Events

2018 Vulture Festival Los Angeles: Sunday

For pop culture junkies, it’s easy to go way too hard at the Vulture Festival knowing that you could be getting the inside scoop on Syfy’s Deadly Class one moment and touring Grand Central Market with Phil Rosenthal and Nancy Silverton the next. We learned our lesson from last year and paced ourselves accordingly on Sunday, focusing on a handful of the festival’s returning “signature” events. Read on for some of our favorite moments from Day Two.

Amber Tamblyn and Roxane Gay Host Feminist AF

There’s nothing like a good walkout jam, and co-hosts Amber Tamblyn and Roxane Gay nailed it with a throwback to M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls” as they took the stage alongside guests America Ferrera, Ada Limón and Carmen Maria Machado for their Feminist AF reading series. Gay began by reminding the audience that just last week, 110 women were elected to the United States Congress. This transitioned nicely into a reading of “Be a Good Boy,” from the collection Forty-Four Stories about Our Forty-Four Presidents; the flash fiction piece centers around an intimate moment between John F. Kennedy and his wife Jackie in their White House bedroom as John considers how the building does not feel like home.

Poet Ada Limón captivated the audience with “How to Triumph Like a Girl,” a visceral evocation of female strength through the image of an “8-pound female horse heart.” Though the poem was written several decades ago, it was recently published in her collection Bright Dead Things and won a 2015 Pushcart Prize. Carmen Maria Machado followed with her self-described “hit single,” “The Husband Stitch,” from Her Body and Other Parties. The story—whose title refers to an extra stitch given during the repair process after a vaginal birth, supposedly to tighten the vagina for increased pleasure of a male sexual partner—plays on the schoolyard tale of the girl who wears a mysterious green ribbon around her neck.

Pants-sharing BFFs America Ferrera and Amber Tamblyn closed out the reading series, each sharing intimate, emotional essays. Ferrera read an excerpt from her personal contribution to an anthology she recently edited, called American Like Me: Reflections on Life Between Cultures; the essay discusses a trip to Honduras when Ferrera encountered her estranged father’s grave by happenstance. Tamblyn followed by taking us back to Election Night 2016—a night she spent at the Javits Center in Manhattan amongst fellow Hillary Clinton supporters, watching “Katy Perry anxiously chew[ing] on a celery stick.” Tamblyn’s essay, from her upcoming collection Era of Ignition, follows her journey through carrying a pregnancy to term post-election and her worry about keeping her daughter safe in this world. She ended her reading by playing a recording of her daughter’s heartbeat, eliciting heavy sighs and a smattering of sniffles from the audience.

Off Book: The Improvised Musical Podcast Live!

At this point, our Vulture Festival experience wouldn’t be complete without an absurd musical number from Rachel Bloom. Thanks to Jessica McKenna and Zach Reino of Off Book—an improvised musical podcast, just like the tagline says—a lucky handful of folks got to experience just that, in an oddly fitting velveted lounge in the basement of The Hollywood Roosevelt.

McKenna and Reino are forces of improv nature, spinning a hilarious melodic tale about Disneyland’s Tower of Terror ride right before our very ears. There was fantasy! There was drama! There was a song about STDs! At one point, they even sang a number about being forces of literal nature with McKenna’s “Lightning” and Reino’s “Thunder” shepherding special guest Bloom along in her role as “Hurricane.” I can definitively say that I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. And, as McKenna and Reino told the audience, it’s impossible to experience that exact musical ever again.

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Longform

On Form N-400


This essay was originally published by the literary journal Rock & Sling in Vox, a special edition issue on the 2016 presidential election. You can get your hands on this issue, as well as the upcoming Vox II: American Identities by visiting their online store

“You can color in the bubbles for me,” Courtland offered, sliding the ballot across our kitchen table.

I looked at him, horrified. “That’s fraud!”

“Only joking,” he said. “I’ll let you wear the sticker though.” He held up the small white oval stuck to his thumb.

Peeling the sticker off of his finger, I noticed that the Los Angeles edition was different than the kind I had seen growing up in the South. Instead of the standard blue letters stating “I Voted” across a waving American flag, this version translated the words into six other languages including Tagalog, my native tongue. “Bumoto Ako” was emblazoned across the bottom of the oval.

