kristinawong.com

living it up like a non-profit britney spears

2009-06-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

Here's a quick tour of my new Silverlake home as seen through the eyes of Oliver. Check out Oliver's sexy gold collar which I hope will keep him from getting misplaced among the raccoons of Silverlake (and by "raccoons," I don't mean the hipsters).

The new view from my home office overlooking the hills of Silverlake and a glimpse of the big giant deck. The days go by a little slower and the sunlight from three windows has been so much better for my health. And now when the sun goes down and not enough work gets done, I only bawl like a crazy person, not like a maniac.

The bathtub in the bathroom. There is a separate shower and bathtub! Note that the duffel bag filled with my setpieces is stored in the bathtub. I have about 1/3 the closet space I did before.

The full kitchen and a shot of Oliver's cornhole. For some reason, there's more storage in the kitchen than anywhere else in the house, so my old journals and pictures are stashed in the cupboards.

The separate craft area! I previously did crafts on top of my computer table and loose threads and buttons would mix themselves into my paperwork. Finally! A hobby station where I can sew my own costumes and props! Also, check out my new sewing machine which I will have to own for the rest of my life because it cost an Indiana mortgage payment! A limited edition Project Runway Brother sewing machine!

Before I got Oliver out of West LA he was spraying repeatedly in the bed, in my luggage, It was my cat lady swan song.

I thought for half a second of leaving him behind... I was prepared to flip the mattress and wash the sheets again and again in Silverlake. I bought cat pheremones to spray in the house which supposedly calm a cat down (because it makes them think they already sprayed there... yes... lovely). I bought white vinegar to neutralize the smell. I even arranged to have the cat psychic talk to Oliver (through me) to prep him for the move (she was on vacay and couldn't do an appointment...).

But he's totally gotten into our new Silverlake digs. He's chilled out and mellow. And as far as I can SMELL, no accidents. Perhaps in hipsterville, my cat lady days are numbered?

It was kind of a wonderful thing to see Oliver leave West LA for the first time in his whole life. I put him in a mesh laundry hamper and sat in the backseat with him as my cousin drove us down the freeway towards Silverlake. Watching Oliver react to all these new things must have been how that woman in Austria felt when she and her kids were released from their basement dungeon her father put them in (minus the incest and having seven kids by her father and living with no natural sunlight in absolute hell for 25 years). Oliver was scared, but also very curious of the freeway and of his new home, of trees (not just West LA palm trees, which I guess count as trees) and the sounds of birds, of sunlight streaming in. I finally live in a home that I'm not embarassed to have guests over at. Even with the truckloads of boxes still in the living room, I feel I can still show people the place.

I write you now from the Atlantic Center for the Arts where I am on a three week artist residency. This residency lands me as last year's did-- off the coast of Florida, this time on the EAST Coast. The bugs haven't been as cruel as they were last summer. And rather than drink myself into a stupor as the only artist-in-residence, there are about 27 people here who can join me in "drunkeness-as-artistic-process." It's quite amazing. Unfortunately, I have a grant application to finish up the first few days that I am here, but after that, I can tear back into the projects that I've neglected in this move. Including "Cat Lady"-- the new show that I just got a MAPFUND grant to work on!

The view from my cottage. It's a jungle out there filled with bugs, birds, and lizards. I exclaimed last night, "Wow! It sounds just like the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland!"

One thing I've noticed, the artists here are all very young. I've grown accustomed to feeling like the youngest person in the room in other settings, but some of these folks look like they just finished their undergrad. I hear over and over again that studies have found a lot of practicing artists stop making work past 40. Is the demographic here indicative of that truth?

My unmade bed.

I'm wondering why I've not applied sooner to be here. This place is amazing. We get 24 hour access to studios and libraries, our own cottages with bathroom, we get fed, and we're not obligated to produce any final work, just be artists and soak in the process of being around other artists and doing our work.

I think of Oliver and our new home. I see myself here given full permission to create work, and I wonder how it was I went so long in my 20s living in such abject post college conditions.

I toast to the steamy sundown here in Florida with cheap booze in my hands, sticky with sweat and bug spray. I still have to raise a ton of money to get Cat Lady (the new show) made and have yet to piece together enough touring shows in 2009 to make a living wage... but yes! Here I am in Florida! Treated like royalty? Well more like a summer camp for artists.... but good enough!

Finally, I get to live up my life as a non-profit Britney Spears. Kristina Wong, you have arrived.

Yard Sale Goodbye

2009-06-14T00:32:00.000-07:00

Today I watched as years of my hoarding was redistributed among the residents of West Los Angeles. I had a bittersweet moment as I saw my hand-crocheted ninja turtle backpack that I wore throughout college leave on the back of a 7-year old latino kid for $2. I picked up that bag at a Savers in Vegas when I was 18 for $3. (Making depreciation 33%.) It was a signature item of mine at UCLA. But now it rightfully is given new life by an owner of a more appropriate age. I actually teared watching him hop up and down the street wearing it. College was a tough time and strangely enough, that backpack gave me a sense of self. I wondered what his memories would be with it.

I've been touring so much, I haven't noticed how much of a college town I live in until today when all these kids (who for some reason insist on wearing UCLA sweatshirts) came up to us to peruse the sale. There was a girl wearing an Asian Sorority jacket that had "Jimmy's Little Sis" monogrammed on the back. And I'm thinking, "Oh god, I keep getting older and they stay the same age."

I'm long overdue for a move.

After days of trying to box things up for the yard sale, I didn't even put out everything I could have sold. Running up and down the stairs of my apartment and grabbing things of value was exhausting. But I did clear $230. Not bad. It wasn't about the money, it was about saying the long goodbye to crap and seeing it off to new homes. It was the necessary ritual of separation. If anything, this economic slowdown has afforded me the time to do a massive demolition of my place to clear out my possessions from the bottom on up. I spent a lot of time telling stories about items... "Oh my friends brought that back for me from Laos" or "Oh, my grandmother crocheted that, but I have no room." Surprisingly, people do buy VHS tapes, magazines, and uncovered records.

This Asian woman named Debbie came by and spent hours with us. Tediously going through things making sure she didn't leave anything unperused. I let her take my dishes, some of my jewelry-- about two boxes of things for $3o. I felt like she was hanging out more just for the company. I was good company and pretty much everytime she picked up something in interest I would say, "Just take it!"

She even came back to tell me she was short one chopstick and I let her grab more stuff. I imagine her life now is my old life of useless cute crap. Poor poor Debbie.

There were moments when I knew things were underpriced, where I felt rich in regret about things I didn't wear enough or paid too much for. But once they were gone, they were gone and it felt so good.

I swear. No more hoarding.

In my cleaning now. I found a $5 gift certificate to Tower Records and my missing passport. I also found bank statements from 2001 in my dining closet. The passport is expired now. Tower Records is out of business.

All this has me wondering what the F I've been doing all these years. How did I let accumulation hit such a low?

I hope my new obsession is hoarding memories of a well lived life.

Oh Mighty Chinatown Bus: Taketh me.

2009-05-26T10:01:00.001-07:00

There's a lot going on now.

I'm in Philly working on a new ensemble show called "Edge of the World" at the Asian Arts Initiative that will premiere at the end of this week. We wrote it in the last three days and it looks pretty awesome considering. I can't give away too much, but I will say that I may be peeing onstage into an adult diaper as my way of exploring the Asian American Experience.

Show info here...

As soon as I publish this blog, I will take the Chinatown bus to NYC to do a short storytelling set in NJ. Pray for my safe return.

I left for Philly only half packed for my move to Silverlake. This moving process from one side of LA to another has been really emotional. This stress is mostly logistical. Not having a car to quickly transport things over to the new place means that trash just kind of piles up into the middle of the apartment and doesn't really quite yet move out. And being home all day means I have to sit among trash and it's driving me nuts fast.

For the forced housecleaning alone, I may have been long overdue for this move. I'm so glad that I am not spending the rest of my life in that apartment in West LA (a suggestion my mother made to me once!). I'm having to face years of memories and memorabilia from times that I am not sure or not if I want to remember. Throwing stuff out is a process of editing memories and refining my identity. I'm feeling freer. And I am excited about designing my new life. Which is totally what I need in this economy and as I strive to do more exciting things with my life.

It's even odder when friends come by and pick parts of my life they want to take on for theirs. I'm actually surprised how many friends want to come by and take a piece of old Kristina.

