my senior thesis: raced performances.

as a women, gender, & sexuality studies concentrator, i am required to write a senior thesis. i am doing it loosely on gender, race, and performativity. below is my research question & my argument to be delineated in 70 or so pages.

My research question is as to whether the meaning of raced performances (“black queerness” and “black femininity”) change when mapped onto a white body? Why does Madonna use black images in her artistic project particularly during her early 1990s career? What is the tension between Madonna and the communities “she speaks” to? How are these tensions delineated to the end that gender, racial, and sexed hierarchies are exposed?

My research argument contends:Re-inscribing raced articulations on a white female body (in this case, Madonna) compromises the integrity and characterizations of non-normative sexual communities. Further, appropriation of raced performances is not an innocuous winner take-all game of re-inscription & representation rather a disruption of “urban sexuality.”

...in the east.

my new it city: berlin.

escape from japan.

so, the new york times ran a sunday times article (10/15) about japanese youth -- you know, punky club kids and the like -- finding "liberation" in new york city. (i admit that today is saturday and yes the "sunday" times pieces are published on saturday). according to the times, an enclave down on st. mark's is known as little tokyo. i lived 3 blocks from st. mark's this summer and can attest to the fact that 4 japanese restaurants does not an ethnic enclave make. nevertheless, the article details these japanese kids and their preoccupation with hip-hop, deejaying, and white American boyfriends.

OUT magazine.

two nights ago, russ and i headed over to macy's in downtown crossing for a "fashion show" of men's clothing. the event, sponsored by patron and OUT, was to be fair, a happily campy event. russ and i shared in the company of mario, a 66 year old puerto rican gay man obsessed with flirting with the male models. the drinks were free (and good), the clothes were underwhelming, and every detail feed this "mexican" motif.

interesting....

tower records files for bankruptcy.

check, check, check, check it out.....

tower records is going out of business says the neon green sign outside the harvard square establishment. for shame considering fewer and fewer establisments in the square are direct to consumer services -- ie: shops and stores of universal importance. yes, there's zinnia a niche jewelry store that serves the middle-aged and hippie subset. then, there's american apparel which only resonants with those who shop as a hobby (myself included).

in the digital age of dowloading, analog pasttimes seem tired. i, however, love the tower records if for nothing more than each section of the 2 story super store adds another X in its "deceny" rating. indeceny isn't bad, indeceny is good.

first section: standard lupe fiasco and the killers plus a sprinkling of maxim, FHM, and king
second section : unsure at the moment (i hope it doesn't sacrifice the joke)
second level (or first if this were europe): suicidegirls & anal teasers.

in the last few years, i have dedicated myself to a healthy helping of analog music. just recently i purchased, justin timberlake, christina aguilera, mary j. blige, and beyonce. i am going to mill through the store in the hope of heavily discounting finds.

the great wall of china.

top ten sources.

i am officially a paid blogger at top ten resources in charge of the hip-hop page and another yet to be determined category. i will be updating the page a couple times a day. check back back for the news.

my last days en la ciudad...

i spent the final night in mexico city in the company of a man named ricardo and a couple mexican poets and artists who gave me walt whitman poetry in spanish. walking among the protestors, i met the acquaintance of a man whose name i forget who encouraged passersby to paint their image of the demonstrations. below is mine.

at the booth, i spoke at length with a mentally challenged young man from chiapas. the language barrier was difficult enough coupled with the mental one. i similarly talked to a young man who caught my attention simply by the way he walked. he was different from the rest. he swaggered about, up and down the lane of protestors. he was american in town visiting his family. i could detect his californian sensibility simply by his gesturing.

like-minded black people.

i got back from mexico city on friday, stayed up the night, and drove to UBS in stamford for the final installment of the management leaders for tomorrow conference. general pleasure & business dotted with 11th hour runs to the liquor store to avoid connecticut's heinous blue laws. we partied in the hotel room until about 5 totally 3 hours of sleep in 2 days.

good people...

telenovelas.

querida preciosa,

last saturday, i drank and smoked with a chick named paolo medina at her apartment in the northern part of mexico city. she is a classically trained theatre actress hoping to make it big in mexican telenovelas. she gave me her number and i called a few days later.

we met up for a beer last night with her friend alfredo herrera who currently plays a boxer and owner of a gym in the mexican telenovela ¨champions.¨ i talked to them for about an hour concerning issues of immigration and world travels.

i will definitely keep in touch with paola. she´s amazingly spirited and vivacious.

on a more silly note, one of the hostel workers has taken a liking to me such that i found myself playing spin the bottle with a girl named cynthia, a wild pot marked bartender named giraldo, a waiter named carlos, and my admirer ricardo.