“Makes sense,” I thought, considering how frequently I overhear conversations in Tagalog while walking around the area. On the bus, at gas stations, and without fail, every time I approach the free samples table at Costco. But no matter how accommodating L.A. County may be towards Filipino immigrants, no matter how well I can mix into the melting pot, I can’t claim to be Filipino-American, much less American in general.

I stared at the sticker. Bumoto Ako, it said.

But I didn’t, I thought in response.

“It’s not the same,” I groaned out loud. I placed the sticker on my forehead as I walked away, leaving Courtland to sort out Senator X from Representative Y, Measure M from Proposition HHH.

I dread election season. Like millions of other immigrants such as myself, I loathe having to listen to politicians deliberate on our relative worth, like we’re abandoned dogs waiting to be admitted to a shelter. Ban them all, there’s no more room! Take pity on them, they just want a better life! Keep only the young ones ’cause the adults can’t be trained! We don’t know what kind of diseases they carry—think of the children!

But the thing I dread the most doesn’t have anything to do with politicians or their opinions at all. Well at least, not directly.

“Did you register to vote yet?”

I suppose this question isn’t an unreasonable one to ask of a fairly liberal, politically active writer, particularly one who speaks with a neutral American accent that has been described as “straight out of Sesame Street.”

I never know how to answer. If I say, “I’m not an American citizen,” this tiny nugget of personal information almost always turns into a half-hour long discussion about how the American immigration process works—“Yes, I’ve lived here that long,” and “No, I don’t get automatic citizenship because I’m married to an American,” and “Of course, the citizenship application costs that much.” Or worse, my simple “no” is met with a look of bewilderment, disbelief, and utter disgust. People who ask this question are not exactly the type to answer, “Me either.” This compels me to again put on my best college professor impression and outline the immigration process to someone who probably only wanted an alternative discussion topic to the weather outside.

It’s not the mini-lecture I dread. It’s the follow-up questions. “Why aren’t you a citizen yet?” or “When are you going to apply?” are the most common. The firm belief that duh, of course you want to be an American never ceases to surprise me.

I didn’t exactly have a say in coming to America. In my case, as a typical eleven-year-old faced with a big move, I was actively against it. I screamed. I cried. I tried to run away. I came up with a plan to live with my relatives, who would take rotating shifts to serve as my surrogate parents until my own realized the error of their ways and moved back to the tropics. But alas, I failed. My mom zipped me into a puffy turquoise snow jacket, buckled me up for a 21-hour plane ride, and prodded me through the never-ending “New Arrivals” line at the Detroit airport one snowy winter day, the first day of the rest of my new life.

I didn’t choose to come to the United States. That being said, this country has been my home for almost fifteen years—far longer than any other. My immediate family lives here. Most of my friends live here. I’ve even started a family of my own in a little apartment by the Pacific Ocean. Well, right now it’s just two people and one cat, but we might add a few more four-legged critters to the mix. At least, that’s the goal according to Article I, Section 1.1 of my personal five-year plan. In contrast, citizenship is somewhere in the draft stages of the plan’s Amendments section. Early draft stages.

So why not apply? For years, it’s been a matter of money. One does not casually fork over $680 like it’s a free paper napkin. But, at some point in the past few years, right around the time I became eligible for citizenship, I reached a turning point in my post-grad life and managed to make enough for a trip to Paris and London. So there goes that excuse.

Another viable explanation I often use is the time commitment. This kind of application, you know, the type to ask you to list every single group you’ve been affiliated with in your whole entire life—service organizations, volunteer corps, drinking clubs, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, or Slytherin—can’t be completed in an afternoon. It can’t be done in five. I need time, lots of it, enough for snack breaks and naps in between. And as a full-time graduate student with a part-time job, an internship, and a husband and a cat to take care of, spare time is a luxury. A luxury designated for doing laundry and dusting the bookshelves—not for typing marathons on Adobe Acrobat.

But then again, I did find enough time to go to Paris and London.

Truth be told, it’s a bit of both of these things. No, I certainly don’t have $680 or twenty hours of free time handy in my back pocket. But if I had to choose again, and I acknowledge my incredible privilege in having this choice, I would still prefer to use these things on airline tickets and fancy French cheeses.

Because I think there is something else that holds me back.