I gave away my bed to a guy on Craigslist named Hardy. He was very likely a young Republican. And after I agreed to give him my bed, a good handful of my friends asked to take my bed from me because they really needed it for shows they were doing or just to sleep in (not to preserve any of my nostalgia, mind you). As I saw my bed strapped to the top of Hardy's Toyota 4Runner, I realized, yes indeed, this is an end of an era. (Insert your wisecrack here).

Under the bed was some serious archaeology. I haven't moved that bed since 2001. There were things I hadn't seen for years, relics of friendships gone by, obsessive phases of my life.

I'm no longer in my post college life, but post post college life.

And so how does such a history minded person like me decide what's worth archiving and what to bring into the new life? Because a hack historian like me is obsessed with accuracy.

A friend of mine just told me how before her cross country move she destroyed her old wedding photos (she's divorced) and threw her wedding rings into the river.

Performance Artist that I am, I can't quite throw out old pictures of boyfriends without an audience watching and the grant check already deposited.

Downsizing

2009-05-19T19:01:00.000-07:00

I'm moving.

No, not to New York. Still too chicken to do that officially. Though maybe that's next. Not San Francisco either. Though I am there quite a bit.

I'm officially shifting my base of operations to SILVERLAKE! Land of skinny boys with girly haircuts and too tight jeans.

Why am I moving away from the beach? Why would I leave my 2 bedroom apartment which is locked in at such low low rent? Many reasons. One main one is that its getting very depressing to live in the same apartment that I've been in since I finished college. And believe it or not, saving money, even in this economy, is not worth being this depressed.

I'm moving to a house with a big deck and a cactus garden in front. A full kitchen, a washer/dryer, and a dishwasher. It's on a tree lined street walking distance from Spaceland. And as soon as I tweeted the news, I come to learn that that's where all my friends have been hiding.

I've been doing what I haven't wanted to do since I moved in here... Move stuff out. Moving is such an experience filled with regret. Looking at books (from college even!) that I have yet to read. Postcards that I never sent. Notes from classes on how to audition for a career that kind of turned a different way.

And finally going through the tubs filled with old paper work.

I've found among other gems....

* Old lecture notes peppered with poems to a French boy (huh?! I have no memory of having a crush on a French boy.)
* Yards and Yards of fabric that I purchased to sew up a giant vagina for my very first show.
* A job application for Hooters that I started to fill out and never turned in. (I listed my roommate as a reference.)
* A folder marked "Job Opportunities." Inside were corporate brochures for Merrill Lynch, E! Entertainment, etc I must have collected from a job fair at UCLA. And for some reason, there was a flyer for "Amateur Night" at Showgirls also tucked in there. I wonder if I slipped that into my files as a joke to myself to discover many years later because even I couldn't believe I was that funny to put that in the same file. Ironically, I've not worked for any of those companies, nor ever tried out the strip club thing.
* A letter I wrote to Leilani when I was an undergrad for the internship she was offering at "TeAda Productions." (Yes, the company that 10 years later produced a run of "Wong Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" in Los Angeles)

I junked a lot of stuff so far and am planning a big yard sale June 13 where I will pretty much push everything that is non-essential out to the curb and let the hoarders take it on.

I'm ready to let it all go. I'm making room for a great new bright life.

Incidentally, if you are in the market for a queen bed with a canopy frame, 21 inch TV with digital converter, YARN, slide carousel, women's clothes, etc, please let me know. I've got what you want.

Idea for a new t-shirt: "I Survived API Heritage Month"

2009-05-12T19:07:00.000-07:00

My set gets filthier by the city.

Congratulate me. I have survived yet another Asian Pacific Islander Nervous Breakdown Month. (Technically, it is in May, but schools get out in May, so it if often pushed to April). Yes! The month in which my heritage is "celebrated" with Kristina Wong's arrival to various campuses also coincides with when schools finally get it together to spend what funds they procrastinated on spending earlier in the year.

It's been slow for all my artist friends, so I was very very grateful for April this year. And yet, I wasn't actually being programmed as part of API Heritage Month, I was just being programmed.

I returned to Los Angeles last week, but I have yet to unpack. My apartment looks ransacked and I have yet to get back on schedule. Yep, welcome back to your normal life of chaos Kristina.

Three cities in three and a half weeks. Chicago, New York City, and Minneapolis.

I learned a lot during my travels this month. These lessons in short:

1. I will never fly to Minneapolis from New York City on ATA again (they stop in Atlanta which turns a two hour flight into a six hour flight) and they have all of two inches between rows. When I finally got to Minneapolis, I passed out in the hotel, woke up not knowing what time it was, my phone rang, and I started crying like a startled baby because I was so disoriented.

2. I am happiest when I am working (and being renumerated), making art, and helping others make their art. I get sad when these three things are not in place in my life. So all I want in my life is a constant influx of these three things, and I will be happy.

3. I still got it. And I always will got it. And I can never forget that I got it.

Chicago was the first city of this April whoring stint. I woke up the second night that I arrived and didn't know where I was.

It happens so often from all the travel that I don't panic anymore. This time when it happened, I pulled the sheets closer to me as my brain calculated:

"Ok, Kristina. You're not at home. Are you in Los Angeles? No. You aren't in Los Angeles because this isn't your apartment. And there's nobody next to you, is there? Nope, so you didn't get lucky last night which definitely means you aren't in Los Angeles. Ok, you are definitely in some city in America. Well, this isn't a hotel room. It's too small. It's a dorm. Oh, that's right, you are in Chicago. You are in Chicago at the University of Chicago where you are an artist-in-residence!"

The University of Chicago didn't have any theater spaces available on campus to present the show. The only option was the non-denominational Rockerfeller Chapel on campus. (But really, can a cathedral architected in the shape of a cross actually be considered "non-denominational"?). So yes, I did the show in a church that was completely unedited. Talk about a one-way ticket to hell.

It was definitely not the easiest space to work in. It was a nightmare focusing lights during the day because we couldn't get the sun to turn off long enough to see where our lights were focused. We had to run all the sound cues off a dying boombox with a lavelier propped next to it.

After I did a two minute orgasm in the first 20 minutes of the show, one guy walked out. I can only imagine he headed straight to the confessional to tell of what sin he witnessed.

Still, I would say it went well enough. I was surprised journalist Paula Kamen who was a college friend of Iris Chang showed up on her own to my show. She wrote a book looking at Iris' death, and gave me a signed copy. I'd read about her book and totally knew who she was once she introduced herself.

I spent the rest of my trip reading the book and finally finished it when I came back to Los Angeles. This trip was rough at points, but when I read the first chapter and was brought back to the details of Iris' life and tragic death, I cried and oddly, felt grounded again. It's easy to forget that the reason people in cities all over the country come to my show. Because the topic intrigues them, and because beyond all of my theatrics, this show came from a real place.

On the Saturday morning, hours after my show, I woke up at 3:30am to catch a 6am flight to New York City (Thank you says my body). When I arrived, I had a few hours to prepare for hosting the showcase at the Asian American Student Conference at NYU. I was at my friend Jessica's place in Brooklyn peeling through what odds and ends of costumes I had brought. Because of these new airline baggage limits, I could only bring odds and ends of various costumes and actually didn't have complete concepts for characters down.

When I got to NYU, the students asked me to host their quiz bowl. That had to be the strangest, funniest, off-the-cuff performance in the world. It was a five teams of three kids each using those press-on lights from the dollar store as their low tech game show buzzers, and I was calling out questions like it was World Wide Wrestling.

Imagine me bellowing into a mic while standing on a chair: "And the correct answer for 'who was the author or Orientalism'... Edward SAID!!!!!! You answered WRRRRRROOOOONNNNGGGG!!!!!"

The kids got so into it. Even from the audience they were jumping up and down in their seats whispering excitedly what the right answers were to themselves. And I really credit my own earnest overdramatic hosting of the event for how well it all went over.

Because I didn't actually pack full costumes to the show, I had to improvise with what I brought. So I created a new character named "Kristina Kamikaze, Tila Tequila's taller and also bisexual sister." I wore my pajamas, used safety pins to give it shape, and shoved a tote bag in my butt. It was fun and a hit.

Then 48 hours later, I was off to Minneapolis to do a two and a half week residency at Pangea World Theater. Can I stress AGAIN how I will never fly ATA, or at least try to save a few bucks by doing the flight that stops in ATLANTA?!

Some of my favorite friends in Minneapolis include Nadine and her husband Michael. Nadine I met completely by accident. She sent me some books off of my Amazon wishlist, along with a nice note, and I gave her a call to thank her. As it turns out we were linked by arts groups and were only separated by a couple of degrees by other artists we knew.