in peace,

shawna

the pyramid of the sun.

coincidences.

querida precious,

let me say that precious is my blogging muse - the person i can count on to read faithfully. early yesterday morning i met a pensive german guy named martin (22). we met over breakfast and decided to walk together to the free downtown walking tour offered by the hostel.

on the way, i ran into a harvard guy named sam − bare in mind the description ¨harvard guy¨ is far from accurate − that i know through online & non-digitized friendship circles. i accosted him on the street, really. i demanded his name & proceeded to tell him his dorm and his blockmates. we agreed to meet at 9 that night for drinks.

martin & i followed the tour faithfully for 4 hours. it took me to the site where frida & diego first met. we met a so-cal style german named alex.together, the three of us head to lunch & to local markets where i bought 3 traditional mexican blankets and earrings.

that evening, i meet sam for drinks at the first cantina in all of mexico citycalled nivel. we sat for about 2 hours talking about travel, music, film, and the current political situation in mexico.

good people....

la carta, una mini-series.

querida precious,

first, let me begin by saying that the internet at my hostel is painfully slow.i type in fear that i will loose much of what i have written if, by popular chance, the computer decides to crash.

mexico city has been so warm and welcomed which has affirmed by laymen´s belief that people who are dark & poor tend to be friendliest. i arrived in mexico city on friday afternoon (9.1) to learn that my baggage was delayed. the hostel picked me up from the airport with only my puma bag. driving into the city was unnerving, to say the least. september 1st is a national holiday in mexico, the day that the president (in this case, vicente fox of the capitalist party & former coca-cola latin america CEO) gives a national address. the address serves as the final adieu to the country before the suceeding president takes office.

given the claims of election fraud, the honor of ¨rightful winner¨ has been in contest since early july. there´s calderon on the right, and obrador on the left. the town center has been taken over by socialist demonstrators who are squatting on the city streets until something happens. that something, is unclear. el zocalo (the center) has about 50,000 - 70,000 people gathered at any given time & the police force is present in retaliation. each city corner on the 40 minute drive from the airport to my hostel was lined with no less than 10 armed officers. this, i believe, is the first time i have seen so many officers gathered in one location.

my driver from the hostel is named jonathan, who informed me that he spent 5years living in dallas as an illegal alien. i probed him about what that was like in a sloppy, spanglish mix. upon arriving, i met chad of santa cruz (USA) & dennis of sydney who are traveling and volunteering within central america for about 8 months or ¨until their money runs out.¨

together, the three of us head to the holiday inn bar as we heard from a local that that is the cheapest and best way to see the demonstrations from overhead. another local, on our way, stops us to inform us that is dangerous for us to be out there given the political tensions. we thank him for his concern & head to the holiday inn. later, we make our way to dinner at the hostel & i spend the night reading, getting adjusted, and wandering in my neighborhood (centro
historico).

the next morning, i wake up & immediately head for the frida kahlo museum by foot & subway. i arrive before the museum opens and am first to enter. i have about 20 minutes or so in la casa azul by myself, which is amazing. on my way, i meet a cab driver named juan who tells me that he loves me & that i am a beautiful woman. all i can do is say thanks & give a classically american head nod and hand wave; you know, the type of gesture a man named ¨dick¨ would do.

next, i venture to a local market followed by the leon trotsky museum, his home in mexico city converted into a museum. he is buried there after being murdered by a knife to the skull following his exile to mexico city.

later that evening, i meet 2 girls named eve and lyonh medical students from london. they invite me out with them. we are meeting up with their spanish friend eduardo, english friend named rosie, and their friends named farid and faustino. literally, i find myself out with a friend, of a friend, of a friend. together, we head to zona rosa to a gay club as all of the boys we are travelling with are gay. i hear campy, mexican music all night & find myself being hit on by 3 men, in particular.

we leave the club & head to a house party of some guy named leo (all 7 of us). we squeeze into 1 two door cab for 120 pesos & ride for about 20 minutes. leo, however, did not let us into the party. one girl named paola, an aspiring mexican actress, and her friend julia, a pilates instructor, invite us to their apartment that they share with 3 other people. there we meet unai, a mexican national of swiss and spanish decent. at the apartment, we all drink, smoke, and talk until about 3 in the morning at which point unai volunteers to drive us home. we pile into his car again (farid & faustino have left at this point). eduardo and rosie cannot remember the exact location of farid´s home and we drive in hilltop mexico city for roughly 2 hours. mexico city is beautiful at night - the city stretches roughly 40 km across. eduardo described the skyline as ¨pieces of gold, along black velvet;¨ he´s melodramatic but right in this instance.

