Dear Jennica,

Lets follow up- gmail chat is becoming the downfall of our blog! we keep telling each other important things on there, and then it all makes less sense on here.

You said, lets have more pictures. and i said Yes! So here is a drawing of Hans I did today. I am feeling a little proud of myself because his mom said it looks like him. I have been really struggling with portraits of people because I can make them look realistic, but they lack the je-ne-sais-quoi of actually looking like that individual person. Know what i mean? And his mom is usually pretty honest about my work. What do you think? I am missing my life drawing class in Berlin, so i need to do more sofa session like this one, i really love drawing people.

Next, my dad emailed me saying he STARTED A BLOG! Now, my dad is over 8o, and i dont really know him, so this kind of incredible!! Even more incredible, he doesnt know how to email a URL. He just said his blog was his name. Wow dad... i'll just type your name in up there with a .com... Anyhow, its bizarre. Here is an excerpt:

Attended the New Kensington High School, received the Bausch and Lomb Honorary Sciebce Award for the highest four year average in science and math. Was 1st violinist in the High School Orchestra and sang tenor in the choir. Was President of the Ken Hi National Honor Society. Went on to a BS Degree in Agricultural Engineering at Penn State where I was Secretary Treasurer of the Student Branch of the Am. Soc. Of Agricultural Engineers.

It goes on like this. Its like a resume. While it IS fascinating that he received an honorary 'Sciebce Award' in high school (and not a spelling or grammar award, obviously) its weird these are the things that matter to a man near death. I think i told you he just moved himself into a nursing home this fall, the kind you go and stay in until you die, and does this man- looking back upon his long life- really want to be remembered for his dinky high school award? Am I, upon deep reflection, blogging about my science fair award in high school? Absolutely not. This is a man with very different priorities than my own. There is no mention of his 8 children or 4 consecutive wives, although he does mention he breeds dogs! I wonder what people are deducing from between the lines of our blog?

meanwhile, behind me, my mother in law is exhibiting how Danish can be so similar to english. the dog jumped on the sofa when she was all dirty:
dum hund! she says, dum dum hund. dumb dumb hound indeed.

I have to go make dessert, Hans' little sister just got back from Mexico today and she is coming over for dinner. Certain women in this house being immensely fulfilled by very gendered tasks need a large meal to be prepared for the occasion, so off i go....

Love,
Marie

Dear Jennica,

Love,
Marie

Dear Marie, snug as a bug in a rug

So...there isn't a Danish Dream like we have here in the states? Or at least it is certainly a xenophobic dream. I guess they don't want just anybody to use their free health care system, free education, minimum wage of, what, $15 an hour? You'd think they'd at least let you pay the 50% tax rate or whatever it is.

I've been thinking plenty about my decision to stay in Salt Lake. All of my friends outside the state strongly suggest I move some place more socially and politically progressive, with a more vibrant art community, a more established infrastructure of community organizing and social action. When I get frustrated here, I day dream about moving to a place where Critical Mass isn't criticized even by the people you'd think would be down to participate. A place where I don't have to convince people that performance art doesn't just mean plays, dance and poetry slams. I'd like to have a conversation about political correctness with more than just a bunch of white middle class people.

All good reasons to leave Salt Lake. But regardless of its shortcomings (all of which I believe are on the verge of changing), Salt Lake is a fucking fantastic place to live. On clean, clear days (I'll tell you all about inversion some day) the city is surrounded by magnificent mountains, snow capped in winter. Pockets of creativity, diversity and rebellious insight are consistently strengthened in the face of adversity. If you ever need to polish your Fuck You attitude, Salt Lake is a great place to do that.

On top of all this, it's EASY to live here. I can have a luxurious one bedroom apartment in a turn of the century home in nice neighborhood for the same price as a bed in a 2 bedroom house shared by 4 people in an apartment complex 20minutes from the train in Brooklyn. I can work less than full time and make enough money to live comfortably.

The coolest thing, however, is I can start my own business or non-profit, throw parties or events or workshops, open a boutique or themed restaurant. And anything I do, people will think it's original or unique. This city is just enough behind the times that even ideas that are mainstream, common knowledge or so last year in New York or LA are still brand new here. And the community is tight enough that new ventures are likely to be supported and thrive.

I'm saying all this not in a neener-neener-my situation-is-better-than-yours sort of way, but to point out a stark contrast in choice and priorities. Denmark is awesome. There is something you have been strongly attracted to in the land, government, people and culture. For a long time it has been worth being an outsider, not knowing what people were saying all the time. And even if you know the words, sometimes the culture differences are so profound that you feel totally lost. Regardless, you chose your lifestyle with admirable intention.

Now however, you are seriously reconsidering your priorities. This can be a very empowering thing, but sounds like for you it's overwhelming. You've given it everything you have. You went way beyond anything I would have anticipated, marrying a Dane! That should show the universe your serious commitment to your relationship with this guy and with the country. I try to hold myself back from telling you to do what I want you to do, but I just want happiness for you. All the way from being in alignment with the big, big world down to a little, personal coup d'etat here and there.