When I was in Minneapolis last June at the Asian American Theater Conference, Nadine and Michael took me and my friend Sam to the Mall of America. They told us about their extensive collection of board games. They have thousands of board games including weird ones like the "Spiro T. Agnew American History Challenge Game." I never thought about the phenomenom of board games until I saw their extensive collection in their basement. Board games to point to our American obsessions of "winning" and sometimes reveal specific moments of history and even problematic conceptions of race. See below...

And here's another gem from their collection. No, you don't need to be Chinese to play Chop Suey. But it's ok if you are a douche wearing a child's cop hat.

One day when I become a middle aged married white couple living in a nice modest house in the Midwest, I too will find something to obsessively hoard. Oh wait, I am just looking at my yarn collection in the corner of my office. Well, I guess I have found something to hoard. I'm getting over yarn. It's been almost a year since I've really knit or crocheted anything. I guess it really was a biproduct of my obsessing over making my show. And the sad thing is that much of this collection, I have already hidden up at my parents' house in San Francisco.

They put us up in these hotel apartments in Downtown Minneapolis. And we finally checked out what they call the big shameful eyesore of Downtown-- a three story building called "Sex World" which boasts the title of largest sex store in the Midwest. Yes, there is a 12 foot gold penis you can ride. No, I won't post pictures of me with it.

The run in Minneapolis was wildly successful. Standing ovations every night. Post show discussions that were intelligent and sensitive. A few people who came up to me and told me that the show changed their life. It was so gratifying and humbling.

When people asked what my impressions were of Minneapolis, I could only say the same thing over and over again: "This town really has surprised me."

If you don't know, Minneapolis has some of the greatest per capita spending on the arts. So a lot of amazing artists flock there and the audiences are pretty cultured. I visited my friends who live in an artists loft. And surprisingly, it's actually artist friendly. It's not like in Los Angeles where "artist loft" really means, "Overpriced dump downtown that no artist can actually afford." My friends, Katie and Katie pay about $1100 total for this totally fancy artist loft with access to rehearsal space, kilns, community rooms and a rooftop garden.

Folks were trying to convince me to move out there for a couple years so I could apply for the Bush and McKnight grants. I told them I need to prepare myself for the Minnesota winter first.

When I went for a look at the Best Yarn Store in Minneapolis (above), I not only found a creepy Asian mannequin but the ladies there were like, "Oh hey! Are you the one doing that show this weekend?"

I was all flattered that they recognized me just from the postcard, and then realized that I had my name on a sticker on my dress.

The biggest highlight of my trip was looking out into the audience the last night and seeing one of the Asian students from the high school matinee (the high school audience was so saavy!) had returned to see the show again! And brought five friends with her, also Asian. That was definitely one of those moments where I saw myself in high school and realized that beyond all the bullshit of being "post meta post meta" in grant applications... that there was a reason I came to doing this work. That it has importance, that I am good at it, that people connect to what I'm doing and their lives are changed for the better because of it.

I'm feeling much better as an artist. I feel inspired. And it was nice to have a few weeks to not have to panic about the economy. Sure, when I came back home there was a rejection letter waiting for me for a 10K grant I've gotten the last four years (due to City budget cuts, not a lack of merit thank you very much). I was reminded this last tour that I'm really good at what I do. That people's lives can be made better by what I have made from nothing. And nobody can take that pride from me (but they can unfortunately, yank my money from me.)

I'm not a trust fund baby. I don't get handouts from my parents (I don't condemn those who do, more power to you!). I built this life from scratch on willpower and a dream. When those audiences filled with strangers who stood and applauded show after show, I knew and could accept finally, that I've been doing something so right to keep on dreaming.

I am proud of myself.

Most Depressing Casting Notice I've ever seen.

2009-05-11T17:05:00.000-07:00

Considering Divorce	Divorce Court	Reality TV	$500	Yes	Non-Union	5/11/2009

Co-Star / Male or Female / All Ethnicities / 18 - 80 Looking for well spoken married people who are having marital problems to come on and get Judge Lynn Toler's council. Couples don't have to actually be filing for divorce, they just have to have a lot of good stories. Basically, you and your spouse come on the show and complain about one another. There is no real divorce offered, and the ruling has no legal barring. You will each receive a $500 appearance payment and the taping takes less than one hour. They should just call this show, "Public Ass Raping TV."

Chick Chicken and Chicago

2009-04-15T20:44:00.000-07:00

Greetings from the International House Dorm at the University of Chicago. I'm the artist-in-residence at the University all week. So far I've done such official things as use the campus wifi to watch the season finale of Rock of Love 3 on my laptop. I've also been watching MSNBC and cannot understand why the GOP insists on feeding the comedy gods by naming their protests "Teabagging Parties." I've also hung out with my friends and their new baby. And above, you'll see how I met this guy who apparently ran for President in 1984.

Something is up with my camera. It's shooting everything as a half-assed Ralph Ellison literary metaphor. Here, Jesse Jackson becomes a black blur. Tell me if you think my photos look more blurry than usual. And does this mean that I finally have to give up my seven year old camera for something new?

It's cold out. Yet again, I've packed wrong for the weather. I'm in the boonies of Chicago.. ie "Hyde Park" in the Southside of Chicago. These are Barack and Michelle's old stomping grounds. Sasha and Malia's old school is next door to the International House.

The Hyde Park Walgreens, shows that even their history-making hometown hero is not above being marked down on clearance.

I do have to give a talk tomorrow and will be doing a show on Friday. I decided last Sunday that I'd totally veg out at the nearby Science and Technology Museum. That place is quite the scene. Photo opps every ten seconds. Souvenir machines at every exhibit. It was like Disneyland with content. And people eat it up. I wish I could charge my audiences every 10 feet for some memorialization of my show.

One of the most fascinating parts of the museum was watching chicks hatching live. I'd never seen it before. But it's really profound to see a chick be born. When they finally break out of their eggs, they are wet and dirty, exhausted and hang out of their shell, barely moving but breathing, half hanging out of their shells, slowly slumping out for air. And yet, that's just the beginning of what life has in store for them.

They reminded me of what I look like after I mail a grant to the airport just under the deadline.

Then they get cute once they dry off. Then they get eaten.

Space cadet.

Gave a talk at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago today. My friend Roberto had me in his class. The tuition there is insane. 35k a year to make art, listen to Kristina Wong speak about her work, and get a Mother Freaking Artist (MFA) degree!

This is Baby Minara who for some reason has Rod Blagojovich's hair. "Minara" is both a Japanese and Cambodian word that means "Kristina's womb ticker."

I've got to go to bed. Unlike Los Angeles where the days are fast, I am feeling the days more here and getting more work done. My friend and I are shooting a short film. We will be up early in the morning to shoot some more, and then I give a lecture here... and pull my weight!

Viva Las Depravity!

2009-04-07T12:35:00.000-07:00

What happens in Vegas is worth a blog post.

Totally bummed out the last few weeks by the ailing economy and emotionally crippled by the prospect of how I will ever gather the energy and willpower to create new shows and write aboard the sinking ship that is the US of A economy, I decided to do what all good Americans do in times crisis -- fly head first into a gluttony and oblivion.

Well, that or, do a work-cation in Vegas! This trip was so much fun because unlike other shows that I do alone, I was able to get two friends to help split the cost of the rental car and come do a road trip with me. My dancer performer friend, Gregory Barnett came and Bangbay. It wasn't hard to coerce them to come-- the power of VEGAS!

I was able get the festival to give Greg a slot to perform too. It was a nice way to get excited about living again. And nurse my secret desire to see what was under the two dimensional exterior of Las Vegas. There's actually a really exciting community of artists in Downtown Vegas and the audience was amazing.

Between the three of us, we did the following: hit a buffet, hung out with locals, almost got married, got two tattoos, performed for the locals, lectured at UNLV, stayed at $20 motel room, did the log ride, ate foods whose cost ended in ".99"... and somehow between all this madness... didn't contract any weird diseases.

$20 a night to stay at the Aruba Spa and Hotel! Our performance was actually in the showroom at the Aruba, so it worked out quite well. And I was happy to see that there was no blood or semen in the sheets.

The law allows drinking in public and smoking indoors, and Gregory took full advantage of his rights.

Yay! They knew I was coming and rolled out the welcome sign!

As we approached Vegas, I announced aloud, "If it doesn't cost 99 cents, we aren't going to eat it!" And here in Downtown Vegas, we meet my cancerous fate.

