCR, Highlander-land is close to my heart. And not just because it's a stone's throw from D'Elia's Grinders. I had the privilege of giving the keynote this year at their annual (dis)junctions grad student conference, one of the biggest (in my experience) and fun grad student gatherings here in SoCal. Shout-out to the organizers Patrick Randolph and Helen Lovejoy for wrangling everyone together.

(dis)junctions also marked the first time my folks ever came to see me "do my thing," and I knew I'd be in big trubs if I didn't tell them I had a gig in our proverbial backyard. I warned them I'd be speaking some deep queer theory--basically another language, not only to native Tagalog speakers, but to plenty of folks "in the biz" as well.

Grandma's response?
"I do not care if I don't understand you. You just better have good style while you're doing it!"
(This explains a lot about me, and my Mamang, the mangled faux-Tagalog name I bestowed upon her instead of the traditional "lola" for grandmother).

My mom, meanwhile, asked if I wanted her to bring sandwiches in her wheelie stay-kool lunch bag just in case "people got hungry." Talk about an Erma Bombeck moment. Needless to say, I declined. But I was nice this time and tried not to reenact that awkward moment in The Prince of Tides when Jason Gould, ridiculously kitted out in football shoulder pads, rebuffs Barbra's/Momma Lowenstein's offer of pastrami sammiches after a rigorous session of butch lessons with Nick Nolte in Central Park.

In the end, my mom still managed to smuggle in a stash of homemade peanut butter cookies (since when did she start baking?!?), which she promptly distributed to the Kangagi and Mr. Troll, who were there to support me with spiritual foam fingers and glitter signs. My mom also managed to spread the cookie love to a jolly if underslept cohort of some of my USC graduate students who presented amazing papers. "So proud, naman!" Before the talk, my mamang pulled the ol' Catholic mass "turn-to-greet-your-neighbor" maneuver and announced to an unsuspecting conference participant sitting next to her, "I am the grandma." (Imagine rolled "r's"). Said conference participant was slightly confused until Doylie revealed la familia was in the house when she introduced me. [Picture L-R, My mom and my grandmother having "halo-halo" at the Salo-Salo Grill in MoValley shortly before the talk.] My dad, meanwhile, put on a show for the colleagues who came up to me after the talk by managing to chug an entire jug of water without ever having the bottle touch his lips.

We capped the conference weekend off with another "research excursion," first to the Menage, and then on to VIP (sans parentals) with some of USC's finest: Princess Charles, Scotland and "the Married Girl." Mr. Troll started a curly-fry trend; T.Ham rocked the dancehall once the "reservations only" drag show ended; Kangagi and I actually won a doubles pool showdown, and we all met some nice kids from Yucaipa who make the trek out to Riverside just to find something to do. Sadly, the RAZR pix I snapped of the his-and-hers Venus de Milo and David statues above the bar are all gone because of a phone mishap too boring to go into here.

A mere week later I found myself in the empire state, in New York City (imagine the Pace Picante Sauce pronunciation) for the splashy AFTER CBGB: Gender, Sexuality and the Future of Subculture event organized by that sharped dress braniac who brings sexyback to academe, Tavia Nyong'o. It was great fun, and I especially loved my old gradskool pal, Matmos co-founder, and Soft Pink Truth-teller, Drew Daniel's glorious riff on the 80s East Bay punk band, Gender Confusion. One of my favorite outcomes of the event was that after my usual suburban riff, James Spooner of Afro Punk fame espoused the glories of hitting up suburban music clubs, not only on the east coast, but back in the day when he was growing up in the "I.E.-adjacent" Apple Valley. He even reminisced about taking excursions with his crew to Riverside's legendary all ages punk venue, Spanky's.

The rest of the weekend was a Pinay-fest and karaoke revolution. 'Day--that's Dr. Christine Bacareza Balance to you--had a stellar dissertation defense prefaced by rich food intake and even richer intellectual conversation. With her Imelda coif and her Pinay posse surrounding her (including her sweetheart si Gars, Lucy Mae San Pablo Burns and Jessica Hagedorn--as well as myself and soon to be USC Mellon postdoc, Robert Diaz) she put on a dazzling display of ube cake-fueled chat with her committee consisting of the Imperial Princess la Shimakawa, lady Munoz, Tavia, Kandice Chuh, and LMSP Burns. [Right: J.Hags and 'Day celebrating at the end] Sadly, the QBN MAMI and Freestyle Queen, Doctora Alex Vazquez's sister chose to have her baby on the same day, so our homegirl in piracy and hoop-earringed dreams could not be there.

Here's a quickie yearbook spread of that afternoon featuring lots of Pinay on Pinay love, a couple of Cubanas/os and some East Asian sistahs for good measure...

If only my mom were there to bring the pot of adobo. But that craving was taken care of with a mass migration, apres defense, to Cendrillon for goblets of Calamansi Margaritas and nouvelle Pinoy cuisine. (The daing na trout on garlic rice was sarap to the max!)

Appropriately, the night was capped off by a frenzy of Karaoke at a little Chinatown fusion spot called Asiaroma. I'll soft-disolve into a photo archive soon. I will pause to say that among the highlights of the evening were multiple duets featuring JJ Chinois and Nao Bustamante taking their performance art to an entirely new level. Since the informal riff I delivered at the CBGB event was all about the Karaoke revolution, I'll let that text provide the backdrop for a slide-show of our song-fueled intimacies. I'd like to think we brought a little of the I.E. back to NYC that night...
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FUTURES of A FORGOTTEN PAST
For today's event we were asked to pick a clip that speaks to a future or history of a subculture that we love. This filled me with a tremendous sense of anxiety. I felt I had to pick something really cool and underground that would attest to a cosmo hipster fetish for obscurity and completism. But when I thought about something I’ve watched over and over again in the past couple of years—something that harkened back to those nights spent scarfing curly fries near the pooltable, or watching music videos unspool at alternate house beats in the corner of the I.E.'s stripmall video clubs, I couldn’t help but play THIS of all clips

I shared these repeat viewings with my old pal and artiste extraordinaire, Lynne Chan aka JJ Chinois. And we luxuriated in this gaudy scene of unbridled vocal prowess and physical awkwardness. Carrie is singing HEART of all things, and the duo has been inducted into the pantheon of rock "dykeons" despite the fact that they aren’t practicing Sapphic sisters. (Their cameo on the L-Word in Season 2 only sealed the deal). By drooling over this clip, were JJ and I just a couple of post-suburban brown butches reliving a forbidden lust for the high school prom queen circa 1991? She sure ain’t in Checotah anymore. As it turns out, my andro-hooves "aShane" girlfriend actually WAS the prom queen in her Sweet Valley high school. But I digress...

JJ and I didn’t even grow up in the same ‘burbs. Very different ones, in fact, in opposite parts of the golden state.

JJ grew up in Cupertino/Saratoga—The cradle of the so-called “creative classes" and the home of Macintosh Computers.

I grew up in Riverside—Home of a Rohr defense manufacturing plant since shut down, that was already an industrial substitute for the citrus industries of yore.

So what DID make us loop Carrie on repeat? Was it the same thing that brought us together when we met in college—studiously repressing our suburban histories as we aspired towards indie-dom—until we realized we could split the harmony parts to the chorus of “Galileo” and spit Hall and Oates’ “M-E-T-H-O-D- O-F L-O-V-E” without dropping a beat? Was it about the fact that our future as members of various subcultures would always be defined by an unacknowledged past?

What about the sub-cultural desires spawned somewhere else? Born in provinces, or in the suburbs….in and around malls, in schoolyards after hours or in the words of Alex Vazquez, on the “slippery naugahyde seats of a Dade County Public School Bus?"

Made in garages (thank you Christine), in the dormitories at UC Irvine (thanks PJA), in basements, attics, public softball fields radiant in twilight smog, their abandoned dugouts serving as open bars stacked with Tallboys and Hennessy. It is, was and will be in these “transnational suburban hubs” that we bump to AZNBlatino Freestyle (thanks again, Alex Vazquez). There that we conduct our pinoy Practices of Everyday Performance like the karaoke in our parents’ carport or at the community rec. center (Christine Bacareza Balance). In many respects what America understands as acts of Idolatry are performances cribbed directly from an old Pinoy variety show long before American Idol was born. A show called Student Canteen, where girls "Prom D" or pulled “prom D probinces,” barrios and squatter areas would “break it gently” to Angela Bofill:

I DO YOU BETTER THAN YOU.

Like Idol and the Pinays that have graced its neon stages (Jasmine Trias, Camile Velasco), Student Canteen continues to be beloved by the so-called "Prom D’s" whose children are still provincial, even after they supposedly “ARRIVED” in places like West Covina and Torrance.