Citizenship is an odd thing. At birth, it’s given freely, often times by the country in which you’re lucky (or unlucky) enough to be born. Unfathomable to many Americans, some countries even allow the parents to choose their child’s citizenship. As you get older, however, the window closes. You are forced to accept your citizenship like you’re forced to accept your eye color or the size of your nose. It’s an intangible, yet no less defining characteristic that shapes who you are as a person and how you view the world.

But at the same time, it’s just a word on a birth certificate. A concept made up by people as a means of self-definition. A cultural construct that holds no real value outside of the citizenship-defined society we have created for ourselves. At our core, we are no different than someone on the other side of the world. We’re all just human beings in the end.

Funny how we tend to forget this so easily.

And thus we draw borders. We fight wars. We promise to build walls. Situations become “us” versus “them” rather than “all of us” versus “those who are trying to do us harm.” We forget the idea of shared humanity and cling instead to our identity as citizens of this place or that.

My Filipino citizenship is a document. A legality. A formalized reflection of where I was born. But it’s also my last connection to a country that is quickly fading in my memories. I hesitate to say it, but trading in one citizenship for another feels like letting go of a part of me, even though the culture, rather than the citizenship status itself, makes me who I am.

Funny how a simple identifier can signify nothing inherent, nothing regarding the true nature of the identified. And yet, the same identifier is collapsed with the culture it represents. It is imbued with so much meaning by the identified in order to self-describe to a world that only understands national allegiance—national culture even—via citizenship.

Maybe this is the year I convince myself of the lesson I’ve been trying to teach others all along—that citizenship says nothing about who someone is at their essence.

Maybe this is the year I realize that I don’t have to compromise my identity as a Filipino immigrant to become a civically empowered member of American society.

Maybe this is the year I fill out my citizenship application. Because as much fun as it has been planning my exit-from-America strategy if Mr. President decides to kick all of us brown-skinned immigrants out, I’d rather not leave it up to chance the next time around.

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Pop Culture

Meows on Melrose: Cats, Coffee, and Even Co-Working at Crumbs & Whiskers

Alright, alright, I know a good chunk of you are only here for the cat photos, and I promise there’s cuteness to rival the content on r/CatTaps in just a moment. But first, a bit of background…

You see, Crumbs & Whiskers founder Kanchan Singh reminds me a lot of myself—a young millennial woman who just loves cats. Full disclosure: When the PR lady said she wanted to introduce me to the founder at a recent Crumbs & Whiskers event, I was expecting, for some reason, to meet a twentysomething hotshot white guy entrepreneur who started the cat café as the charitable arm of his tech startup, or even someone more like the lovely senior ladies who run the no-kill cat shelter near my office. Needless to say, I was very wrong.

In late 2014, Singh was living the “dream” with a corporate consulting job and a cushy paycheck that let her shop, party, and travel all she wanted. But, as any of us who have been fortunate to live that plush capitalist lifestyle know, it gets a bit tiresome and empty after a while knowing that you’re not really working for social good—and sometimes working actively against it. Singh’s answer to this was to travel to Thailand and volunteer at the elephant sanctuary in Chiang Mai. For her 24th birthday, some friends took her to Catmosphere, Chiang Mai’s cat café, where the idea for Crumbs & Whiskers was born.

Singh came back to the States, quit her job, and took a leap of faith by starting her own business despite the odds. And the odds were not in her favor—according to a 2017 Forbes article:

In 2014, cat cafés were virtually non-existent in the United States. And starting a business is rare for people as young as Singh. The share of people under 30 who own a business has actually fallen by 65% since the 1980s and is now at a quarter-century low, according to a Wall Street Journal analysis. Roughly one third of 25-to-34-year-old Americans told researchers that fear of failure was a barrier to starting a company—a sentiment slightly higher among women.

Kickstarter turned out to be an excellent solution for a young entrepreneur with a trendy idea, and Singh raised nearly $36,000 on the platform to open D.C.’s first cat café. Today, Crumbs & Whiskers has expanded to Los Angeles, where I had the pleasure of meeting several of the cat café’s adorable—and temporary—residents. That’s right, all of the cats at Crumbs & Whiskers are available for adoption, and the Melrose location works with Stray Cat Alliance, a local nonprofit dedicated to saving animals in need by finding them permanent homes and providing the resources for successful companionship.