Here's Bangbay displaying our deepfried heart attacks. Deep fried twinkie and deep fried oreos. They are quite tasty like funnel cakes. I totally broke out afterwards in pimples.

On the way in to the Fremont Street buffet, I used the bathroom and the woman in the stall next to me was sitting on the can and vomiting between her legs onto the floor. There was vomit landing on my shoe and spilling out all over the floor beyond the stall. Everyone in the bathroom was horrified.

Right after emerging from the bathroom filth, we went into the buffet anyway because they advertised a "sushi bar." In short, that was not sushi. It was painful to eat. When we left the buffet, the woman was still in the bathroom vomitting and there was an attendant standing guard to make sure nobody else witnessed the horror.

Yay $1.99 breakfast! Bargain seekers like us are the bane of Vegas waiters everywhere!

This is how we prepare for our show. I sit and think about my lines while Greg re-writes his opening monologue.

Somehow the idea of Gregory getting my name tattooed on him came up. And he had all of one Vegas day to think it over (which really feels like two weeks). He was so enthusiastic about doing it so we walked down the block from the hotel showroom after our show and made it happen. As you can see I'm dressed like a showgirl... you know, because it's Vegas.

The world awaits it's arrival on Greg's leg.

Oh yes, what will go down in history as the dumbest and yet most awesome thing that Gregory has ever done. I told my parents about how Greg got our family name tatted on him, and I think they are still confused (as you may also be). But Greg has like 15 tattoos already, so it's not like I popped his tattoo cherry.

In Baker, CA, a little desert town where the whole world stops to pee, I caught this family looking over a flyer that I'd seen quite a bit in Vegas. We actually thought it would be fun to try shooting guns since it would be so out of character for all three of us. And it would probably be one of those horrific life experiences to try to shoot a weapon. But that morning, I heard about the shootings in Binghamton, NY and it didn't seem funny or ironic anymore to shoot a gun for the hell of it.

I find it fascinating how it is unclear if businesses en route to Vegas are either completely self aware of their own irony or not.

Next up? I go to Chicago, New York and Minneapolis. And glad of it. Work is good. The more, the better.

By the way...

Do you like my new website design? It cost an arm and a leg, and took forever to get up, but now it's up so that presenters smacked by the recession will feel compelled to hire me. (And maybe, you too!)

I do miss the rudimentary charms of my old html site, but I needed an upgrade to something spiffier. Hopefully it will sustain me for years to come.

Zen and the Art of surfing panic?

2009-03-23T11:16:00.000-07:00

I've decided to do the only thing that one can do when everything seems to be slipping out from under you-- surf the chaos. Can't fight it, can't submit your fear to it. Just surf it, flow through it. And it's working.

Reading the paper and all its agonizing news has actually become quite normal. And now, comes the task of having fun despite all circumstances.

Look at all the senior citizen things I am doing in this economy to stay busy and happy.

After my 3 hour sushi class at Santa Monica College (which is an excellent thing to do if you have the money or time, btw), I've been making sushi at home. And now, just as the teacher says, am never in the mood to go out to eat sushi. It's not bad when I make them. Though it would probably help if I had a knife that cost more than 99cents because my rolls aren't very elegant. My friend Bangbay came by this weekend and we rolled up tons of sushi (using raw salmon and tuna!) and ate it all, then wandered around the promenade in a food coma.

You can't tell there is a recession. Because there is still a line of people buying crap at Anthropologie. I wanted to scream out to the people stocking up on $8 tea towels: "Have none of you heard of the 99 cents store?!"

Next week I'm doing an excerpt of my show in Las Vegas. The pay is absolutely terrible, but I need to get out of town and my friend Greg is coming and will also perform. Bangbay is coming too. We're looking at it as a workcation. Our hotel room was only $21.80 a night(which includes the tax). I'm feeling generous and will be splurging for the room for the three of us (even if it may be missing a wall or has a chalk outline of a body on the floor).

Greg does this piece called "Spit" where he talks about men who have spit on him during sex and has people spit into a cup and drink it. It's so gross.

I can't think of a better travelling partner.

In other news, my friend Candi taught me how to use my sewing machine. And now I'm going to spit out felt dolls like nobody's business.

By the way, that volcano in Alaska finally erupted. We were scared it would blow when we were there.

Yay! Old lady hobbies!

"I can't even remember what it feels like to love someone"... my life of loneliness broadcast to the world...

2009-03-11T22:48:00.000-07:00

Even though I have yet to show it again, I was invited by the Feminist Magazine radio show on KPFK tonight to talk about Cat Lady... my new show in progress.

Click here to hear my interview

I show up about halfway through the interview. I ramble a bit but I like the sound of my own voice if I do say so myself.

Oliver is sitting on my lap. Bestiality... this is what it's come to.

The Wong San Wheels Chronicle #10: Familiar like an old lover, but when it comes down to it, just another boring dude plucked off the street.

2009-03-10T21:02:00.001-07:00

I couldn't take it. I broke down and got a car.

It's a rental. I'm still not ready to OWN a car. Owning a car still nauseates me. Having an extra 2 tons of weight (or however the heck much a car weighs) to insure, fuel, repair, park and take care of... only to watch it burst into flames on the 405-- no thanks. Yesterday while driving it, my heart stopped for a half second as I heard the all too familiar sound of a fire truck on the freeway and had to pull over so it could pass and reach a car on the side of the road.

I am only renting it until I leave town for April's Asian Pacific Islander Heritage Month (ie. Kristina's "Asian Pacific Islander Nervous Breakdown Month"). Sadly, while a lot is going on in April, it still pales in comparison to some of my past awesome API Heritage months where I worked so much, that if the whole year was made of API Heritage Months, I'd be able to buy a small foreclosed house in Lancaster all on my own.

I'm renting this car from my friend's father. It's the extra car in their family. A 1997 Ford Taurus with 125K miles on it. They are giving me an amazing deal to use it these next few weeks. And I have a lot of driving to get in this month, including a short one day gig in the San Diego area. So I figured it was cheaper to rent a car from them and use it all month, than pay the equivalent amount to get a Zipcrap car for four days.

It's a beater all right. It has a cracked windshield, big dents on the sides and for some reason, the body of the car is mostly tan but the front of the car and one of the rearview mirrors is navy blue-- like two cars got fused together. But is is safer and drives much better than my Mercedes ever did.

It's kinda of mindblowing to think, "Malibu! Crenshaw! Pasadena! I can drive anywhere! At anytime!" It's oddly freeing to just know I have a car nearby and can conduct trips with dozens of impromptu stops if necessary. That I can drag heavy crap around if I really wanted.

But I definitely got sad as I was driving this rental. When I used to drive Harold (the pink vegetable oil car), I used to get awed looks, smiles and honks from other drivers and I'd be all cute and wink back at people and slowly (because Harold was slow) peel off like the pretend badass that I was. I felt like a counter-culture Los Angeles car celebrity (because I WAS thank you very much).

So as I drove around yesterday in this ridiculous two-toned Ford Taurus, and got looks, my first instinct was to wink back. But oh, I realized quickly... the looks weren't because I was driving an awesome pink car that ran on vegetable oil with WONGSTA vanity plates... it was because I was driving a two-toned Ford Taurus.

WAAAAAHHH!!!! I can't believe I have a luxury car driving ego! I used to never care about what kind of car I drove until Harold. I think this two-toned Ford Taurus, coupled with my age (and feeling very aware of how other people my age have big life markers like stock options, houses and families), and the ailing economy-- they all make this beater rental car very humbling to my ego.

When I was a kid, my dad always insisted in keeping his car in immaculate condition because he would have to see clients in his car. I never understood why people cared what kind of car you drove. I always figured that as long as you got there, they should be happy to work with you. And at that, people never really see you pull up in your car. They see you minutes after you park it.

But now I get what car ego is. Because I even caught myself pricing out old Porches in the classifieds-- I have been sneaking peaks at the classified looking for a sturdy and RELIABLE car that has the same beautiful irony as me owning a pink Mercedes.

I began to think of places where I used to love rolling up in Harold, and how I'd actually be embarrassed to show up at the same places in this two-toned Ford Taurus beater. I used to love rolling up in Harold outside the theaters I played in, at the CBS lot, in front of groups of cute boys. Even if things in my life were shitty, at least I could drive around in this stupid fancy looking pink car and create the awesome illusion of an eco-conscious rock star.