In these transnational sub-urban hubs ('cause lots of immigrants can’t afford to live in cities anymore) we honed our subcultural skills through singalongs with our sistahs or bros, by choice more than blood, while riding 3-across in the backseats of Nissans on the 60 West—insert your stretch of freeway, bridge or tunnel here…

The radio plays our favorite song, and that's what keeps me holdin' on...baby do you miss me? Now that I'm gone?

When I was young I'd listen to the radio, waitin' for my favorite songs. When they played I'd sing along...it made me smile...

The clip I played today, one that dares to revel in Idolatry, isn’t just the cry of that forgotten and some would argue justifiably forgetable, sub-urban past of arbitrary immigrant and queer musical discovery. The kind of musical discovery that doesn't happen in a hip little record store with snobby salesclerks, but is dredged up from the bargain bins at K-Mart, amply stocked with Air Supply’s greatest hits (such a smash in the South Pacific). Or it's summoned forth from the the Columbia House Catalogue—10 Cassettes for a penny!—that came in the mail with our mothers’ invitations from Ed McMahon. Indeed, what Carrie Underwood gives us is a glimpse at a future heralded by the Casio trumpet blasts of an empty orchestra.

It’s THE KARAOKE REVOLUTION people, on and beyond your PS3’s…(aren’t gamers another sub-urban subculture thriving, mutating colliding?) I would argue that this Karaoke Revolution is in its sinews if not on its surface, a queer, working class, racialized revolution not cool enough (just yet) to make it on a white hipster’s tshirt. Not the cool that the creative classes trade as capital, and that makes cities too expensive for a place like CBGB. Now CBGB’s future is purportedly in a Las Vegas mall. Everyone’s saying subculture is dead.

Maybe subculture hasn’t died…maybe it’s simply RELOCATED…

Relocated back to where it came from but felt too embarrassed to name…where the kids have nothing to do and don’t give a damn ‘bout their bad reputation as freaks, geeks, queers, immigrants, gangstas, minimum wagers—yes, they live in the suburbs. The thrill is there. There where you ultimately learned enough skillz in your high school choir to bust "Alone" apart on National TV with open throated ferocity, face framed by a Jon Benet mane, sleepy (or is it sultry?) winks of glittery eye-makeup for emphasis…

And it is there where you sounded sweet and low like the saccharine with the same name. Like Karen Carpenter of Downey, CA. She honed her chops as a female lyric tenor in the Long Beach State University choir (choir geeks, band geeks—aren't these subcultures?). This was shortly before she and her brother Richard launched a little musical form we call the POWER BALLAD (Heart’s “Alone,” if not the earliest, is one of the best). In 1972, with “Goodbye to Love,” before there was a 710 freeway to slice across Long Beach and graze El Sereno along the way, the Carpenters created the spark that would inevitably ignite the world with innumerable butane flames, thanks to Tony Peluso of “Instant Joy’s” distorted "melodic fuzz" guitar solo.

What lies in the future is a mystery to us all…
I’ll say goodbye to you with a farewell clip featuring the form that taught us how to cry "Alone" in our bedrooms with our headphones on in the dark until we found those precious others who did the same in nowhere elses...while an unmistakable voice sang with a tender faraway sorrow, as someone played a sad guitar…

P(i)MP: Or All I Wanna Do is make Pop with You

2007-03-22T14:36:00.000-07:00

Inspired by yesterday's inaugural PMP (Pop Music Project) "listening lunch" at Trojanland (a project at the Lear Center spearheaded by the incomparable P(i)MP of public intellectualism, Josh Kun) I thought it was high time the Emperor offered another quick and dirty update. Apparently, one of the PMP's future projects may involve an interactive mapping of Southern Cali's soundscapes--something I've been mulling over in my Ernie-shaped head for quite awhile.

Recently, for a different kind of listening party called "Sir Mix-Alot" hosted by Jennifer Doyle, diva of Scrappy Soccer and curator of the art that makes us cry, I put together a playlist inspired by commutes, micro-migrations and the 60 FWY. None of it is especially obscure or collector-driven like the playlists of other mixed-cd clubs I belong to. But it definitely captures some of the middle-brow precociousness of an adolescent, Anglophilic I.E. popslut...all growed up. It also captures some of the acccents and the ensuing "accent elimination" of spaces prior and unforseen.

I was always fascinated by the opening scene in My Fair Lady (the movie, even though I'm a big Julie Andrews-as-'Liza Doo' loyalist). Henry Higgins busts out his imperialist ivory tower skillz and taxonomizes the accents of passersby in Covent Garden, including his future gay lover Col. Pickering's, before taking on the project that is his fair lady. Higgins reads "Cheltenham, Harrow, Cambridge and India" in Pickering's intonation, and a flaccid scholarly friendship is formed. What I'm trying to get at by way of a big detour through my own high-faggotry and Broadway jazz-hands, is that I feel like the playlist I'm about to share with you also has an accent with a spatial genealogy.

"Manila, Honolulu, Riverside, Berkeley, Los Angeles." Or maybe it's "St. Paul's, Maemae Elementary, RHS, RCC, Cal and $C." INLAND EMPEROR'S EAR CANDY has a sprinkle of immigrant lovesong (Olivia Newton John and Cliff Richard's "Suddenly"), a hearty dose of the Columbia House Cassette Club Catalogue (General Public's "Never You Done That," Wham's "Ray of Sunshine" from their 1982 "Fantastic" album), and a lifetime of menses and muppetry (Sarah McLachlan's rendition of "Rainbow Connection," the Indigo Girls covering Jesus Christ Superstar). All of this is leavened with a little indie muzak (Moldy Peaches, Beta Band, Broken Social Scene) and newer stuff by relative unknowns (like Melange LaVonne, the German pop band Wir Sind Helden--actually quite popular...in Germany) just to prove I went to grad school and learned how to pretend to be "cosmopolitan," a term I'm not sure I'm totally down to recuperate just yet.

1. "Ray of Sunshine" - Wham U.K.
2. "Never You Done That" - General Public
3. "Alleged" - The Beta Band
4. "Denkmal" - Wir Sind Helden
5. "Jorge Regula" - The Moldy Peaches
6. "Van Nuys (Es Very Nice)" - Los Abandoned
7. "The Bus" - Melange LaVonne
8. "Photobooth" - Death Cab for Cutie
9. "Major Label Debut" - Broken Social Scene
10. "Rainbow Connection" - Sarah McLachlan
11. "Cemet'ry Gates" - The Smiths
12. "Rhythm of the Night" (Remix) - El Debarge
13. "I Confess" - The English Beat
14. "Everything's Alright" - The Indigo Girls in "Jesus Christ Superstar-A Resurrection"
15. "Picture Postcard" - The Promise Ring
16. "Suddenly" - Olivia Newton John and Cliff Richard
17. "Yo (Excuse Me Miss)" - Chris Brown
18. "Somebody" - Depeche Mode

I've much more to say about the idioms in which each song speaks, but to invoke Hall and Oates, "I'm Out of Time."

Let me leave you with an "honorable mention" in video format. This latter-day Heart hit inspired my title, and DEMANDS a special shout out for its post-Aids hetero-bodied gay cruising motif (picking up the swarthy stranger in a leather jacket...in the rain) crossed with a sneaky insemination narrative that can only be rivaled by Bette and Tina's "it takes three to make baby" tango in the pilot episode of The L-Word. Just watch what I mean...

Tours of Duty (Free) + An Interview with Melange LaVonne

2007-02-19T15:05:00.000-08:00

My book proposal is (to cite Laguna Beach) "done-zo," and yet I find myself careening towards many more tasks and much administrative insanity. I won't bore with the minutiae of the Inland Emperor's day job, but before I launch into my exclusive tete-a-tete with the up-and-coming I.E. based hip-hop diva, Melange Lavonne (pictured on the left and featured in the 2007 Homo Revolution Hip-Hop Tour, the first of its kind), allow me to list some of my own "tour dates" for upcoming talks in flourescent-lit rooms near you. Friends in these spots shoot me an email! Can't wait to see you:

March 1 - Cerritos College, on a guest panel about "Gender and Hip-Hop"
March 13 - University of Illinois, Urbana Champaign, invited talk, "Contact, Creativity and Klub Fantasy" for Asian-American Studies, Latino/a Studies, Department of English and Gender and Women's Studies
March 24 - Swarthmore College, Sager Symposium Keynote on "Love Among the Ruins: Butch Intimacies in the Wake of Gentrification"
April 6 - UC Riverside, Disjunctions Conference Keynote on "Inland Emperors"
April 13 - New York University, "After CBGB, Now What?: Gender, Sexuality and the Future of Subculture," invited panelist, sponsored by NYU Performance Studies and CGSG, organized by Tavia Nyong'o
April 20 - EMP Pop Music Conference, Seattle, WA, panel on "Suburban Soundscapes" with CBB, AV, PJA
May 12 - UC Santa Cruz, "Historicism, Homonormativity and Queer Political Formations" Conference Keynote (other keynotes are Marcia Ochoa, Jasbir Puar and Lisa Duggan), on "Relocations: Queer of Color Suburban Imaginaries."
July 26-29 - New Orleans, Association for Theater in Higher Education Conference, invited panel with Jennifer Devere Brody and Ramon Rivera-Servera.