If you’ve ever volunteered at an animal shelter, it’s likely that you’ve been tasked with “socializing the cats and kittens.” Crumbs & Whiskers is a lot like that—guests come in during their reserved times to snuggle and play with the cats, and the animals are all free to mingle or hide as they please. Food and drinks are delivered directly to guests from a nearby partner café. You can even set up shop all day with their “Co-working with Cats” option!

And now, as promised, here’s a shit ton of cat photos:

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Millennial Hustle

Millennial Hustle: Akpanoluo Etteh

When I sat down to write this introduction, it took me an embarrassingly long time to remember the when, where, and how I met my friend Akpanoluo U Etteh II, or Ak for short. I’ve spent time with the 31-year-old data engineer and music salon founder in a myriad of different situations: a fashion week soirée in Soho, lunch at an upscale bistro on Abbot Kinney Boulevard in Venice, even a get-together at my sorority house in rural Tennessee, just to name a few. Because of this, I sometimes forget the humble, and somewhat ordinary, origins of our friendship—a casual meeting at a house party hosted by his then-roommate and my college friend at their Brooklyn apartment one sweltering summer evening back in 2012.

Ak still lives in the Williamsburg neighborhood, only a few blocks away from where we first met. We’ve kept in touch as I’ve moved further and further away from the L train—first to areas south of the Gowanus Canal, then a few thousand miles west to Los Angeles, where I currently reside. Ak continues to be one of the most brilliant and fascinating people I know, equally versed in data logistics as he is in choral a capella arrangements, gastronomic delights, or nuanced perspectives on hot-button political topics. Read on for more about how this millennial cleverly navigates two seemingly disparate career paths—and gets to do a shit ton of really cool things along the way:

Could you describe your job? I’m the Director of Data Products at Accordant Media.

Did you go to college, and if so, what is your degree in? I have a bachelor of science in psychology on the behavioral neuroscience track from Yale.

What is your favorite part of your job? The company I work with [Accordant Media] focuses on programmatic advertising. Programmatic advertising is the automated placement of ads online. When the field of internet advertising began, ads were sold in bulk for specific sites (i.e. 1,000 ads to the New York Times in August for $5), but sophisticated exchanges from Google, Facebook, AppNexus, and others allow ads to be targeted more specifically (i.e. no more than three ads in a single week to a user X, who has visited www.ford.com, at $0.005 a pop when they visit a list of sites we’ve approved to place ads on).

The insane quantity of data at my disposal to analyze is my favorite part of the job. We have data on every ad we place: to which domains, to whom we served those ads (via a de-identified cookie ID), and how much we paid for each individual ad; every page users visit on our brands’ websites; and a sample of the entire programmatic marketplace—a view of which sites are offering up spots on their pages for ads to be placed.

These three major data sources combined create a powerful tool that we use to target ads with more precision, avoid giving users too many ads for the same brand—which is annoying!—and inform clients on how well their ads are performing. I help to build and improve products that allow us to do this, which always presents new, intricate challenges.

What is the weirdest task you’ve ever had to do for your job? Because there are so many interlocking systems to make everything run, and because we provide clients with such precise detail on their ads, discrepancies can sometimes be a bitch to figure out. I recently worked on tweaking one of our analytical models to include custom data for a client, which messed up the entire model. I spent three months going into a rabbit hole of data to resolve multiple issues and come up with a single, elegant solution.

Do you have a side gig? I founded and run a music salon and community called The Soundshop. I first hosted the salon in January 2017 when I invited ten musicians to my apartment to share and discuss their work with each other. I came up with the idea after facilitating introductions between my friends in the music industry and my brother Eno while in Los Angeles. It unites my passions for music, networking, and conversation into an event that has helped musicians forge connections and support one another in their creative endeavors.

The salon has grown into a monthly event boasting between 40 and 60 attendees. Each salon has a new theme: music and poetry, music and theater, music and romance, a celebration of black musicians, music and healing, to name a few. The salons, which kicked off in apartments, now take place at interesting locations around Brooklyn and Manhattan such as Poets House, Dungeon Beach sound studio, The City Reliquary Museum, The Williamsburg Hotel, and Crossing Collective art gallery in Chelsea. I curate between 4 and 6 artists for each event, who have 10 minutes to share a song and talk about it as it relates to the theme, and then 5 minutes for questions and conversation with the audience.