So imagine me yesterday, so humbled by this beater rental that I had to repeat this mantra to myself over and over as I drove this Tan and Navy monster down the 10: "I am not the car I drive. My self worth is not the car I drive. I am more than the car I drive."

WAAAAAAHHH!!! Now I have to rely on my personality and smarts to intrigue people-- WTF is that shit?!?

I realize, that me having a car ego may seem odd to you considering that I've been a car-less bag lady on the bus for the last six months. But there was a great temporary joy in saying, "Hey! I have no car! And this car-less thing is my great social experiment. Aren't I awesomely indie? This is all research for a show!"

(What show? When? Can't tell you. But! yes! There will be a show!)

This car thing is really beginning to resemble two things. My (non-existent)love life. And my relationship with Los Angeles. Two things that are tied so much to my emotional health and ego.

Just like how I am not owning a car right now, I also am not sure what to do with my (non-existent) love life or my residence in Los Angeles. Like owning a car, both love and Los Angeles are becoming elusive and unharness-able pains in my ass. And I'm feeling more and more like living without all of it for a good long time. I want to wander about the underground, letting the chaos of love and Los Angeles collapse on themselves, and I will emerge free and escape to New York where there's quick love after every long island iced tea and a train going somewhere that runs at any hour of the night.

Blah blah blah. My neck hurts from riding my bike. I'm going to lie down now.

Is this my Hollywood Shroud of Turin?

2009-03-07T23:05:00.000-08:00

Seeing that the question of late is "Kristina, can I find you on Youtube?"... does that make this commercial I shot in 2008 (that only aired in Russia, but for some reason is in English here) the only thing the world will remember me by?

Blog Rehash: A Shot at Love with Kristina Wong

2009-03-04T17:43:00.000-08:00

I just saw a casting notice for "Shot at Love 4"-- they are looking for a new bi-bachelorette star. Oh man, finally my time to dust off this old entry has come!

Network executives! I have a pitch that will be sure to increase your viewership among performance art aficionados, third wave feminist academics, and nasty old white pervies.

It's A Shot at Love with Kristina Wong!

Synopsis: 36 beautiful men and women (mostly Korean) ranging from ages 22-80 move into Kristina's 2 bedroom apartment in West LA for a chance to win the heart of this reclusive-yet-extroverted, neurotic-yet-sincere big bad Chinese cat lady. Each week, Kristina eliminates the unworthy, and those who remain will get a special crochet hook on a necklace ensuring another week in the apartment and the one ultimate shot at love with Kristina!

Week 1: Welcome to West LA!
All the contestants get off the Santa Monica Blue Bus and drag their luggage two blocks past the corner liquor store and the loitering homeless on Santa Monica Blvd to move into Kristina's apartment! The 36 all huddle into the living room where every imaginable sleeping area is claimed faster than you can say "Interdisciplinary Performance Artist!" Kristina rolls up in her pink benz to greet her future suitors in an outfit to die for-- A hand crocheted poncho! (Note: Due to car catching on fire last August, this entrance will likely be staged in a shopping cart) All Koreans who show up get a "use-whenever" coupon to hang out with Kristina and are automatically moved to the next round creating racial tension in the apartment.

After a night of mingling over orange juice and bottle water, Kristina picks a handful of the unlucky (in an elimination ceremony staged in her carport) who will not make the next round.

Week 2: Who is oppressed? And who can comment on it ironically?

Challenge: To find out who can most identify with Kristina's work, she's set up a challenge that will really put them in her shoes. Using only fake blood, a roll of toilet paper, and butoh movement, the contestants must convey their inner legacies of oppression by creating an improvised performance art piece. Bonus points awarded to those who can be self-referential. The winners get to go on a special bike date with Kristina and buy her sushi.

Week 3: The Cat Lady Cometh

Challenge: What would you do for Kristina's love? In this challenge, massive piles of cat diarrhea and cat pee have been left in the apartment by Kristina's cat Oliver. And the contestants who clean up the most wins a date with Kristina at nearby Stoner Park for a vegetarian BBQ that they will cook for her.

Week 4: Grant me a Future

Challenge: Kristina needs help writing a high stakes Rockerfeller MAPP Grant that needs to be postmarked by midnight. So all the contestants get a shot at writing Kristina's grant. The strongest grantee wins a date with Kristina-- a shopping spree at Ross Dress for Less! But here's the challenge twist-- every two minutes, one of Kristina's friends will instant message with nothing important to say. Can they survive the online distractions, write the killer grant and get to the airport post office in time?

Week 5: Oil me up!
Challenge: Seeing as the price of vegetable oil has now climbed higher than that of gasoline, Kristina sends her contestants to the back alleys of some of LA's finest strip malls to find some fuel for her pink Benz. The contestants must pump and filter used cooking oil so that it is usable for driving. The one who returns with the most usable oil wins a date taking Kristina to the auto shop in Silverlake (where it was dropped off for yet another mechanical problem during the last episode) so she can actually put the fuel in her car.

(Note: Now that the car is non-existent, we may have to change this into a challenge where people help me put together bus fare from my couch cushions.)

Week 6: Can you tech Wong?

Challenge: This week's special guest judge is Jen, Kristina's theater technician that has toured with her on the road. Jen once teched Kristina's show from behind the scrim-- meaning she teched her show BLIND! Jen will do a crash course with the Wong-loving hopefuls on reading Kristina's scrawly handwriting and how to read Kristina's inconsistent stage cues. Jen will also offer tips on how to kick Kristina out of a pre or post show panic.

Whoever can best tech Kristina's show after this crash course wins a special date to see the Wooster Group at the REDCAT.

But here's the real twist-- they won't be teching the show in a theater but a cafeteria! Can they make it work?

Week 7: Oh the Yarns we Tangle

Challenge: Oh no! All of Kristina's yarn stash has come loose and tangled. Even her really nice Rowan yarn. The contestants must untangle and re-skein the yarn so she can knit it. The winning fiber untangler gets to go on a date with Kristina to Wildfiber, Kristina's favorite local
yarn store in Santa Monica.

Week 8: Guess Who's coming for dinner?

Challenge: The contestants are surprised when ex-Calvin Klein model and all over hot lesbian Jenny Shimizu shows up as surprise judge. Jenny grills the remaining hopefuls for their "creepy factor" screening out those with right-wing tendencies, lack of motivation, and an obscene collection of Japanese anime deemed as too creepy for Kristina's love.

Drama hits the house when Jenny starts to come onto Kristina. After Kristina and Jenny engage in intense lovemaking, walk arm-in-arm past all of Kristina's ex-boyfriends, and taking plenty of photo evidence to document it all, Kristina sends (heartbroken) Jenny on her way.

Week 9: Meet the Wongs
The remaining three contestants fly to San Francisco where they will meet Kristina's parents and extended family in what stands to be the greatest challenge yet-- gaining the Wong Family seal of approval. Who's FICA score is strong enough to withstand Mama Wong's credit check? Who will survive Papa Wong playing Whitney Houston's self-titled album on a loop for five straight hours?

Kristina eliminates one, and only two remain.

Week 10: Only One is Right for Wong
Kristina takes the final two for a special getaway. No, not Miami.... not Jamaica... not Hawaii. But Sawtelle Blvd, a few blocks from the West LA apartment! Exotic! Kristina springs for dinner at Yashima's where she worked as a hostess for a month after college (they still hook her up). There she asks the final two to put all their guns on the table and sing their best Karaoke renditions of a GnR song.

In a spectacular finale ceremony in Kristina's carport that involves battery powered Christmas lights and fake flowers bought on clearance-- the winner of Kristina's heart is revealed.

**********************

It's a sexy idea for a show isn't it? Yes, I thought you'd agree.

I'm going to cry now and brush my cat.

These are the Children that make me Nauseous

2009-03-03T09:35:00.000-08:00

Someone wipe the lipstick off this kid's face.

Drastic = Sushi Making Class

2009-02-24T15:04:00.000-08:00

If you known me for a while, you know that sometimes I'll have blogs (like my last one) that end with me saying fatalistic things like: "I'm joining a cult!," then there is silence for a few days, and then the next entry will be something frivolous about a new haircut or something. With no mention of my previous freak out.

Anyway, I keep forgetting that these six weeks of relatively unstructured time in Los Angeles is for me to write, administrate, and do all those things that I need to do to keep working and make creative work. The trap is that unstructured time often gets wasted with freaking out about the meaning of life. The first few days back have been hard because I feel like when I get back to LA after long trips, especially in this economy, its like I'm trying to jump into some double dutch ropes that are moving too fast or not at all.