And now on with the show...
I first saw Melange Lavonne perform at this year's FUSION fest at Barnsdall art park, and I was immediately struck by her skills, smooth rhymes, and (from afar) her uncanny resemblance to Halle Berry gone Inland gansta. She spit the crowd to its feet, and despite all the hype around the night's headliner, Deadlee (one of her tourmates on the 2007 Homo Revolution Tour) Ms. Melange stole the show. As her chosen stage name suggests, Melange is a "motley assortment of things; a mixture, a medley"--a badass with game, an artist with attitude, yet an approachable sweetheart with a folksy fondness for where she's from. She's raunchy, yet devout. She's got the profile of a player, but the heart of a real homebody.

Mel, as she signs her own name, is also a survivor. Not in the "glamour camo" Destiny's Child sort of way, although she could very well pull that vibe off if she wanted. Mel's not only had to fight the predictable scourges of sexism, homophobia and racism in the music industry (and let's face it, in this wide world of ours), but she's also battled several types of cancer since childhood. We chatted about all this and more over a series of genial IM chats and emails, since neither of us were willing to brave that traffic on the 60, East or West.

KT: Recently “Entertainment Weekly” made a fuss about the fact that female MC’s, rappers and producers (Li’l Kim, Missy, even Latifah back in the day) are being eclipsed by the Male Rapper/Female R&B singer collaboration. In other words, “the woman’s role” in hip-hop has been "reduced" to providing the “melody” and “hook” to a piece whereas hip-hop “cred,” “heft” and authenticity is attributed to men. Of course we can imagine several things wrong with that formulation (I mean, give artists like Ciara proppers for how they make or break a song), but I wanted to run it by you and see what you think. How do you see yourself confronting these assumptions as you make your own music? Or do you have other comments about the record industry and pop charts writ large?

ML: The pop charts, the music charts, billboard, etc., are all media outlets that favor the Major Record label artist. If you have the payola to get your spins on the radio, then you get your soundscan credit, your awards, your recognition and so forth. Radio involves politics, it's sad, but true. Half the songs you hear on urban radio stations are just plain talentless. And to hear them over and over again brainwashes folks to think they're hits. We don't have much to choose from if they only play 20-25 songs everyday, for weeks if not months in rotation, right? Hmmm... who will make the #1 song this week, the rapper who is rapping about big booty hoes and his car sitting on 25 inch rims, or the rapper who is rapping about big booty hoes and his weed stash being bigger than mini-me? How many ways can you rap about the same things over and over again?!? It gets monotanous. And the winner is...the rapper who you can't understand but whose beat you love because it came from the a well-known producer. Welcome to the music industry. I try not to cater my art to that mentality. Just because I'm female doesn't mean I have a natural gift for singing an R&B melody. I'm a rapper. Period.

KT: That said, what is your own “process” as an artist, songwriter, producer and performer? How do you develop your poignant political content? Do you have your hand in everything, or do you have any collaborators who are crucial to that process? Also, who ultimately decides on your “image presentation” and what are your goals within (or outside of "the industry")? Do you have any concerns about being pigeon-holed as "just" a queer hip-hop artist?

ML: As an artist it is my responsibility to speak on the facts when I choose to mention social and political issues in my music. That means I read before I open my mouth. I research these issues, and then from there I base my lyrics on the history and the personal stories, and incorporate them with my own opinions and beliefs. My friend and mentor, Bobby King is my producer. He allows me to be creative as an artist and I do the same for him, I think. I write all my lyrics. I wouldn't have it any other way because I'm inviting you into my mind for a few minutes! Ultimately, when it comes to my "image," I'm my own decision maker. I do listen to other opinions and ideas, but ultimately I have to make the decision at the end of the day about where I want to go with this and what will come from it. I have staff behind me so I also consider what's in their best interest, as well as what would make it beneficial for them...To have longevity in this industry is to have a great staff of people behind you & working the scene in front. I am just one of the pieces to the "success puzzle" that we're all trying to put together. As for being pigeon-holed...I don't believe in "just" being a queer hip-hop artist, only because I don't believe there is such a thing as queer hip-hop. There isn't white hip-hop, or black hip-hop, or female hip-hop. Hip-hop is hip-hop. And although I know that might not seem the most convincing to people who believe everything has to be categorized (unfortunately), I do believe I can hold my own regardless of where and in what scene I happen to end up.

KT: OK...so you say that you don’t believe in categorizing hip-hop (as either female, queer, white or black), yet you’re touring as part of what promises to be a historical event—the first regional homo-hip-hop tour with multiple artists. I know this has to do with marketing and the industry, but what other benefits are there to being a part of this kind of line-up? Does it make touring easier for you as a queer woman to be a part of a crew that “understands” your desires and your politics? Have any of the artists you’re touring with inspired or influenced some of your own work?

ML: You're right! I am part of a tour called Homo-Revolution, and my belief is that I think it will be a good way to get my music out there to LGBT Venues. More than anything, it allows music listeners to have an option about what kind of hip-hop they can relate too. I can't relate to so-called hip-hop music about Bentley's and platinum jewelry. Hell, I didnt even know what a Bentley was until Puff Daddy (not PDiddy, because I'm tired of him changing names as quickly as he rotates artists in and out of his label) kept mentioning them in his songs. But the problem that I have with only appealing to queer audiences is that once we categorize ourselves as "queer hip-hop," we limit ourselves and our message to that category. When I win a Grammy, I don't want to win a "Best Homo-Grammy." I hope that makes sense. As for the practical aspects of it...yeah, it's much easier touring in the gay circuit because the support is automatically there (although not all the time, which has to do with race, class, etc.). Some Gays and Lesbians can relate to some of the issues you rap about, but then again some of them don't. I would have to say every single artist on this tour has inspired me due to the fact that they have been dedicated to their work and open about everything

KT: Since we're on the topic of broadening your fan base, how do you see your audience shaping up? Since you’ve been out you’ve probably acquired a ton of female fans. What’s it like handling that kind of fandom, and does it ever get too intense or creepy because the lesbian community feels like it has “ownership” over you?

ML: Actually, this kind of relates to the point I was trying to make about not being "pigeon-holed" into one scene. The reality of it is that my fans are not only gay and lesbian--I have a lot of straight fans, ha ha! I recently performed at a straight club with gangsters. I mean literally men with guns at their hips. I spit and gained respect from them. It's obvious I'm a lesbian, but open people respect someone who has heart and love for what they do and the truth they speak. I was asked to come back and perform at their venue again. No one owns me, and if they think they do, then someone told them wrong. I represent people of all colors gay or straight. I represent equality and won't divide my fans into groups. Just because I speak on certain issues, doesn't mean I want to omit a certain group of people from getting to know me. If I did that I would be excluding my father, my mother, my coworkers, and friends. There are as many things in the so-called "gay community" that I don't agree with as much as from the "straight community."

KT: So you mention your mother, father, coworkers and friends, many of whom (I presume) are based in the I.E. Let's talk a little bit about "place" and where these communities collide and coalesce. In your bio it says that you retreated from the false promises of the Hollywood and urban music scenes to go back to the I.E. so you could make your music in the place you feel “at home" and true to yourself. What regional influences or regional tastes do you imagine reflected in your music? What social, political, cultural, class, gender or race issues do you see your work confronting from the vantage point of an “Inland Emperor” or “Inland Empress” (whichever you prefer)?

ML: Living in the I.E., where I grew up, has helped me become a more diverse artist and person as a whole. There are so many different cultures out here and ways of living. Most people don't realize the suburbs aren't just white, but there are many ethnicities co-existing together. Also, I think people become united across class lines here, and in the Inland Empire you can sometimes see class unity regardless of race. Society always seems to want to find scapegoats based on class, religion, sexuality, race, or even political party, and it's unfortunate that people won't give up that pursuit of power over others. As for why I went back [to the I.E.]: I had to get out of Hollywood because everyone from the world landed in that city to pursue a dream. I was one of many. Then I though...if I want to start a buzz and make a statement, why not start with my hometown and then work my way out? I have to admit, I've also faced a few barriers living out here, like the lack of hip-hop support and functions to perform at. Actually, I love performing my song "The Game" in front of crowds in other places who base their social status on how much money, jewelry, or what kind of expensive car a rapper has. When I perform that song in the I.E. I always get a positive reaction. People in the I.E. aren't in Hollywood and can't relate to million dollar budgets or dropping hundreds of dollars on champagne at clubs.