What was your first real job? Working as a brand strategist for The Yale Marketing and Licensing Department. I conceptualized, wrote, and designed Yale’s first brand identity guide for their licensed merchandise—a tool to help promote the use of The Yale Brand in licensed products (shirts, ties, mugs, Moleskines, etc.) and to quickly give licensees a sense of Yale’s history, its brand, its mission, and how the brand ought to be used, so that they can adequately incorporate it into their products. My boss, Stephanie Schwartz, was a former executive in the NBA, has a great depth of connections and insight, and has served as my mentor to the present day.

Got any hot tips for folks wanting to do what you do? To get into a job doing data, it’s about learning how to use SQL. It’s not an incredibly hard language to learn, but it improves your value in the marketplace tremendously. And once you get a job that allows you to work in SQL every day, you can start picking up a scripting language to make your work more efficient.

To host a salon of any variety: be willing to start small, and host regular events. This way, you build an expectation that each month people know to look out for your event. Additionally, this allows you to experiment and iterate very quickly on the format and hone in on what works.

And, to get into the music industry, as I have slowly been getting deeper into—or any industry you don’t have experience in—just be willing to put yourself out there. Your goal should be front and center when people ask you what you do, even if you’re just getting started. I mention my music salon within the first few sentences of meeting someone, even on a chance encounter, and it has really opened doors.

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Mental Health

Take Care of Yourself Today

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For better or worse, the Kavanaugh confirmation hearings have been inescapable over the past few days. I know I’m not alone when I say that this news cycle has upset me for a myriad of reasons—the political and social implications of our lawmakers’ words and actions; historical amnesia and a refusal to learn from past mistakes; for my colleagues and friends being forced to relive their trauma from similar incidents; for the people I don’t know who are going through the same; and for a whole host of other reasons I’m unwilling to discuss because I might cause myself more harm in doing so.

And that’s the biggest lesson I’ve learned of late—that it is okay to take care of yourself first. After all, you can’t fight the patriarchy when you have nothing left to give. Self-care takes many different forms, but here are some ways to get started:

Listen to yourself, and don’t ignore your feelings. 

It seems simple, but even things that appear self-evident often aren’t in times of crisis. The New York Times spoke with a number of mental health professionals in an article directly discussing the larger social impact of the current news cycle’s triggering nature.

Dr. Kristin Neff, a professor of human development and culture at the University of Texas at Austin, advises folks to ask themselves what they need right now, be it congregating with friends or turning off all media and spending some quiet time alone. “It’s about drawing your boundaries and saying, ‘It’s not O.K.,’ which is equally important in the practice of self-compassion,” she says.

Likewise, Dr. Emily Dworkin, a senior fellow at the University of Washington School of Medicine, observes that in her work with trauma victims, she has found that “feel[ing] through those tough feelings” instead of withdrawing completely can help one “regain a sense of power over their experience.” This practice can be done in a number of ways depending on the individual, including journaling, talking to a therapist, or finding a reliable friend who is willing to listen.

Do something soothing. 

Make a nice home-cooked meal. Go outside and dig your feet in the dirt. Light that pine-and-juniper scented candle you’ve been saving for the holidays. Sit on your balcony and listen to the low hum of freeway traffic. Pet your neighbor’s twenty-pound marbled tabby that’s been hanging out outside your door all day. This doesn’t have to cost any money or even a lot of time. Just take a few moments for yourself to do something that you know will help give you the energy to go on with the rest of your day.

Connect with the present.

As you may already know, we at Dinner Party are big advocates for the practice of mindfulness. Research has shown that a simple ten minutes a day on mindfulness can have significant benefits, and the practice is a cornerstone of self-compassion—which ultimately affects your interactions and relationships with other people.

In a piece for HelloGiggles, Dr. Anjhula Mya Singh Bais, an international psychologist and trauma specialist, offers some easy guidelines for connecting with the present: “One is to distract the mind by looking around and noting five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste….Or try inhaling a strong scent, such as peppermint or lemongrass, or listening to some loud, energetic music.”

Reach out for more help if you need it. 

Scheduling an appointment with your therapist is always a good idea if you feel that it is necessary. Talkspace or BetterHelp are alternatives for those who may have erratic schedules or may be without insurance and need a more cost-effective option. Additionally, the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline can be reached via online chat at rainn.org or by phone at 800-656-HOPE (4673).