Lately, the city has felt really quiet. Like a long continuation of what it felt like over Christmas break. Is it just me? There's nothing really interesting going on as far as I can tell. It's gotten so uneventful here that my friend invited me to a picnic in the Valley in two weeks and I was like, "YES! I'm coming!!!"

Mike, the director and editor or our concert film reminded me that there is plenty of work left to do before I freak out and backpack across the country for eight years. And we're getting an editing schedule going so we can finish our wonderful Wong Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Concert film. (Which is looking pretty marvelous I might say.) I'm also making a goal to apply for more grants and residencies and maybe pick up my novel again after having put it down after my residency in Florida last summer. Also, crank out a few spec scripts.

And so, I'm back on the saddle. I was panicked a bit the other night when I blogged about working on an organic farm-- something that I have been seriously considering if our economy collapses and art is obliterated in its wake. I found myself going through the community college course catalog looking for classes to keep me busy. For half a second I thought about taking a fabric basket making course. I wanted to take this tap dance class but alas, the carless life makes it impossible to get down there. (Anyone want to take this tap class in Culver City with me for five weeks? It starts tomorrow and is only $50!)

I often feel like a senior citizen in these stretches of unstructured time in Los Angeles. Like when I come home from touring, I have this semi "retirement savings" to live on while I enjoy the view and find things to keep my occupied so I don't let my mind wander too much. It's also a huge contrast from life on the road where I'm the belle of the ball in the cities I visit and integral to their culture. Here, I sometimes wonder if people even know or care that I'm back.

(I'm back! Where's my party!!!)

I signed up for a one day class in March to learn to make sushi. This was my drastic gesture to deal with the quiet. I was going to take an cross stitch class on Friday, but it's $60. That's a lot of dough when I can pretty much teach myself to do cross stitch. Yes, teach myself... cross stitch. I'm going to cross stitch portraits of me and my cat.

Oh god, what's happening?

I guess this is what people start to do at my age when they are unmarried with no kids... they start taking classes at the Learning Annex and play chess with homeless people on the beach.

Oh life...

2009-02-22T23:20:00.000-08:00

It keeps happening lately, especially now, in this economy, when I return to Los Angeles for a long stretch of time. But especially lately, now that Wong Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is done and there are new shows to be made.

I am left atop an empty pocket of air. Wondering, what am I to do with this time on earth.

Yes, the meaning of life question.

I don't know what there is in this city anymore. I've been here a long long time. And I accomplished what a huge life goal was... to make a good living as an artist... doing art that would allow me to travel and was work that I could feel was meaningful and mine.

This question was partially sparked by my friend who just came by and said, "I have no family here, no partner, just a job, shouldn't I just move home and be with my family?"

And I was like: "Should I be doing the same thing?" Because actually... I'm in the same boat. If anything, I don't have a job here... technically. As with everyone in LA, I'm a freelancer, and right now, everyone is more "free" than "lancing."

We are all floating in this space of "is the sky falling?" and what will happen next in this great big blur called the recession?

I'm thinking of doing something drastic. Like living off the grid like this guy I met in Alaska is. Or teaching English abroad. Or working on organic farms in Europe.

What to do?

Sick

2009-02-18T22:35:00.000-08:00

No, this is not my mother when I told her that I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. This is me at the Detroit airport two days ago.

Dear person who designed the Detroit Airport,

I am writing you this letter now from bed where I've been out of commission for two days. I have been hacking, blowing my nose (my laundry hamper full of wet mucus filled hankies), and sleeping in odd positions to clear my blocked nostril into the semi clear one. I am unproductive in my ailing which is not good because I am self-employed and every moment to work counts. I am very very sick and I find you somehow responsible for all this.

On February 16, I attempted to do a relatively routine flight from LaGuardia Airport in NY to my home in Los Angeles. With one stopover at your airport. ONE stopover. I was in good health, though a little underslept as I often am with the anticipation of morning flights.

My first flight was delayed by 45 minutes (weather or repairs, I don't know, don't care). Instantly, this becomes an issue because my connecting flight is in the next hour. The woman working the gate before my first flight assured me I had time to connect. Also, that the next flight to Los Angeles from Detroit was full. She said it was in my interest to catch my assigned flight to avoid stand-by. Why would she do this when it was so clear that I would not connect? Why didn't she just go ahead and give me an alternate flight? Because she was one of the devil's minons. YOUR minions.

I slept through the first flight and was groggy and so tired when I awoke when our flight landed at your foul creation-- the Detroit airport. Unfortunately, my connecting flight was not at the adjacent gate. We parked at A6 and I had to get to A66. It perhaps doesn't help that the stewardess on my first flight got our hopes up by saying to exiting passengers, "If you dash for it, you can still make it."

And so I did. I went from deep sleep to running for my life. And during this mile-long run (and it is one mile), I began to think of you and your intentions for the wayward construction of this airport.

Was it really necessary to build such impossibly long terminals? Seriously, a terminal that stretches for over a mile? Or at that, make the tram equally as unproductive to ride (go up an escalator, wait and wait, only to take a tram that cuts the walk time down by half?) And don't you think that most people are unable to travel at the speed of light?

You have built many points of mockery in your airport. The people movers for example are pointless. What is the philosophy here? Why walk, when you can move at walking speed without the walking? I could have run on them, but the people who use them tend to block the whole thing between their bags and their bodies.

As I snaked in and out of bodies, I began to feel like an action hero or the star of an antiperspirant commercial (minus the antiperspirant, of course) when they must quickly assess horrible situations under the gun.

You also have fancy lighted signs of your endless Terminal A that block my run space so that people can see for themselves how hopelessly far away they are from their terminal. It's a wonder you don't have a neon sign that says, "You are stupid for even trying to make your next flight" that flashes every five feet.

I finally arrived, out of breath, carrying a heap of jackets and scarf that I had stripped off under one arm (I was just in NY in February mind you), a purse and backpack in the other. I was sweating through my clothing, I had no bra on (I hadn't anticipated this strip down) so every detail of my silhouette became visible to the gatekeepers. The woman at the gate tells me she can put me on a connecting flight to Cincinatti, with a two hour layover, and then I can go to Los Angeles from there. She adds, "You are going to have to run all the way back and go to Terminal C-- and you need to run."

I'm covered in sweat, pulling my wet shirt off my body and fanning myself, holding my hands to my knees and I'm panting. My mouth is dry and I won't get a sip of water until I get on the plane and it's up in the air.

I say this not to arouse you, but to make a point of the sheer humiliation that the design of your airport brings someone trying to make a tight connecting flight in a hurry. You turn us into amateur athletes, refugees, and very desperate people.

Delirious, from having just been asleep 10 minutes prior, then having to break into a sweaty run. I decide to take the tram. I mean, obviously, this tram you have must hit all terminals, otherwise, it's pretty useless right? Because other airports make trams that go to all terminals, especially when they are so far apart.

Aah, yet another piece of your design mastery... the tram, which is effectively unmarked, only seems to exist in Terminal A. I managed to take it back and forth and back and forth across the same terminal before realizing I wasn't going further than Terminal A.

So, again, I get off, go down the escalator, and I run for it.

Your signage for finding Terminals B&C is confusing. You have a sign that points to the "terminals" but that is the baggage terminal. I had to ask a custodian where terminals B&C were
only to learn they were down several sets of escalators and more corridors.

And then there was more mockery. There is the wannabe Bill Viola light tunnel thing (which a people mover goes through) that plays "oohs and aahs" as the lights change over the metal tunnel. Is this supposed to be comforting? Am I supposed to enjoy this in my sickly run against time?

Of course, this flight to Cincinatti is at the end of another mile long terminal, down the very last escalator. And when I get there, panting and out of breath, more of your minions give me attitude for being out of breath and frantic about getting on the plane like there was something wrong with me for having run for a flight.

I get on. I smell. I'm wet from my hair down with sweat. The cold Detroit air hits me, as does the petri dish temperature of the plane.

It's a formula for a cold. This cold I have now.

I at least found kinship in the guy sitting next to me. I had spotted him with flailing arms, speeding through the airport too, having missed the same flight. On the shorter flight to Cincinatti, I was very uncomfortable. You see, all the running made my t-shirt wet and cold. We were able to bond in our misery and the lies we had been told that we had a fighting chance to catch it.

On my two hour layover in Cincinatti, I ate tremendously overpriced black bean roll-ups (oh god, I don't know what they are, but they were gross). For some reason the screens at the gate play CNN and they keep playing the above clip of the woman in Hong Kong who missed her flight. I feel her. I really feel her.