finally, eve, lyonh, and i make it back to our hostel at 5 in the morning - my bag has arrived as so has my mission to get another free voucher from US Airways. a voucher is the reason why i am here in the first place.

mexico city has treated me well, thus far...

in peace,
shawna

mexico city.

first, i apologize for what will inevitably be poor punctuation. i am typing on a spanish keyboard at my hostel in mexico city. i arrived early this afternoon & about to pursue what i hope to be the best mexican food of my life.

today, as i drove into the city from the airport - i saw nearly 100 armed police officers. my driver informed me that today is decision day for the mexican presidential election & the local government is expecting mass rioting just minutes from my hostel en el centro (zocalo).

i owe you all a synopsis of my 3 weeks in china. i am going to cover my analysis of china in a 5 (maybe 6 part series a la the new york times.)

stay tuned...

fun times in shanghai!

check out a photo of me in the shanghai daily paper. i am speaking to two students from the conference. more on shanghai later, the internet is slow & censored.

nyc redux.

-- partied at the dove on thompson 3 times

-- created a ruckus with ms. trahan and friends 'round the world (english parlor, cuba dinner, and japanese sake)

-- attended a mets game

-- saw avenue Q and hairspray

-- finished work at MTV (loved it, by the way but was sworn not to speak about it over blog)

-- rang in michael's 21st

...an amazing end to an amazing summer in nyc

the weekend.

i spent friday at the seaport, saturday at a kitschy bar called bourbon street on the upper west, and sunday at a club called apt in the meatpacking district.

saturday, rachel and i headed uptown with ana, a fellow mtv intern and rachel's long lost swim friend from home headed to the moma. i took a few photos of some goodies. i was able to get in for free because of rachel's jpmorgan chase fringe benefits. saturday night, we headed uptown for an open bar. i certainly got my money's worth, rachel did too, she just can't remember.

sunday, the lovely katie came to town from providence. we ate dinner at the pink tea cup in the west village, a soul food place on grove street that my roommate l has recommended earlier in the day at starbucks. the restaurant played early 90s r&b and i warned katie that i am one of those people whose "jam" comes on every third song.

later sunday night, we met up with the beautiful boys i spent pride with to celebrate jeremy's birthday - then onward to APT, where a shirtless black man wearing chaps let us in.

i left the club at 4 am to the sight of a rack of pig hanging in the street (i guess it is the meatpacking district). i nearly threw up a bit in my mouth.

the original nathan's hot dog.

coney island.

last night after work, i met tanya (and her friends jon & mona) downtown for $3 margaritas. we decided rather impromptu & drunkenly that we would go out to coney island. we were temporarily side tracked when tanya successfully fooled 2 men into believing she was egyptian and i got the urge to get pierced. i needed to do 2 things on coney island - eat a nathan's hot dog & drink on the beach. i accomplished both.

we drank for about 2 hours, sat on the lifeguard's chair, and talked about sex and movies. i unfortunately did not have my digital camera, but i did buy a 27 photo disposable. perhaps these old style pictures will be charming, at the very least.

jon poignantly pointed out that the subway ride to and from coney island (about an hour from west 4th) was quite possibly the sobering ride of his life - his and mine both.

"if paris is french, coney island, between june and september is the world." – george tilyou

you sho is ugly.

in celebration of my mother’s birthday, i treated her to dinner & the theatre – the color purple & dinner at a midtown turkish spot called akdeniz, a cute date place with attractive, attentive waiters.

i had lamb chops (apparently my favorite meat seeing as i eat it all the time), my mother had chicken chops. the food was good and i think middle eastern, lower adriatic food may be my favorite at the moment. i gorge on falafel, lamb, shwarmas, etc.

nothing, however, can beat maoz in amsterdam – holler at miguel for turning me onto it.

the show was phenomenal. it was feel good from start to finish so much so that i am going to run out and buy the soundtrack. the score is a healthy, heavy handed dose of gospel and other african american standards.

my mother had been looking forward to the show since its debut. a few of her sisters had seen it so she was especially excited to be able to talk about it with them. i was glad to be able to give her something she really wanted as opposed to a present out of obligation.

sophomore spring, i took a course on black women and religious expression covering primarily black women in the south and their political and social negotiations of their faith. the color purple was on that reading list along with the spielberg film adaption. i wrote my paper on womanist theology in the color purple – that is, women loving women, sexually or otherwise.

what i love most about musical theatre is that the performers are always always triple threats – singing, dancing, and acting. there is most certainly tons of raw talent overflowing on the stage.

i urge everyone to see the show.