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Think Piece Roundup

Think Piece Roundup: Crazy Rich Asians

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For the record: I loved the film adaptation of Kevin Kwan’s bestselling novel. I’m a self-professed romantic comedy junkie who frequently gets suckered into watching any movie even remotely resembling the genre. On top of that, I’m an Asian American constantly tip-toeing the line between being “too Asian” in some contexts and “not Asian enough” in others. I am this movie’s target demographic.

That said, I also grew up in the Philippines during the era of Flor Contemplacion. For those unfamiliar, Contemplacion was a Filipino domestic worker who was charged with murder and executed by the Singaporean government. Her death caused a political firestorm, souring relations between the Philippines and Singapore for years after, as well as sparking a renewed interest in the treatment of OFWs and the intersection of class, ethnicity, and power in the geopolitical sphere. Needless to say, I’m always curious to see how—but more often than not, if—filmic portrayals address this tangled web of issues.

And so, although I cherish the opportunity to watch a glitzy Hollywood rom-com starring a bunch of people who look a lot like me—I think it’s worth spending the time to take stock of the discussions surrounding Crazy Rich Asians, both good and bad. Because even if it didn’t rake in over $160 million at the box office, the film still has all the trappings of a movie that launches a thousand think pieces—and thankfully not the kind that has to explain “Whitewashing 101.” Read on for a small, curated slice of these conversations, from articles criticizing the film’s treatment of ethnic minorities in Singapore to writers celebrating the fact that this movie has moved us along just enough that we’re now able to discuss the delicate nuances of Asian identity in a global context.

Singaporean activist and writer Sangeetha Thanapal maintains that Crazy Rich Asians furthers the “ongoing systematic erasure and oppression of Singapore minorities on a global screen” in an article for Wear Your Voice, an intersectional feminist website.

Likewise, Singaporean poet Pooja Nansi calls out the movie’s troubling portrayal of her country’s ethnic minorities in positions of servitude.

Kirsten Han echoes these sentiments, arguing that the movie doesn’t avoid caricature or stereotype but merely offers another version of the “exotic” East. The Vox piece also touches upon the “divergence between the needs and priorities of Asian Americans and Asians in Asia” and points out that while the film’s all-Asian cast is touted as a win for representation in America, the focus on East Asian faces merely reinforces Chinese dominance in Singaporean culture.

Over at the Los Angeles Times, Frank Shyong suggests an alternative viewpoint, noting the film’s “fractal resonance or truth that holds up from many angles,” which he observes in the film’s popularity within the Cambodian American community in Long Beach, California.

Similarly, Jiayang Fan tempers these criticisms by urging viewers to watch Crazy Rich Asians “like an Asian American” in a piece for The New Yorker.

Shannon Liao has a slightly different take on the Asian American vs. Asians in Asia divide. She points out that director Jon M. Chu, screenwriters Peter Chiarelli and Adele Lim, as well as actress Michelle Yeoh, have mentioned in past interviews that female agency and power dynamics were integral in shaping the characters and plot of the film adaptation; these concerns, Liao argues, subvert expectations of the traditional Asian rom-com and allow the film to become “not only…an opportunity for Asian-Americans to see themselves represented on-screen as positively and vividly as they are in Asian media, but also for Asian characters to be reflected in a more feminist and appreciative light.”

Journalist Audrey Cleo Yap admits that the film “doesn’t even come close” to representing the full spectrum of Asian and Asian-American experiences—and why that’s okay with her.

Oddly enough, the movie may never be released in China according to Amy Qin at the The New York Times. And even if it were, many doubt just how popular such a film—with its thematic undercurrents of diaspora culture—could ever be amongst mainland Chinese.

Jeva Lange of The Week questions if the film truly offers anything beyond “wealth porn,” writing that Crazy Rich Asians “fetishizes extreme wealth while failing to acknowledge or grapple with the nuances of a system of gross inequality.”

On MUBI’s The Notebook, Kelley Dong takes this argument a step further by connecting wealth with cultural identity—and why, against a backdrop of “sizzling street food and skyscrapers,” the movie’s failure to address these issues is problematic.