I slept on the way to Los Angeles. Feeling sick, stomach nauseous, and very achy. The flight hit some big turbulence because of the weather. I sat next to the same guy who was on the Cincinatti flight and we kept commiserating about how sick this was making us, watching the monitors and anxiously willing the flight to land already.

Here I am. Home. Sick. Unproductive with a lot of things I want to do but can't.

So how can you repay me for my troubles oh architect who built lame airport? Well, to start, you can add the features like a pedicab inside the airport to help transport folks who need to get from one gate to another in a pinch. I didn't see any of these when I ran through and wonder how seniors or disabled are expected to make connecting flights that I couldn't. You can ask your airline minions to be realistic about missed connecting flights instead of telling people to run for it, when it's not a realistic option. And finally, you can send me a wet nurse to take care of me in my final hours.

Yours in sickness and frustration,

Kristina Wong

Feb 14: "Singles Awareness Day"

2009-02-14T23:17:00.000-08:00

Today I did stand-up at the Laugh Lounge in the Lower East Side. I'm quite cynical and don't believe that anyone goes to see stand-up anymore, especially in this economy, or when you can see it for free online, or when it is Valentine's Day and there are meals to be eaten and action to be had.

I am wrong. There were plenty of couples looking to laugh it out before getting their rocks off. In fact the show was so sold out that I gave up my seat at the comics' table to some audience members.

Tonight, in what would have otherwise been a small show of comics and their friends, was a packed show with a paying audience (mostly couples) and I don't know how, but I killed. I was kinda lost the whole time and felt like the people in eyeshot were blankfaced. But I rocked the crap out of my 7 minutes as evidenced by the overall reaction. The one Asian girl in the audience took a picture with me after like I was some kind of celebrity-- that's how much I rocked the shit out of that place.

So much so that the producer said he'd bring me back again for a full on guest spot (a longer set in a more highlighted place in the show.) I do have to say, I was the only girl (and Asian) in the show, and a lot of the comics might as well have shit on the mics their mouths were so dirty-- and so the audiences appreciated it when I came up and said first thing, "Nice to be the only girl on an all guy line-up" and started to wipe down the mic with a tissue.

Also, before the show started, some women came up to me and asked if I was the waitress, and I pointed out during my set how "they seemed confused that the nail lady was suddenly waitressing"-- it killed.

But in my (post-show celebratory) two long island iced tea haze I have a deep ass question for the world.... ready for this?

At what point it is that people give up on love and just choose to fake/benefit through the motions of it?

Having been as solo traveling as I've been the last few years, I've had a lot of time to witness people in different cities and the lives they lead in one place. I think about the "settled" down life that I only have with my cat... and at that, I haven't seen my cat for all of four weeks. My community is scattered across the country. My most stable community is me and my suitcase. It's me and my body and the conversations I have with myself in transit.

Watching all these couples in the subway, in the street, in the bars and comedy club tonight, I began to think about how many of them have really had the benefit of experiencing their partner in full unrestrained loving ways. How many of them really discover that emotion of pure love (not just lust) together. How many of them are faking it and are drawn to each other because of biology. How much of it is desperation... How much of it comes from full, open, and total pure love?

Which makes me consider love and lust and how different the two are. Lust comes from hunger. Love, from an open and giving spirit.

What fear sets in that prevents us from being ready to love from that open pure place? When do we decide to cave into that fear and become actors in the game of love just so we can be part of it, as much as we distance ourlselves from it?

Ok, that's enough deep crap for me, I'm turning in. Good night.

As cliched as a ladies haircut on a skeletous male resident of Williamsburg

2009-02-09T13:34:00.000-08:00

Here I am. Did you miss me?

I am sitting in a cafe on Bedford Ave in Williamsburg where I am attempting to WRITE funny. I decided to extend my trip to Yale by nine days to get some funny written while staying in Williamsburg. So far I have a bunch of halfway decent "Top Ten Lists." And a lot of stray thoughts that aren't hitting the paper/screen right.

Perhaps people don't actually getting writing done as cafes, perhaps they just look like they are writing.

Because that's what I'm doing right now. I look like I am writing.

letting go.

2009-02-03T21:01:00.000-08:00

We buried my grandfather today. Now I am at the airport where 15 hours of travel to New Haven await. I can't believe I was in Alaska two days ago. I've been travelling quite well considering I'm going three nights and only had a real bed for one of them.

I've cried and cried. I read a eulogy. And I got to see a lot of my Chinese relatives from when I was a kid. So much of him remains with me. I learned a lot today about integrity and maybe, what life is about. I look at his life, how much he built from nothing and I want to do more too, for the world.

I miss and love you Yeh Yeh.

Release

2009-01-30T14:13:00.001-08:00

Yesterday was tough. I'd anticipated this phone call for some time and when it came it was both sad and relieving.

My grandfather passed away in San Francisco yesterday in the care home he was staying in. He was 89 years old.

He'd been in a great deal of pain and his quality of life had deteriorated for quite some time. It was always so hard for me to say goodbye to him before leaving for LA because I wasn't sure if I'd see him again. I can't quite grasp that he is no longer alive, especially because he's so alive to me in my memory. And also because I am in Homer, Alaska. He practically raised me and my brother when my folks were at work. He was the nicest kindest man in the world. He immigrated to the United States as a teenager, taught himself English, and eventually bought and ran a laundry business and raised a family.

He embodies the American dream. He is my hero.

The one thing I wanted him to give me before he passed was a Chinese name to give my kid-- you know, basically a Kunte Kinte naming moment. And if I don't ever have kids, I guess I'll have a bunch of pets running around with Chinese names. But he said he couldn't think of one and that my "husband's father" should name my kid. A gender thing, I guess. So I tried to get him to give my brother's imaginary kid a Chinese name, with the idea that I would just steal that name for my kid. But no dice.

It was rough to run through the show before we opened to the public yesterday. I couldn't deal with a rehearsal and had to go upstairs to sob to Pete on the phone. He said some really encouraging things about letting myself feel what I needed to feel. That this is all part of life. I got myself back together and went back to rehearse.

I had a couple hours to relax. Then I took a breath and we did the show for a nice sized Thursday crowd here in Homer. I wasn't sure if I would just rely on my "autopilot performer" or if in all my grief I could actually muster up a present performance.

The space is already a bit tricky because it's really a gallery with some theater equipment put in. The show is going along... Then, nightmare of nightmares... the video projector doesn't work. The video projector is integral to the show. A tech disaster of this magnitude has not happened before. I didn't realize it until my technician and the gallery director are running towards me onstage doing frantic tech troubleshoting while this was happening. I vamped, and the audience was really patient and funny about it all.

I did have a moment where I thought, "Just stop the show. Just end it all. You can't do this without your video projector and right now they can't follow any of this. Plus, you're tired." But then another part of me thought, "All these people drove in the Alaska winter to see a show-- your show. So give them a show, broken projector or not. And goddamit Kristina, work it."

So I did the show. We ended up doing part of the show with me holding my laptop up to the audience (so ghetto), and then I had to improvise the absence of the projector.

It actually worked out ok. And the audience who had never seen how the show was supposed to go, said they didn't really miss much without the projections. And another surprise, the part of the show where I cry, was actually very hard for me. I figured my grief would naturally spill into that moment but I guess I do have some boundaries to not exploit one real loss for one fictionalized one on stage.

I ended the night with a big glass of pale at the Irish pub next door. I went to bed feeling wrung dry. At 4am this snow plow that sounded like it had an alarm clock attached to it went zipping in circles around the block for half an hour. I wasn't sure what the sound was at first, I thought that maybe the volcano that is 100 miles away went off and it was the city alarm. It was so loud, I couldn't sleep.

Today it is windy and snowy. The waves are choppy and according to weather.com it feels like negative 11 degrees out. It's quite miserable but fun to watch things blowing around. We've been invited to eat at this Native guy's (Ernie) home. He is gong to cook us deer and fish. I'll only be eating the fish. So kind for people to treat me like family.

I will continue my tour. I am just doing a detour after Alaska. Instead of two days in LA, I will be in San Francisco with my family.

This transition has me feeling older, more responsible, and want to take the reins on life that much more. It's also really confusing to have already been tempted by all these Alaskan breeders and now face the pressure of having to create the third living generation of my family.

One of my new years resolutions was to pursue my life's purpose without abandon. But before that... figure out what it I'm supposed to be here for.

Any ideas what this life thing is all about?

