me llamo no habla espanol

Things that are happening:

(1) As pop flies are flying backward and becoming foul balls, I almost pop a good friend in the face for suggesting that I have lost myself because I am working for a law firm. Why am I working for a law firm? Because it costs me a hell of a lot more money to start and secure a family than it does a white heterosexual girl, that's why! Because I have a different sense of security than my white friends, that's why! Because I am the only member of my family born in America, that's why!

(2) And related to (1), I've had this perhaps irrational hatred of white people recently, which I nurture every morning when I spend about half a billable hour talking to my officemate, a half-Japanese/half-Chinese nice guy who I berate for being a banana and for thinking the model minority myth is a good thing. Most recently, I got him to admit that he too hates white people, or, at the very least, that that big douchebag who recently exposed two continents to his drug-resistent form of TB and then excused himself by saying "I'm a well-educated, successful, intelligent man" who can decide better than public health experts when quarantine is necessary made the doucheheaded decision he made in part because he is a good-looking young white Georgian man, possibly descended from slaveowners, who has gotten away with shit his entire life.

(3) (2) has been reinforced by a recent exchange that I had with another article selection editor on my law journal, whose increasing petulance/intransigence over the course of an email exchange drove me to distraction for nearly two days and made me want to resign my post. I mean, if we in the most progressive journal in a progressive law school can't recognize that calling undocumented people "illegals" is highly offensive, if I need to convince my colleagues that English-only policies hurt not only Spanish speakers but all kinds of non-English speakers, if I need to explain why it's sexist and so pre-2nd wave feminist for someone to say offensively naive things about race but then claim that his responses are "intellectual debate" but mine are "upset" - what can I do? I said some mean things that I don't regret; I told him that he made me want to vomit. Why is that a mean, uncalled-for response? It was honest! His naivete (followed closely by his insistence that I educate him out of his naivete) made me want to hurl.

(3.5) And (2) makes me feel like a born-again angry Asian woman, and it makes me wonder why so many of my white activisty friends don't talk about racism, but anyway if they did it would be a damned-if-you-do damned-if-you-don't because sometimes I feel that there's nothing more pathetic than roomfuls of white anti-racists who can't understand why their ranks remain entirely white. Anyway, this reawakening is the result of a long chain of events, the most immediate of which was hearing Harry Bubbins race by me on bike on the Manhattan bridge at 10pm as I walked across it sucking down a warm Yuengling with a friend. Harry saw me from about a hundred feet away and yelled "Heeyyyyyyyyy!!!!" as he rode by, his face lit with genuine pleasure. I recognized him only after he passed, and smiled and shouted "Heeyyy!!" in return because I've always felt that he was completely guileless and good as a result. But seeing him like that, on a bike in the night, made me think that because I was no longer dating a white person, I didn't have access to all these forms of activism that white people engage in - well, I shouldn't say activism so much as lifestyle choices, and for one small example take hitchhiking, which I never would have done unless I did it with a white person first. It makes me think differently about what it means that I am with a Chinese genderqueer from Georgia rather than a white woman from the northeast, not because we can make yellowbrown babies for the race revolution, but because there are so many things we can't do or that are much harder to do.

This is a babble now, but it'll become a manifesto when I finally get my head around why I'm so angry and then I'm going to sell it to you dear.

(4) I've seen lots of movies. I'm just going to list them:
- Crazy Love. I thought this movie wasn't worth the $10 but would have been worth a netflick. Pretty girl is blinded by crazy suitor, pretty girl then becomes not-so-pretty near-blind maturing lonely woman, ex-pretty girl then feels no choice but to marry her crazy suitor after he spends 12 years in prison. What do I see in this movie? Schlock, but then I see that the Filipina woman who also accuses the crazy suitor of sexual harassment is almost completely invisible. Back to (2)!
- Guide to Recognizing Your Saints. Like Kids, only with more sweat, personality, and death. I watched all the deleted scenes too. I'm glad the director decided not to do more of that meta writing-about-writing stuff. Is it possible treat a film depiction of a "reading" seriously? With Robert Downey Jr. in combat boots and beret?
- A Day Without a Mexican. After having the DVD out from NetFlix for nearly 11 months, Stephanie and I ended approximately 330 days without A Day Without a Mexican and watched it. It was so well-pitched - a silly satire with serious message that made me want to disembowel John Cornyn.
- Shopping for Fangs. I'm only halfway through this but I think it's already infinitely better than Better Luck Tomorrow.

I'm also incredibly simple of mind and after I saw Pirates of the Caribbean, I went home and thought about piracy for hours.

(5) Art. Richard Serra at Dia:Beacon made me forget everything else there. Except that everything else there seemed to be there just because the space was there, which I'm not complaining about, because it just means that I got to sprint from end to end of the deionized rooms without running into other people.

What else is there? Lethargy. This summer is rolling along nicely. It's taken me 38 minutes to write/be distracted from writing this, and that brings me 38 more minutes closer to the glorious close of the work day.