KT: Really quickly, where have you performed in the I.E. despite the lack of venues? (Take note, dear readers--and book a show today!)

ML: I've performed at special events, sometimes monthly events at places like Carlos O'Briens, Incahoots, and other venues that would hold hip-hop competitions. These days my time is mostly consumed in the studio in Palm Springs every weekend.

KT: I remember pre-prom happy hours at Carlos O'Brien's. Ah the Riverside Plaza...But before I lose myself in reminiscence, let's get back to the gender politics of hip-hop, shall we? What's the worst thing you’ve ever confronted from someone in the hip-hop community in response to your gender and/or sexuality?

ML: The worst thing I've ever had to confront (and I was also responsible for this) was hiding who I was for the sake of a major label deal. Being a woman in the industry is challenging, and a lot of men assume that because you're a woman, you're weak and submissive. They think they should dominate the situation and make the decisions for you instead of you having a team working together. That's why I prefer to work as a team now.

KT: Which brings us to some of your new stuff and your thematic confrontations with homophobia. The song and soon to be shot video, “Gay Bash” is a powerful response to homophobia. You mentioned somewhere that the story of Matthew Shepard was an inspiration. What do you think of the fact that other stories of say women of color and transexuals of color don’t often get the same media attention as assaults on gay white men? This is not to say that one hate crime is any worse than another. It’s more a commentary on the way the media (and the classes/races/sexualities in power) shape the cultural and political landscape. What are your thoughts about this?

ML: I agree that, unfortunately, LGBT's of color do not get the same media attention. One of the most publicized and well known gay bashing stories across the nation was Matthew Shepard's death. He was described as an all American student. My song "Gay Bash" though is actually based on all those who have suffered discrimination with the end result being death, and I knew the only way the mainstream LGBT and straight communities would take notice of the message is for me to give it a familiar face. I do think there is biased, racist thinking within the LGBT community itself, which is why its important to discuss these issues and bring up the whole range of possible arguments. I am guilty of contributing perhaps, by making a commercialized "Gay song" alluding to the Matthew Shephard story, but the idea is to get media attention for this violence before (and not only after) these events occur. This opens doors to being able to address the deeper underlying problems we have within the queer community.

KT: I don't want to take a turn towards the morbid, but you do bring up a good point about the range of different confrontations, struggles and mechanisms of survival that you engage in your own music. This is a bit of a personal question, and it comes in response to your bio that reveals your stories of “survival,” and of battling cancer in particular. First of all, do you mind revealing a little more about what specific battles you had to face? How do you see this struggle informing your work or your outlook on being a performer?

ML: I had Hodgkin's disease at 12 years old when my grandmother was dying of breast cancer. Cancer was something that shaped my personality and beliefs in God. I grew closer to him and developed a personal relationship with him that I never thought would exist. So when people tell me that God doesn't accept my lifestyle it's actually laughable. They arent invited into my relationship with him so how could they possibly know the conversations God and I have? That's like someone telling me my Mother hates me, but I talk to my Mother everyday and I know she doesn't. I am going through another obstacle with the cancer I was just diagnosed with, I don't know much about it since there are only 22 cases worldwide. So treatment options at this point aren't known. I'm in the process of getting second opinions. I incorporate my survival into my music by trying to relay the positive outlook instead of the negatives in life. Look....life is short, and I could die tomorrow in a car accident. We have to make the best of what is handed to us. I actually started writing when I was diagnosed with cancer at 12 years old. I began to write my thoughts down, which turned into poetry. It wasn't until I met my best friend Kaelon Kroft that I started formatting my words into songs and lyrics. I don't sing. I wish I could, but rapping is the way I articulate the range of my feelings in 3 or 4 minutes, or however long a song lasts. It's a gift to address subjects and get my point across in a rap song, especially in person. Sometimes I can't actually get out what I want to say in person because I've always had a problem with proper diction and on the spot answers! I'm not the greatest MC, but I want to be the best MC I can possibly be. Michael Jordan never stopped practicing free throws, Tiger woods never stops practicing his swing, and Bush never stops practicing his lies, so there you go...

KT: On that last humorous note...let's have a little rapid fire fun with this, shall we? Here's a little something for "the fans" out there.

Boxers, Briefs, Thongs or Commando?

ML: Briefs

KT: Beyonce or Jennifer Hudson?

ML: Jennifer Hudson

KT: Would you ever audition for American Idol, and what do you think of the show?

ML: I never would. And I've never even watched the show

KT: If you could meet one “hero” dead or alive, who would it be?

ML: Martin Luther King

KT: Which L-Word character would you be? Or do you hate the show?

ML: Don't hate it but don't watch it.

KT: If you could collaborate with any pop or R&B female singer out there, who would it be?

ML: Jill Scott

KT: What’s your favorite rock band?

ML: Tears for Fears [kt makes rock horns in dorkily enthusiastic response]

KT: Justin Timberlake or Michael Jackson?

ML: Michael Jackson

KT: Commitment or non-monogamy?

ML: Commitment and monogamy, if not married.

KT: Riverside or San Bernardino?

ML: Riverside [kt's rockhorns, round two!]

KT: SUV or Hybrid?

ML: Hybrid

See Melange LaVonne as part of the 2007 Homo Revolution tour:

3/29/07 - San Diego, CA **Opening Night**
The Brass Rail
3796 5th Ave
San Diego, California 92103
8 PM, 21+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Soce The Elemental Wizard, Delacruz, MC FLOW,
Melange Lavonne, Bigg Nugg, JFP, QBoy, Mz. Fontaine, Foxxjazell, DJ Jeffa, & Shorty Roc

3/30/07 - Los Angeles, CA
El Cid
4212 W Sunset Blvd
Los Angeles, California 90029 (Silverlake)
10:00 PM, 18+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Soce The Elemental Wizard, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, Salvimex, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Bigg Nugg, Foxjazell, & JFP

3/31/07 - Las Vegas, NV
Gipsy Nightclub
4633 Paradise Rd.
Las Vegas, Nevada 89109
10:00 PM, 21+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Salvimex, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

4/01/07 - Phoenix, AZ
Plazma
1560 E. Osborn Rd.
Phoenix, AZ
8 PM, 21+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Salvimex, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

4/02/07 - Albuquerque, NM
Out ch'Yonda Theater Space
929 4th Street SW
Albuquerque, NM 87101
7 PM, ALL AGES/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Salvimex, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

4/03/07 - El Paso, TX
Fat Mary's Martini Bar and Grill
8635 Dyer
El Paso, Texas 79904
8 PM, 21+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

4/05/07 - San Antonio, TX
The Saint Showbar
1430 N. Main Ave
San Antonio, Texas 78212
8 PM, $10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

4/06/07 - Houston, TX
Club Dignity Bar and Grill
127 Scott Street
Houston, TX
9 PM, 18+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

4/07/07 - Austin. TX
Victory Grill
1104 E 11th St
Austin, TX 78702
8 PM, 18+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

4/08/07 - Dallas, TX
The Brick
4117 Maple Ave.
Dallas, TX
8 PM, 18+/$10
Line Up: Deadlee, Johnny Dangerous, Delacruz, Tori Fixx, QBoy, Melange Lavonne, Mz. Fontaine, Bigg Nugg, JFP, & Foxxjazell

Welcome to the Dollhouse: Inland Barbies

2007-02-03T22:37:00.000-08:00

Sorry homies, the emperor is still caught in the schoolio grind (as nasty as Eric Nies's). But for your amusement and discussion, here's a little sumptin' sumptin' I picked up on myspace courtesy of my Ramona Ram sistahs (Kim '91, and J-Sto '92).

"Rancho Cucamonga Barbie"
This princess Barbie is sold only at Victoria Gardens . She comes with an assortment of Kate Spade Handbags, a Lexus SUV, a long-haired foreign dog named Honey and a cookie-cutter house. Available with or without tummy tuck and face lift. Workaholic Ken sold only in conjunction with the augmented version.

"Pomona Barbie"
This recently paroled Barbie comes with a 9mm handgun, a Ray Lewis knife, a Chevy with dark tinted windows, and a Meth Lab Kit. This model is only available after dark and must be paid for in cash (preferably small, untraceable bills). Unless you are a cop, then we don't know what you are talking about.