One Lucky Homersexual: A quick tour of Homer, AK before my bedtime.

2009-01-28T23:27:00.000-08:00

Damn I'm lucky! Snow and the beach at the same time! Can you believe I get to come here as part of my creative life? This has probably been up there with one of the best tours ever. It was well worth all the packing anxiety and the year-long contract negotiation process. Say what you will about Alaska in the winter, but I've really had a great time seeing this totally different part of the world. And granted, I've hardly even gone outside.

We took a little plane here from Anchorage. It was really exciting to fly in a little commuter jet where we were still close to the ground enough to make out dog sled tracks in the snow. We didn't even have to go through security before getting on the plane.

The sign outside of Two Sisters Bakery where I eat breakfast each morning.

I've already become a staple at the neighborhood bar. I've never been a regular at any bar, but seeing as there is nothing and nowhere else really to go at night, we've made a home at Duggan's Irish bar. The bartender already knows my "regular drink" (a pale ale they have one tap) and brings it to me as soon as I sit down. I've decided that I shall be known as "Norm." I also decided that Nicole (my technician) will be "Frasier." It also turns out that the night we got in was Karaoke night and thanks to the cordless mics, I can sing in the kitchen.

I am holding the pan for emphasis

John, the line cook, and I are already best buds. I sing him "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey.

John was really nice about the fact that he would have to wipe down the counter again after the song's finale. No thanks to my dirty shoes.

I already have new friends coming out to see my show... which opens tomorrow!

Gorgeous huh? What a great life. Though I must say, I do need to get out of Alaska soon because the men are actually becoming attractive to me.

Cockblocking Gems of Internet Past

2009-01-27T17:59:00.000-08:00

I'm in Homer, Alaska and love it so much that I am pretty much a full blown Homersexual. The small town charm cannot be beat.

I am inside though most of today because it's bitterly cold and windy out. My face is getting chapped pretty fast.

I am redesigning my website with the help of the folks at Atomic Kitchen Graphic Design!

I was going through old pages and totally forgotten that at one point way back when, I whored out my male friends to a pre-friendster world.

LADIES! COME DATE MILES!

LADIES! COME DATE VINCE!

LADIES! COME DATE BERNARD!

This shit is brilliant. My writing is superb. Read it before kristinawong.com v 1.0 disappears. Incidentally, Miles and Vince are taken (not because of me though.) I think Bernard is still available.

Clowning Around in Anchorage

2009-01-25T13:56:00.000-08:00

A rare sighting of a wild Alaskan clown.

My last show in Anchorage is in about three hours and the shows have gone really well. I am spoiled by experiences like these. Rolling into towns I've never been in before, where I hardly know anyone and they come! They pay their hard earned money to see what I have to see. They come like audiences in LA won't come if you don't drag them in.

Last night's show was a lot older and whiter than audiences I've had. I sit on stage during the preshow to set the tone of the show and do an inventory of my audience when they come in. I counted only three people of color. A black woman, an Asian (or Native) guy, and an older Asian woman. This made this one bit I have where I have to "pick on" an Asian woman very difficult. This woman who I swore was Asian (turns out she may have been Asian, or she may have been Native, or maybe just really shy when I broke the fourth wall) was my lone target for the joke. It was a little awkward because I think she was older than my mother and because there weren't many people of color around to confirm how brilliant my little bit was, it just kinda landed awkwardly.

But it still went over well. I had a few flashes during the show that it really is time to start creating new work. This show is becoming as familiar as breathing and while that's comfortable, it puts me at risk of being complacent. I've certainly grown a lot doing this show and touring. My challenge is to keep pushing forward with exciting new work.

I've gotten to experience the bar scene in Anchorage. Without going into much detail, the singles scene can be summed up as: "The odds are good, but the goods are odd."

I'm tripping out, as I normally do at my age, about how so many of my friends from high school are all grown up, married, with kids. Of course, I know that childbearing is not required of me, but sometimes as I find myself wandering from city to city... especially cities like Anchorage where people breed as a way of life and I still feel like a kid in my "childlessness".

One woman who works at Out North has the cutest freaking kid in the world and I swear I get pregnant just looking at him. She described how she starts lactating if she sees a kid or hears a baby crying. This is something I learned about watching Grey's Anatomy.

One of my best friends from middle school is living in Anchorage and I haven't talked to her since we were 13. I think her last impression of me was as a "big weirdo freak" (that, has not changed). We've been facebooking and she says she and her husband may come out to see the show if she can get a babysitter. And this trips me out because in my mind, she's still the 13 year friend I last saw. And I feel somewhat self conscious about her seeing my show and proving to her that I'm "all grown up"-- as if it wouldn't show on its own.

I actually got to thinking this morning how few friends I keep in touch with from San Francisco and even from UCLA. I'm actually better at staying in touch with my teachers from school, and not the friends I grew up with. Sure, of course, people move on with their lives and grow apart, but when I hear people talk about "their old high school buddies" and their "old college buddies"-- it almost sounds as if they have a whole gang of folks from the past who rally behind them. I don't have this gang-- I have a whole lot of older white Alaskans who come to my show. I have my crazy gay artists friends in Los Angeles.

I can't help but feel cheated of those mythic post- high school relationships. That 90210-esque friends forever gang that will have your back even during the remake show, 15 years later.

When I have looked for these old school friends on Facebook, they've been replaced by pictures of toddlers. And here I am in Alaska looking back at them. Living the longest, most extended version of my teenage years possible.

Today is our last day in Anchorage. Tomorrow, we hit up Homer, Alaska. A small town of 5000. I look forward to meeting my new Alaskan posse.

How did this inauguration become my porn?

2009-01-20T22:38:00.000-08:00

I've watched him get sworn in like how many times already? And I'll probably watch today's footage again and again. Looking for a new camera angle I had not noticed. A new glint in his smile... A hot new dance position he takes with his wife...

I'm searching for clips online, recovering the moments I've missed, and drinking them in like a hungry unsatiable American beast. Mentally reliving an event I wasn't at in person, as if I was there... imagining myself as one of the characters in the story. And I've seen it enough that I actually believe I was there. I am.

Is this healthy? Does it matter if today was just the fantasy celebration before the tedious reality of rebuilding our nation? I just want to inject myself into this narrative of this day as if it was my every day reality. Even if the smiles, the gestures, and the greetings and goodbyes have been fabricated for the media.

I just came back from a night time celebration in Downtown Anchorage where I watched his inaugural speech again. I know how it ends-- he swears in and becomes the President... it's just the ride was soooo good.... and I can't help but play it back over and over again.

But unlike porn, I am not getting desensitized to it. (Not that I have ever seen porn before.)

Though, I do think I had an orgasm when he did the shaka brah to the Punahoa Marching Band.

Sure, I have my criticisms about today. Rick Warren and his hypocritical invocation about loving and accepting everyone (except gay people... right?). The endless marching bands (we couldn't throw in one gay pride float?). I was a little confused about why he wasn't introduced as "Barack Hussein Obama" and instead as "Barack H. Obama" when he made his entrance (he did make it up in the swearing in and quite smoothly). His speech lacked the quotable "hooks" of his campaign speeches. And why couldn't they have just pushed Dick Cheney down the stairs in that... WHEELCHAIR?!

But I'd repeat today again and again. That feeling of instinctively thrusting my fist into the air and screaming when he was sworn in. Going outside of the University of Anchorage Auditorium and the sun was still not up and yet, we had all seen the light. Looking at the White House site for the first time and really absorbing that no, it's not a joke. It's not a hoax. This is really it. We really did this. We don't just have a black president, we have President Barack Hussein Obama. We have First Lady, Michelle Obama.

I've been pleasantly surprised with Anchorage. And so pleased to celebrate this day here. It is not the beacon of Republican dumb sauce. The pockets of blue are remarkable. AND..... Whoa of whoa! There are so many black people here! And Native! And Asian! Or maybe the Asians are actually Native.... this is kind of confusing and I must figure out a way the jokes in my show can work with this "Asian look-alike" dynamic. I was happy to stand among them and know that we had come together to witness each others awe of this crazy long awaited moment.

There are things so logical about this moment. That are country is being represented for once by someone who is both qualified and whose own life story reflects the actual experience and dreams of so many Americans. That our president and his first wife actually came from working class roots and immigrant dreams. That this is the America we've been waiting for.

This should have happened so many years ago. And yet it still surprises us. This moment where we gathered in public places, we came together as Americans, and we looked around at each other, all of us different in our histories that brought us here to this moment, and today we saw each other.