So today was all right, even though I found in watching Gigli with Alric that I have been on dates shockingly similar to the interaction between Ben Affleck and the black-channeling retard that he abducts (Why must the retard be obsessed with Hip Hop? Is this amusing, somehow? As the expression of animal lust? Let me not get into this). If homosexuality is so easily overcome by dick, then, well, oh, wait. Wrong kind of homo. Damn. J Lo plays the worst sort of Orientalist--another minority who can't see through the oppression and marginalization that white misunderstanding (and native selling out and dilution) of ancient lore represents and reinforces. Though she does own a yoga mat (Alric claims I should do things like explain that I sleep on a yoga mat instead of a real bed. However, that's fucking inexplicable!). I don't feel as deviant. Though I am not as foxy. And the violence is gratuitous, waved away, consequenceless.

Hrmm... pleasant if rather late lunch with Francis contrasting West and East Coast gaysian experiences, as well as trying to get at what meaning might be left to being Asian in this country. And this fascinates me, somehow, as I look for more meat in my self-racist fiction (which I had a hard time explaining to Alric over dinner--"So, you see, it doesn't really foreground Asian-ness, as being Asian-American-literature, as such.... It's just polemical short fiction designed to point out the inadequacies of Asians..."). But this is dumb. Francis, meanwhile, seemed not as mopey as usual, but maybe that's just the ease of complaining over IM, where lag can mean that you are happy by the time that you are read. Hope the same for me :)