"Chino Hills Barbie"
This yuppie Barbie comes with your choice of BMW convertible or Hummer H2. Included are her own Starbucks cup, credit card and country club membership. Also available for this set are Shallow Ken and Private School Skipper. You won't be able to afford any of them.

"Fontucky Barbie"
This pale model comes dressed in her own Wrangler jeans two sizes too small, a NASCAR t-shirt and tweety bird tattoo on her shoulder. She has a six-pack of Bud light and a Hank Williams Jr. CD set. She can spit over 5 feet and kick mullet-haired Ken's butt when she is drunk. Purchase her pickup truck separately and get a confederate flag bumper sticker absolutely free.

"Hesperia Barbie"
This tobacco-chewing, brassy-haired Barbie has a pair of her own high-heeled sandals with one broken heel from the time she chased beer-gutted Ken out of Fontucky Barbie's house. Her ensemble includes low-rise acid-washed jeans, fake fingernails, and a see-through halter-top. Also available with a mobile home.

"Claremont Barbie"
This doll is made of actual tofu. She has long straight brown hair, arch-less feet, hairy armpits, no makeup and Birkenstocks with white socks. She prefers that you call her Willow. She does not want or need a Ken doll, but if you purchase two Barbies and the optional Subaru wagon, you get a rainbow flag bumper sticker for free. These Barbies love to hang out with included protest banners on Arrow and Indian Hill.

"San Bernardino Barbie"
This Barbie now comes with a stroller and infant doll. Optional accessories include a GED and bus pass. Gangsta Ken and his 1979 Caddy were available, but are now very difficult to find since the addition of the infant.

And the best for last....

More Riversidiana

2007-01-20T21:12:00.000-08:00

Now I'm becoming wanton with the quickie posts.

I promise heartier chat and chew if and-or-when the early semester onslaught ever abates. All the time spent on youtube gathering clips for my Gender Studies arena shows--they more accurately capture the scale and spectacle of Celine's weekly gigs at her custom-built Caesar's "Colliseum"--has yielded some fine footage from my home-o-town.

Below:
1. a local cable ad for Taco Station, a classic-car themed Mexican joint (I must make a pit stop during my next visit).

2. a promotional vid for UC Riverside's Delta Sigma Pi, what looks to be a co-ed fraternity/sorority for business minded AZN's (skip through the first minute of text to get to the pictures)

3. a girls softball video of a championship hitting squad, scored to a schlocky country-rock song about home runs and obviously edited by a proud parent. In fact this (the RGSA) was the league I played in as a kid.

Enjoy.

Media Alert: Inland Valley News Features

2007-01-20T13:00:00.000-08:00

You gotta see these for yourselves. The first is a news feature about the Mission Inn's holiday "festival of lights" with an awkward "mute elmo" moment. The newscaster, Janet May, is ubiquitous on youtube with lots of little featurettes on the 5 block radius that comprises "the cute part" of downtown Riverside. Apparently she covers the Riv beat for a show called Inland Valley News. I'm not sure where IVN airs--likely local cable or public access.

The second clip, also from IVN, features Gram's Mission BBQ. The newscaster who shares the beat with Janet May, "Bill," looks and behaves like a high school geometry teacher. I find these vignettes wonderfully anachronistic, and slightly empty and creepy.

Media Alert: L.A. Times hearts UCR + Student Blog Links

2007-01-16T19:10:00.000-08:00

Bear in a Highlander outfit! OK folks. I'm gonna try to force myself to work with short form here as other "true bloggers" do, and post a few links to keep y'all amused until my next dispatch from Inlandia. In fact, the next installment is most likely to be a brief review of the new anthology of writing from and about the smogtastic empire called Inlandia, edited by Gayle Wattawa. For those of you still waiting for a review of Laura Dern's twitchy half-lit face in David Lynch's Inland Empire, you're going to have to wait, since I can't quite motivate to see it. The guys in bunny-suit heads--yes, just the heads--are throwing me off. (For the curiosa, a trailer is embeded in a comment on one of my previous posts, "Show Me the Mizithra" thanks to the original mediashepherd and a former HighlanderBear himself, Alex W).

I also want at some point (apropos last week's "Valet of the Dolls" post on the L-Word) to address Alice's search for "papi" pronounced in true white grrrl fashion like "Pappy" of Poopdeck fame. Alice winds her way through the seedy, travesti and drag king infested clubs, dive bars and taquerias of what seem to be Echo Park or East L.A., or whatever their equivalents are in Vancouver. Lots of neon palm trees, and oh-so Jack Twist in "Brokeback." But I digress...

MEDIA ALERT: Actually, the Kangagi alerted me to this news item, since I've been too busy workin' workin' day and night. The venerable "Los Angeles Times" published an article on MLK day about UC Riverside as the choice institution for many Latino and Black students in California. Here's their lead, and the link (just click on the title):

For many minorities, UC Riverside is the campus of choice -
By Richard C. Paddock, Times Staff Writer
January 15, 2007
When it was time for Woodrow Curry to decide where to go to university, he had several choices. An African American with good high school grades and test scores, he was accepted by UC Berkeley, among other schools.

But Berkeley is not where he ended up. Spurning one of the nation's premier public universities, he picked UC Riverside. Although Riverside is sometimes scorned as the lowliest of UC campuses, it offered Curry something that Berkeley did not: a place where he felt welcome.

Lots to say about this piece and its tone, and lots of love to spread to the folks I know at UCR who make it such an amazing, if ridiculously underappreciated institution. But I'll refrain for now. On to more links...

In the vein of letting others do the talking/blogging, I've assigned "blog reading journals" to my students in the undergrad English seminar I'm teaching this semester on "Race and Sexuality in the Suburbs." Thus far they've been great fun. Here are links to some of the more loquacious of the bunch.

The Boy from Glendale
Nuclear Sluts Have Thoughts Too
Victor's Tree of Knowledge
Uffish Thoughts
The Sexy Suburbs
Rhuminations
Confessions of a Token

And finally, another Riv-uh-saiiiiiid! shout-out to my Inland Empress sistah, J-Sto. She's going to do the hetero thing and get married, even though I always thought she'd pull a Charlize or Brangelina and wait until "everyone who wants to marry in this country can." Keep your eyes peeled in Riverside's very own "Press Enterprise" for the announcement. I'll be the big lezzie "bridesman" wearing "summer formal" seersucker. Above is a preview of the bridezilla-to-be rocking the mic with Starship's "WE BUILT THIS CITY" at Virgil Village's Smog Cutter. (Let's hope she doesn't retaliate with any Sierra Middle School yearbooks of shame).

Valet of the Dolls

2007-01-08T14:19:00.000-08:00

Many sighs as the semester is once again in full swing-a-ling and gaycation time is definitively ovah. Sooo ovah. Despite the promise of a long MLK weekend that may have included some respite and recovery, I've actually committed the extra time to the labor of "keeping it all together": writing letters of rec, grading qualifying exams, finishing sundry proposals for intiatives and conferences, getting a jump on Gender Studies lectures, basically zenyata bureaucrata. But I'll take a few stolen moments to prattle off a reminiscence about one of our most recent adventures, before succumbing to a little Tivoliciousness (a catch-up marathon of The Hills, season 1, which I'll simply file under "suburban-to-urban migration" research).

Last Hurrah. Last Sunday, Jaunary 7. L-Word Season 4 Premiere nite.
As usual The Trolls were our companions in off-white-collar crime. (Fagulous fact no. 275: P.O.C.'s have more issues with "ring around the collar" because of the extra melanin enfolded in that region, not just because we're inherently dirty). We chose a very het-normy moderne restaurant/bar near Universal Studios called minibar (yes, all lower case) to launch the first of our L Word luvvitandhateitandwanttoeatit celebrations. We couldn't resist the Prix-Fixe menu of multiple tapas + wine--enough for two peeps--at $40 bucks per pair, so we pulled up and parked valet courtesy of a company called, you guessed it, "Valet of the Dolls." A friendly wizened Brit lady with a Lady of Shallot mane handled our car before we ultimately soaked ourselves in "free" prosecco and a cheap chenin blanc with overtones of cat pee. What the heck, it was only 20 bucks a person WITH FOOD!!! Plus our chow came in trendy, airline-style compartments, only ours were ceramic instead of plastic. As a wee immigrant Inland brat, I thought TV dinners were awesomely space-age, so needless to say, I was instantly seduced by minibar's presentation. The cute factor wasn't enough to make up for the overcooked tri-tip and mushy everything else (except for the truly tasty gouda croquettes). Hungry Man, if you cook it right, is way more sekshual and satisfying. The food would've been yummier at The Sire in the Riv, the place we always said our RHS principal had martini lunches. $3 happy hour shrimp cocktail! But darnholio, we weren't in the I.E. Instead we were on the cusp of L.A. propers and "The Valley" (San Fernando, not San Gabriel). And those Valley folks have acquired some chi-chi airs in the time since the proliferation of Humphrey Yogarts and a young Nic Cage starred in a little flick called "Valley Girl." Now the Valley is actively competing for style points with the hipster infested enclaves radiating outward from the overgentrified, overpriced east side in which I currently reside as a bona-fide creative classer with a shitload of student loans. But back to the Valley. Ah...to be once derided and now rehabbed. I wonder if the Inland Valley will become another, exurban version of the San Fernando Valley in our lifetimes? Probably. As the Raquefella said though--there was something about minibar that felt a little NYC 2001.

