Woah, I can’t believe it’s been nearly a month since I’ve posted anything. Clearly I’ve lost touch with my blogging voice and have been accumulating months and months of pent up stories that needed to be shared and documented but weren’t given many opportunities due to administrative and organizational priorities that although were a willing responsibility, completely diverted my attention from what I love to do first and foremost; write and ramble to my goddamned heart’s content. I’ve been mourning a sense of loss in my narrative voice and because I am out of practice, I now feel completely insecure with my ability to write wholesome, coherent, meaningful, and rich phrases and sentences. In addition, I’ve developed a heinously chronic case of ADD and can no longer fathom sticking to one web page or word document or email for more than a minute, literally. I also can no longer physically sit at any given spot for more than about 15 minutes before “needing” to go to the bathroom, eat something, anything, smoke a cigarette, or call someone I have little to say to.
And yet, I’ve been as busy as a hoarding squirrel, busy as a hungry pigeon, busy as a horny dog, busy as a dirty rat. Greenpoint Food Market has gone to shits but in its death comes the rise of a new business enterprise, a non-profit cooperative incubator kitchen catering and supporting all the small batch local food vendors lacking resources to start their food businesses. I’m collaborating with Rich of Mombucha and together we’ll soon open a space, in Greenpoint of course, that hosts certified kitchens for vendors to use for a minimal yearly fee (membership dues) in exchange for teaching classes and workshops from how to make jam to how to form creative and successful marketing strategies to get your product out there. There will also be a small daily storefront space stocked with goods made in-house with a diverse array of products both hot and cold, packaged and ready to eat. It’s a huge and overwhelming endeavor, especially considering I’ve never done anything close to this serious or official, anything that requires this much paper processing, permit and application inducing, anything this complicated and involved. I’m intimidated as hell and scared to death I’ll fuck up somewhere along the way, or worse yet, never follow thru. But I am grateful to have a tremendous amount of support from all levels of experiences and fields, whether it be City Council office, Dept of Health, small business organizations, or the hoards of individuals emailing me everyday offering their help, guidance, experience, and advice. I needn’t forget to take a breather and take it all in one task at a time and not fear to make mistakes along the way.
I’ve also curated the summer show at Arario Gallery and I couldn’t ask for a better turnout. Irrelevant: Local Emerging Asian Artists Who Don’t Make Work About Being Asian is exactly as the title implies and folks so far have been loving it, including the Village Voice. Curating a show is funner than I imagined, and just as administratively tedious as I would’ve thought. The works surprisingly all melded beautifully together despite various and eccentric contextual themes and eerily reflects my own self-indulgences. It’s showing thru August 6th if you so care.
And yet, I am hella enjoying my summer. I’ve uber tanned myself by the first week of July and have dedicated every weekend to sun and play. I’ve been spending an exorbitant amount of time with an Angel that is admittedly, albeit shyly, my newfound love and at this point I can’t imagine not spending an ENTIRE weekend without this man. I’m learning something new about relationships as time progresses and our exchanges develop: relationships don’t have to stifling, I don’t have to fear being trapped and suffocated, and it CAN be mutually gratifying.
I don’t have to complain about the lack of decent and qualified men out there because here, in my face, is one of the most accommodating, attentive, generous, caring, loving, self-aware, stable, goofy, and sexy man I’ve ever met. Nothing is rushed, nothing is obsessive, no one goes unheard, and there is no hiding of obvious amorous affections. Obviously I’m embedded in that ever so covetous “honeymoon” phase that runs rampant in the beginning and eventually it’ll subside but after that there will be the quiet and peaceful comfort of stability and unquestioned, unconditional love that comes with being in a healthy relationship. I mean, mind you, I have absolutely no doubts that we’ll bicker and fight and I’ll probably slap him in the face at one point or another but I have no doubt it’ll always end with a hug, a kiss, and the much envied make up sex. Hahahahaha. ok Maybe you didn’t need to hear any of this but I’m speaking specifically to my girlfriends and many other women out there who don’t dare get involved in sticky involvements out of a fear of finding something better and those who complain decent men don’t exist: they’re out there, somewhere, just don’t look for it and they’ll come runnin’ after ya.
Most of my summer activities so far mainly focused on exposing my skin to the sun sprawled in garden loungers, subsequently risking myself to skin cancer, sun blots, burns, rashes, and leathery textures. All is forgotten when you’re spending a weekend upstate walking along a creek of giant rocks and woods and dipping into clear greenish water gushing from a beautiful waterfall. Or exploring the many non-beautiful but will-do-til-I-go-to-the-Caribbeans beaches along the tip of this state and freaking out about those tumultuous waves that will easily suck you in and spit you out the other end of the ocean. I am yet to learn how to swim and I’m a pestering baby when it comes to ocean water, refusing to walk past knee deep and just kind of awkwardly stare with pure envy at all those folks who freely ride the waves with liberating strokes and floats. Outdoor movies, concerts, dance parties have been running rampant alongside the BBQs, backyard pool parties, and rooftop star gazing evenings. I participate as much as I can, remembering my determined promise to self that I WILL in fact enjoy my summer despite the loads upon loads upon loads of work that need to be done between projects and work and self-documenting tasks.
I miss visiting museums and galleries which I haven’t done in MONTHS, I miss cooking which I do on very very rare occasions and I miss unplanned spontaneous random explorations. I miss yoga and I miss my once lean body. I hate my diet, I hate my pouch, I hate my oversized calves. I need to catch up on all the magazine and all the website I subscribe to and gratify this never fed enough urge to be as culturally knowledgeable and informed as possible. I need to let go of that obsession as remember what day it is, what time it is, and be present.
Most likely I won’t put up another post for another couple weeks but I hope, I really really hope, not.