Finally, Allyson Chiu at The Washington Post notes that “since stories about nonwhite characters are so rare to begin with, movies that break the mold are put under a stronger microscope,” a sentiment shared by Crazy Rich Asians actor Nico Santos in an interview with CNN. The solution, according to both, is to support the movie for the opportunities it could create. After all, as Santos says, “We should be allowed to fail…How many chances do white people get? How many [crappy] movies do they get to make over and over again?…This is our first chance, so let us throw the dart. If it doesn’t stick, then ok. Give us another dart.”

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Pop Culture

An Abandoned Sports Authority Transforms into a Disneyland-Lover’s Dream Exhibit

 

I was listening to a radio interview with Death Cab for Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard the other day about the rapid changes he’s observed in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood, his home for the past twenty years. Gibbard noted that his sadness over the morphing urban landscape isn’t directly due to buildings being demolished or shops closing down. Rather, he feels that his memories are connected to physical places and grieves as these familiar haunts—and with them, his memories—begin to disappear.

I couldn’t help but think of Gibbard’s analogy about “plugging your hard drive into physical places” when I first heard of “That’s From Disneyland!” a super-sized exhibit of Disneyland memorabilia owned by music agent Richard Kraft. When Kraft’s brother Dave passed away, he rediscovered their shared childhood moments at The Happiest Place on Earth. Rather than contenting himself with a set of mouse ears or a snow globe of Cinderella’s castle, Kraft began to collect vintage souvenirs and rare artifacts from Disney Parks, eventually amassing more than 750 items over the next two decades.

Kraft’s collection is currently on display in—drumroll, please—an abandoned Sports Authority in the San Fernando Valley. Much like a fairy godmother, famed auction house Van Eaton Galleries has turned the space into a 20,000 square foot pop-up exhibit, where guests are invited to get up close and personal with items such as a once-submerged giant sea serpent from “The Submarine Voyage” ride, José the animatronic Enchanted Tiki Room bird, and all four Original Haunted Mansion Stretching Room paintings. An intimate theater space, dubbed “Club Kraftland,” is located directly above the makeshift gallery and hosts a handful of special ticketed events throughout the remainder of the exhibit’s run.

Personally, I do very much enjoy Disneyland, but to an extent—as in, my once-a-year gratis trip courtesy of a friend who does fancy lighting stuff down at Disney World in Florida. That said, I’m always curious about people who are into Disney. Even more so, I’m absolutely fascinated by the kind of Disney-a-holic who would drive all the way to an abandoned sporting goods store in Sherman Oaks and stand in line to see a bunch of old stuff that used to be in a theme park.

After hanging out with some super fans at last Saturday’s Club Kraftland event, however, I began to understand a bit more about Disney fandom, nay, obsession. The notion of memory being inextricably tied to a place—and said place being The Happiest Place on Earth—seemed to be true for almost all of the folks I encountered at the event, “Hanging Out With Paul Scheer: Disney Edition,” including Scheer’s guests: Jeff Garlin (The Goldbergs, Toy Story 3, and Wall-E), Ben Schwartz (Parks & Rec, Ducktales), Rachel Bloom (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Robot Chicken), and Allie Goertz (musician and editor at Mad magazine).

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The event, a Disney-centric version of Scheer’s monthly Largo show, seemed much like a two-hour, adults-only version of show-and-tell. Bloom, a native of Manhattan Beach, brought her parents Shelli and Alan, who became even more devoted to Disneyland long after they could use their daughter as an excuse to go to the park. Meanwhile, Garlin told a cringe-worthy story about the connection between his eldest son’s circumcision and a suspicious foil envelope thrown into the moat surrounding Sleeping Beauty’s castle (you do the math).

Club Kraftland is set to host two more events: “Maltin on Movies” with film critic Leonard Maltin and his daughter Jessie in conversation with Disney legend Floyd Norman, tonight, August 22nd; and “A Whole New World of Alan Menken,” a charity concert featuring legendary Disney composer Alan Menken, on Friday, August 24th. Additionally, “That’s From Disneyland!” will culminate in a two-day auction of the entire collection over the weekend, since, as Richard puts it, he’s ready to “let it go.”

“That’s From Disneyland!” runs through August 24th and is open from noon to 8 p.m. Entrance to the exhibit is free. The two-day auction will be held on Saturday, August 25th and Sunday, August 26th. A portion of the proceeds from the auction will go to the Coffin-Siris Foundation and CHIME Institute, two organizations that work with children with developmental disorders. For more information about location, tickets to Club Kraftland events, and the auction, please visit their website.

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