I took a couple of smoke breaks and chatted with our Valet of the Dolls, who informed me that minibar has a new female manager with "hot entrepreneurial" ideas. They bought out the adjacent space next door, and it's already been swathed in mid-century textures as the establishment awaits a "dancing license." (To the left to the left--"big eyed child" portraiture meets Deneuve in a Barbarella parlor at minibar). Surely it'll be a hopping het singles joint by summertime, the busiest season according to our V.o.D. Most Sundays (like ours) were pretty empty, she confessed. What little company there was in minibar (with the exception of a sullen group of aging boy-girl-boy-girl Gen X'ers), were tres adorable, especially the cuddly bargain-hunting older couple in their late 60's/early 70's chowing away on the same rubbery tri-tip we barely managed, sans partials mind you, to gnaw through ourselves.

We parted ways with our V.o.D and battlestar gerriatriaca in the dining room, thinking we were on our way home to digest and cuddle in homonormy couplets for a quiet screening of "living laughing, loving, breathing...sucking, fucking, puking, wheezing," but we were slightly sauced and wanted to get rowd-ay....So fugggit...we decided to go to a real L Word event!!! Car veers off 101 at the Hollywood Blvd exit. Frantic search for parking. Long-ass line of whack hairdos at the The Falcon, Linda and Michelle of Fuse fame's "in-season" Sunday nite soiree for L-Words, some of whom need the social crutch of a big TV blaring in the background to avoid awkward social encounters. [raising hand] That would be me. Luckily our pal StuntJess--think Christopher Atkins in "Blue Lagoon"--worked her scenester magic and pulled the four of us in, past the long line of pissy minges with murder in their eyes (ask a Brit what "minge" means. It's grody).

In retrospect, I regret not dashing over to the event down the street from minibar at Universal Citywalk for some deep Valley research. I only found out after the fact that the HRC-sponsored event at Citywalk featured special guest appearances by Cybill Shepherd (who plays the lesbo-lusting post-hetero Vice Chancellor of a "USC-like private university" according to LN), and Kate Moenning, the scrawny andro-heartthrob known simply as "Shane." Instead we settled for a swarm of knock-off Shanes at the Falcon, some of whom we know, some of whom we like. The tapas didn't sit well with Mr. Trollito, who had a frantic P.o.t.B. sitch in the overcrowded bathroom which she fled without the proper time to wash her hands, hence the "limeade" scrub at the bar. The Falcon was stuffed to the gills with gals, some of whom rolled up in Hummer limos with their shaggalicious (NOT in the Brit sense) posses. By the time the clock struck 10, e'rrrrrybody in the club was tipsy, and many of the mop-tops were too drunky-pooh to process the clumsily intricate season opener, which included a fracas between Shane and Carmen's East L.A. "homeboy cousins":

Homeboy Cousin: Just leaaaaaaave Shane. Carmen doesn't want to see you.
[Shane stumbles back to beemer in coked out haze]

We were pretty toasty ourselves. Bad idea to top off prosecco and cat pee vin with Makers Manhattans and Amstels. But I had fun playing "loud drunk guy yelling at the screen," a role usually reserved for the Troll Mister. At one point I bellowed: "Shut up, Tina. You're just a stupid hasbian!!! Hasbian!!!" Clever clever. In the end we had to rewatch the episode when we rolled home, all the while compensating for our tapas-sized portions by gnawing on survival-stash beef jerky, mortadella slices, cheeze squares and TJ's Triscuits, but not before we managed to slip out on our last booze tab. See, the folks at The Falcon had it coming. The rude Hollywood fag boy waiters were way too bitchy about serving a place packed with lezzies, even glamorosa lezzies of the razor shag Cheap Monday variety who were shelling out fistfulls of Jacksons to "dine" at the Falcon for a spot in front of the TV. Next time we really gotta rock it with the Hungry Man. I guess our churlish sip and ditch was in honor of our L-word sistahs who live, laugh, love, breathe (enter Betty's "Batman" guitars). Sometimes crime does pay.

Show Me the Mizithra

2006-12-27T11:42:00.000-08:00

After a moment of silence during the holidaze (due in no small part to the obscene quantities of prime rib, turtles and pancetta roasted brussel sprouts I've been shoving down my gullet courtesy of the parentals and the Kangagi's sistah, oh sistah), the Emperor is back to report on our naughty and nice pre-Xmas gaycation with Mr. and Mrs. Trollito in the I.E. Despite the frigid, windy temps--we're talking frozen desert hearts here folks--'twas truly H-O-T-T-T.

Drag Queens and Porn Stars and Grinders, oh my!

In the name of research and commerce, we rolled out for an overniter in the land I call home-o, Riverside, CA. The parental abode (see left) is too tiny and over-populated by ersatz kids of the four-legged variety (exhibit A, "Yuki," to the right) to accommodate a gigglesnorting gaggle of husky lezzies and lithe andro hooves, so we decided to enlist our travel agent--aka Priceline-- to score us a room at Riverside's own "historic Mission Inn." Hey...if it's good enough for Richard and Pat Nixon's wedding, it's good enough for a fab "don't call us homo-normy, we're homo-smarmy" foursome apres outlets and queer clubs.

My dad has a regular Thurs-Sat jazz trio gig at the Mission Inn's Presidential Lounge, despite the fact that he's a yellow-dawg Democrat, and Republican presidents are notoriously overrepresented in the presidential portrait gallery flanking the lounge, with the notable exception of JFK. This past weekend, howevs, daddy-o took time off to entertain my Uncle Lee, visiting from Vancouver, B.C. where he's lived since conscientiously objecting to the Vietnam War (that's dodging the draft in jingo-speak). In short, we had the M.I. decked out in all of its gaudy animatronic holiday splendour all to ourselves that night...or so we thought...
(Below: note the noir-ish pool view from our room)

Earlier in the day, our I.E. adventures began when Kangagi and I converged with Mr. and Mrs. Trollito, and fueled up for what was to be a late afternoon of torrid Cabazon consumption at one of the Riv's finest homegrown eateries, D'Elias Grinders. Anyone who's ever spent more than 24 consecutive hours in the Riv knows about this place situated between UCR and downtown. One of the few sincere connections I had with one of my profs in grad skool at Berkeley came about because of D'Elias reminiscences. She came from the Riv (rare for an academic), she went to my high-school (even rarer), and talked about craving D'Elias daily (not so rare).

As Mr. Trollito remarked while we were cruising across town, she was charmed by the resillience of numerous mom and pop shops in Riverside, an observation often lost in the standard scholarly and journo rhetoric about the stripmalling of southern California's suburbs and exurbs. All it took was a casual jaunt down Magnolia, Market and Uni Aves in Mrs. Trollito's zippy black Mini to bring this point home. We spied premium views of places like the Thunderbird Lodge and Skylark Motel on Uni Ave (both outlasted the ill-fated Hampton Inn, my very own high-school "party pad" where we'd fill the bathtub with bottles of Bartles & Jaymes), and unassuming joints like the family-owned Zacatecas Mexican Restaurant (best mariscos in the Riv), as well as the Kawa Market on Magnolia and Bandini--the first Asian market I ever knew in So. Cal. Kawa is basically a small wood house converted during the early '50s into an Asian convenience shop.

D'Elias Grinders is another one of these mom and pop joints. Founded by a group of Italian brothers in 1959, D'Elias firm yet flaky fresh bread, baked daily on the premises, is nothing short of "sekshual" to use the Trolls' term of endearment. Kangagi and Mrs. Troll were adventurous and sampled the hot meatball sub and BLT grinder, respectively, while Mr. Troll and I stuck to the house classic--the capacolla with everything on it, including the potent, powdery red chili you sprinkle yourself from the mammoth plastic shaker attached with a hefty chain to the condiment station. Yeah-yuh! It had me D'Elias dancing my way out of the joint.

I'll spare the details of our shopping trip, since Cabazon is beyond the borders of the I.E. proper. "All-season Marc Jacobs seersucker" is all I have to say.

No trip to the I.E. is complete without a check-in with the parentals, and they were kind enough to invite all of us for a late evening re-fuel, family-chain style, at Ye Olde Spaghetti Factory where the Trolls were introduced to the exotic pleasures of mizithra cheese and free spumoni. Fonts of trivia that my dad and uncle are (L-R: Mom, Dad, Uncle Lee sipping scotch in profile), we learned at dinner that the Spaghetti Factory chain was actually founded by Guss Dussin, a retired psychotherapist who originally practiced in Vancouver, B.C. It turns out Mr. Dussin didn't only have a penchant for pasta: he was also a prescient proto-gentrifier whose success as a spaghetti mogul had as much to do with his "flipping" of abandoned historic warehouse spaces (mostly in blighted downtowns like Portland, OR the site of the first Spaghetti Factory), as with his creative applications of mizithra and creamy pesto. To keep overhead costs low, Dussin enlisted his wife to redecorate these massive warehouses with thrift store antiques and collectibles, foreshadowing with his chain of family restaurants what we now refer to in creative class parlance as Bo-Bo, or "Bourgeois-Boheme" shabby chic.

Indeed, Riverside's Spaghetti Factory is a restored citrus packing plant in a formerly dodgy patch of downtown near the train tracks, pre-Mission Inn rehab and before a fervent citrus heritage revivalism fully seized the city. Now Riverside's Old Spaghetti Factory is designated as a landmark in the City of Riverside's redevelopment plan to convert other historic spaces in the surrounding area. (L-R: Kangagi and Mrs. Troll sinking with spaghetti while Mr. Troll's just burnin' doin' Mizithra dance).

We quickly transitioned from pasta to porn after a brief digestive respite and costume change in our M.I. digs. Riverside's and (I need to fact-check this) purportedly the I.E.'s oldest gay bar, The Menagerie: "A Unique Lounge," was on our agenda for the night. "The Menagerie" is Riverside shorthand for "queer as a muthafucka," and though I couldn't really hang there until I turned 21 (well after I took off for college), I felt I knew the place because of local legend. Most of the insults kids spat upon the RUSD's schoolyards involved some invocation of that special place-name..."I bet you go to the MENAGERIE every night, you gaylord."

Unbeknownst to us, a local drag queen starlette named Raven was hosting a pre-Christmas spectacular with some special guests in the audience from Kelly "34FF" Madison's porn company, including Ms. Madison herself. At first the crowd was thin, literally and figuratively, with some scattered indie-hooved college girls, Abercrombie fags, and a stray cholo or two clustered near the massive bar. The Menagerie, like the Old Spaghetti Factory, is a historic space in an early 20th-century warehouse rumored to have been a former bank building. As showtime approached, the room thickened with screaming divas of all varieties--Elvis (Costello) and El Vez wannabes, homiesexual sistahs, Latino hetero-couples cruising for thirds, wizened butch fags, and of course, Kelly Madison's posse cumitatus. (Right: Raven works the stage while an admirer looks on)

After a few $8 pitchers filled with America's finest light lagers, we were rockin' our front row seats with fistfulls of dollars while dodging (or was it soliciting?) boob-grazes from Ms. Madison. (LEFT: Trollin' it up with "Mr. Kelly Madison," in the pink tie on the far left; RIGHT below: Kelly Madison and Raven toast the night's festivities). As we learned from one of Ms. Madison's minions after she busted a "hubby-and-I-are-looking-for-a-third" move on the Kangagi in the ladies room line--we may be smarmy but we're not that homo-smarmy--Kelly's porn company is based in Corona, CA, another I.E. spot on the cusp of the O.C. called out by the show, The O.C., as a shady spot populated by boozers who might be best described as "poor man's Matt Dillon." See Season 1.

Kelly specializes in "titty-fucking" and hardcore scenarios with her "all natural" 34FF breastuses, but mostly she's an entrepreneur who boasts "DVD quality" downloads from her website for reasonable monthly subscription rates. This apparently keeps her and her entire company (coincidentally booked at the Mission Inn that same night) clad in LOTS of Cabazon Gucci. Kelly's husband, who looks a lot like a latter-day Shadoe Stevens, the top-40 DJ best known to Inland Emperors and Empresses as "Fred Rated" from the Federated TV commericals, is her primary partner onscreen as well as off. (Monsieur "Madison" strikes a pose to the left).

The true stars of the show, of course, were the drag queen divas of the I.E. Their performances were driven by a sort of urgency I haven't seen in awhile, especially in some of the big-city revues that don't seem to encourage as much paw-y audience mingling, and offer little sympathy for performers with heftier backsides. (RIGHT: Ladies, give yourselves a hand). The set-list was eclectic to say the least, with some strong moves and sweaty writhing to Avenue D's "2D2F," followed-up with a requisite I.E. nod to Depeche Mode and a wet n wild Def Leppard finale..."Pour Some Sugar On Meh....."
Hoarse with enthusiasm and drained of all our singles (we noticed KM's crew were droppin' Jacksons instead of Washingtons), we managed to fumble our way to the indoor/outdoor patio after the show, where we tried our best to absorb all the BL's and free MGD's courtesy of Ms. Madison's minions with the Menage's house popcorn. I'll spare the details of how we got our groove on (I'll let the pictures paint a thousand words), but I do want to send a shout out to the Menage's bouncer, Rambo, a sweet and charming dude beneath an intimidatingly beefy Brooklyn exterior (see below). He tried to explain how he landed in the Riv to sweep up the spilled popcorn on the Menagerie patio (Rambo: "It's a great paying gig and they treat me good"), but most of that explanation was lost in the excitement over his revalation that his true baby is something called ExtravaGangsta Radio, an internet radio station featuring hip-hop and reggaeton by undiscovered artists, with some experimental sounds, rare cuts and preview tracks from mega-acts like Diddy, Kanye, Sean Paul, etc. for good measure.

The stumble home was truly precious, if mostly because we only had to walk about a block through downtown Riv. In what must be an I.E. first, we managed NOT to have to drive drunk. Also, in a shocking stroke of kismet surely to be filed under the "blessings can be curses" category, one of the porn couples was booked in the room next door. We already jokingly insisted on the "silence is golden" rule when we discovered this while hob-nobbing with the pair at the Menage, but drunken deals don't hold, so we were treated to the refrains, first of fighting:
W: "You're nothing but a big loser!"
M: "Don't call me a loser, bitch. I'm not a loser!" [door slam]
[door re-opens]
M: "I love you baby,"
W: "Oh baby..."
And then...well, you know...(moan, grunt, headboard, shriek, etc.) With all of us sharing a room for our overnite gaycation, the shrieks of excitement emanating from our space were reserved exclusively for the 24 hour room service and our apres clubbing club sammiches. (Right: Mr. Trollito misses out on our version of an after-hours club).

The next morning was pleasantly uneventful--we sauntered to the pool with our lesbo appropriate sporty swimming attire, and narrowly avoided a morning booze relapse into mimosas and bloody marys. We only frightened a few unaccompanied euro-children playing in the jacuzzi along the way. Yeah-yuh! To paraphrase the Go-Go's: Gaycation all I ever wanted...gaycation had to get away...
I suppose sometimes gaycation also means coming home(o).

This DeBarge Called My Back

2006-12-18T16:45:00.000-08:00

My mom cultivated my "analytic listening" skills, pre-Baby Einstein daze, by making me transcribe song lyrics for the parental pop gigs. I felt like the real Song Hits scribe, or at least the knock-off version Pasig stilez. SH was published by Charlton Pubs and originated in the south back in the 1930's (I think). Its Pinoy incarnation, the one with which I'm most familiar, featured glossy covers that encased pages of smudgy, folio-sized newsprint covered with tablature and song lyrics from the hot 100 like--"Abra Abra Cadabra...I wanna reach out and grab ya..." (Steve Miller band, baby).

Song Hits (SH) wasn't readily available in the I.E. back in the late-early 80's, although the Alpha Beta grocery on the corner of California and Monroe Aves. boasted a shockingly awesome selection of Brit teenybopper mags like Smash Hits. SmH occasionally included song lyrics (mostly Wham!). More on the Anglophilia of So. Cal Inland Emperors and Empresses in a later installment.

Anyway...a lyric-transcription memory I can't seem to forget (for no apparent reason) inolves El DeBarge's solo smash"Rhythm of the Night." The words were easy enough to pick out, thanks to El's earnest readerly delivery. Listen and he sounds almost like a kid working his way through an enchanted storybook for the very first time. Nevertheless, a few lines remained breathily elusive, so I had to listen to the song over and over and over again. Cue synth-steel drums and stocky bass line. To this day I know every word by heart. ROTN was penned by powerhouse movie music composer, Dianne Warren. It provided the theme for the Reagan-era studio flick, The Last Dragon (Columbia TriStar/ Motown, 1985), which some regard as blaxploitation-lite. Must be because Vanity stars in it.

One could call El's solo smash the poor-man's "All Night Long," but there's just something so sweet, lite and scamper-scamper andro-hooves about it--like the world is all unicorns, cummerbunds and scraggly tranny moustaches. Come to think of it, El's attire for his "live" Solid Gold performance of the hit back in '85 provides the template for some of the more spectacular forms of urban andro-lesbo, post-millenial, post-bisekshual, post-Le Tigre's-major-label-debut style. "Lesbians to the Rescue" indeed. I'm pretty sure that plenty of these art-burn white girls are completely clueless about the fact that their "ironic" fashion bravado has everything to do with a bizarre but important moment in Black pop culture.

El, this one's for you and your afro-andro charms...for all that time I spent listening to your 45 (notice I ain't calling it a 7"), and for my momma who wore her own sequined cummerbund for shows. INLAND EMPEROR would also like to send a special shout-out to this week's special guest star la Balance (the 'day known as "Tyne" back in tha day). An Inland Empress in exile, we hope she comes back to us for keeps.

I.E. on "The O.C." (Media Alert!)

2006-12-17T16:12:00.000-08:00

Hot off my Tivo (lesbionic belatedness part deux): The O.C. strikes again with some playful, if snarky references to The Riv--or is it The 'Side?--in this week's "Chrismukk-huh?" episode. Of course it revolves around Riverside's first official primetime vixen, Julie Cooper-Nichol-Just Cooper again, thank you very much.

In the opening sequence, an unusually sedate Julie tells her younger daughter Kaitlin (first introduced as a replacement mini-Mischa, yet infinitely more amusing than her wan and affectless older "sister") to hustle and load the car up for Christmas dinner with the maternal grandfolks.

Kaitlin: "I don't wanna go to the ghetto for Christmas."

Julie: "It's not the ghetto--it's Riverside [dramatic pause] and that's where our family lives, so hurry up."

Later in the show, Julie delivers a delicious quip about "Riverside" and "Wine Coolers," but I can't find a video clip or a fansite dilligent enough in these, the show's purportedly waning days, to post a full-script recap. I'm pretty certain the joke would be lost in my attempt to reconstruct it. Plan et Claire promises a full script transcription by 8pm, but who knows when she made that promise. Suffice it to say, I'll do my best to follow up with an accurate citation someday, somehow, somewhere.*

For now, I don't have much more to add about this Riv cameo in The O.C., although you can bet I'll have volumes to say about the OC--show and place--in future posts. After my inaugural post, I do have to admit to feeling as if I should clarify a couple of quick things about my relationship to the OC. As much as I will, in this blog, gladly trade upon the presumed whiteness, plasticity and conservatism of our neighbors behind the Orange Curtain, I'm well aware that there is a (dare I admit it?) Riv-like socioeconomic and cultural complexity to the make-up (and we ain't talkin' MAC) of our OC neighbors. North County vs. South County, Brown conservatives, Fundies and Catholics, Jews and Gentiles (Sandy Cohen is not entirely a figment of Josh Schwartz's imagination)...

My OC I.Q. shot up thanks to time spent in the belly of the beast, in The 'Vine's QLC (UCHRI's "Queer Locations Collective") in 2004 with one of my suburban studies soulmates, Glen Mimura. To invoke the wisdom of Nu Shooz, "Ooooooooh...I Can't Wait" to see more of his project on "The Brown O.C."

Stay tuned for next week's dispatch direct from the I.E. as my Kangagi and I take a Riverside gaycation with Mr. and Mrs. Trollito! Any emperors or empresses up for a few drinks Thursday nite 12/21 at The Menagerie or The V.I.P (aka "Very Important Phag") hollerz over email. We'll be hitting up both spots before the night is through.

'Til then, in the spirit of "Chrismukk-huh?," a glimpse at our tannenbaum...to the right, to the right...

*It turn's out Planet Claire came through after all. At 8pm CST, she posted the following exchange between Kaitlin and Julie. Picture this: Kaitlin plops a bottle of chardonnay into an oh-so-Riv Igloo ice chest and the following conversation ensues:

Julie: Oh, now honey I told you my family only drinks wine coolers.
Kaitlin: We're having a very Britney Christmas, mother.
Julie: Yes. Watch out. I might put you on my lap while we drive out there.

The Emperor is Dead. Long Live the Emperor.

2006-12-15T16:49:00.000-08:00

It seems appropriate, given my recent ruminations on suburban dyke "belatedness," that I begin a blog now after everyone on the planet's already started one or several, and maybe even abandoned a few along the way (like the extra bags of tealights, eastern-bloc inspired digital alarm clocks, and splashy cocktail napkins sprinkled atop the massive impulse-buy-bins leading up to the IKEA cash register). Oooh...I even mustered up a lesbionic endorsement of IKEA (aka DYKEA). Note to self: immediately consult craigslist ETC job listings about how to score ad bucks by adding a blog link to the IKEA website.

To continue with the themes of belatedness and "temporal drag" inspired by the fantabulous Beth Freeman's (affectionately known as "Gletha the Goat Lady's") work on the subject... this Inland Emperor is both burdened and motivated by the spirit of procrastination instilled in me by my hapa-configured family (Pinay mom, Anglo So. Cal hippie step-dad). My mom and grandma in particular eschewed model-minority narratives about hard immigrant labor and American-style pluck & determination, choosing instead to luxuriate in the spoils of a "blue-light special" lifestyle in Riverside, CA. Don't get me wrong--they sure worked hard for the money in the very places they ended up spending their dough (Mamang gigged hardcore her first few months in The States guarding game tokens in "The Vault" at the Castle Amusment Park near the Tyler Mall, and Mom's first non-musical gig was working the jewelry and camera counter at the big K before it was called The Big K). But leisure time in the way of glorious consumption--from scrumptious fastfoodstuffs, to hours of televisual programming (and at that point in our lives, it was TV and not HBO)--was treasured above all else save perhaps music in our household.

Unlike our fancier neighbors to the west, in the counties we call Orange, spa treatments cut with valium and other prescription delights weren't an option in our leisure culture. Nevertheless, I still managed to learn in our little corner of the I.E, tucked between the Riverside Municipal Airport and Ramona High School where I suffered through band camp in 110 degree heat. I learned a lot from the thrill ride of manic labor followed up by long stretches of spiritual and mental recovery. I learned a lot from the overworked, underpaid and righteously brilliant teachers in the R.U.S.D., all the way through R.C.C. (aka Ramona Continuation College). But I digress...

I'm gonna try to refrain from too much "navel-gazing"--a phrase I only figured out how to use properly in grad school--in this blog. INLAND EMPEROR is "that thing" I'm using to get the proverbial juices flowing so I can write the book that will hopefully get me tenure someday. Suffice it to say that this little blog is meant to be the the space where I can experiment with ideas while at the same time celebrating, in the extradiegetic song-stylings of Barbra in The Prince of Tides, "Places that Belong to You"...and to me. More than just a repository for the archival tid-bits, mental digressions and nascent formations meant to accompany and ultimately flow into the as-of-yet-untitled book project on queer of color suburban imaginaries, INLAND EMPEROR will offer reflections on the spaces, times and (sub?)cultures of that vast expanse we call the I.E., from new reviews of old places, queer reviews of straight places, old reflections on new places, queer reviews of queer places, brown reviews of pale places, pale reviews of dark places, new reviews of new places, and alot of other crap in between, both related and un.

DISCLAIMER TIME: as I was navigating my way through all the blogger options and templates, I came across another blog called "The Inland Emperor" with the url http://inlandemperor.blogspot.com. But I noticed that my imperial predecessor, who is of a decidedly more red-state stripe, hadn't posted anything since 2003. His header reads: "It could be worse...I could be in Los Angeles County," and his last post heralded the impending arrival of King George the II to one of the "Inland Empire's greatest treasures"--presumably the Mission Inn--during the election season of fall 2003. In short, I feel no qualms about deposing The First Inland Emperor and taking over the moniker for my dyke-of-color immigrant brethren. I mean, aren't the orange polka-dotted TROPKA napkins yours if you're the only one who has the heart to rescue them from the reject bin enroute to your own IKEA checkout?

The Emperor is Dead. Long Live the Emperor!