How can we make this happen for you?

Love, Jennica

Dear Jennica,

When i was little, and TV was forbidden, there were a few videos we were allowed to watch. one was anne of green gables, for example. and one was something like 'world's funniest commercials.' some kind of british best-of collection from the 80s. we watched that video so many times, we knew all the punchlines. one we used to quote all the time bears an uncanny resemblance to your last letter.

it went like this:
man with mohawk walking down the street. hes a punk in leather and his hawk is multi-coloured. a proper british lady voice in his head says 'If you want open a back account, you've got to look SMART.'
he looks at his reflection in the shop window and looks worried.
he gets a normal haircut
he looks at his reflection again and hears the lady saying the same thing...
he puts on a suit that doesnt fit him.
he takes off the eyeliner and facial piercings.
He finally walks into the bank and up to a teller, they are kind and he is satisfied with his efforts.
then he looks over and who is also being treated kindly at the wicket next to his?
two dirty punks in leather and metal.
man in suit too small for him has sudden realization of his own prejudices.
*cue sappy bank narrator saying how blabla bank appreciates ALL its customers and enjoys diversity.

so jennica, you are hearing that same british lady in your head. saying you wont be respected by mainstream people until you look SMART. or boring. or mainstream. i do that too. and i dont have an answer. i dont have an answer to anything tonight.

i was just glad to see you had written back.
i am feeling seriously LOW. we went and looked at an apartment tonight, and we were SO hopeful. but we got there and she said a man wants to buy the place and is going to the bank tomorrow and so maybe sort of probably not BLA BLA BLA.

we keep waiting for a fucking break!! this was just the fucking elephant that was already sitting on the camels broken back. we are homeless. unemployed. awaiting possible deportation. waiting waiting waiting. i am so sick to death of waiting, i could really hurt someone. i may already be hurting myself with all this, i feel like i am at the bottom of a really low downswing and i keep thinking, THIS has to be the bottom. y'know? how could it get worse? and it does. it keeps getting worse! whats worse than not having a job? having a job waiting for you and being forbidden from doing it by the immigration authorities! whats worse than feeling you dont belong in a country? waiting in line outside in the cold to go into and office and be told by a real live person that you dont belong!

i have got to get out of this mess. this mess in my brain and this mess in my life. i am so sick of these same dead circles of frustration.

tomorrow we have our meeting with the 'foreigner office.' then i have to call my new job and tell them that despite my being married to a Dane and having lived here for more than 2 years, that NO i am actually not allowed to work for them. even tho me being not allowed contravenes European Union law, no lawyer can help us because 'these cases never go anywhere.' and so NO, i cant start on Monday. NO you cant pay me 18 dollars an hour and NO there isnt a fucking thing any of us can do about it.

fuck that. fuck this!
m.

Dear Marie, morebiggerism

I’ve only been having one little repetitive thought lately. What if people aren’t taking me seriously? What if the conservative folks I work with in my State Agency, paper shuffling, office job don’t take me seriously because I think hiking boots fall into the category of “business casual” and I just won’t take my nose rings out?

Do my stylistic choices categorize me even more than my ideologies, my world travels, my income?

“If you want people to take you seriously, you are going to have to grow up.” I don’t know where this voice in my head originated, certainly not from my old hippie parents. Maybe I heard it from a dad on TV and it stuck. Somewhere in my brain lodged between the notion that a woman’s beauty is her most important asset and that Fruit Loops can be considered part of a balanced breakfast, is that ol’ notion of “you gotta look the part.”

Well, I don’t want to look the part. I want the part to look like me. I want ME to be taken seriously, not some facsimile of me in a pant suit.

Like you, whitey, or me as the heathen in pants at Sunday school, I’m just going to own it. You know that old George Burns adage? Or maybe it was Woody Allen, who said “I wouldn’t want to go to any party that would invite the likes of me.” No, it was Groucho Marx. And he said, “I wouldn’t want to be friends with anyone who would want to be friends with me.” That’s dumb. I want to live in environments and work with people who take me seriously because I make the lifestyle choices I do, not despite that.

The director of the Environmental Ministry at the First Unitarian Church in Salt Lake gave a homily last Sunday called Conspicuous Conservation. GENIUS! Instead of using consumption as a sign of wealth, popularity and general superiority, let’s start using the human habit of peacockery to promote a lifestyle and value system centered on environmental conservation and sustainability.

Besides the hipsters on fixies, I feel like there’s a common opinion in Salt Lake that the only reason you wouldn’t drive is because you are too poor or irresponsible to have a car. SUV still equals status here. While cycling, gardening/composting, reducing/reusing are gaining popularity amongst the liberal folks in the Marmalade District and Sugarhouse, the rest of town (i.e. the suburbs) still suffers from the morebigger-ism associated with the immature aspect of the American Daydream.

Is there a Danish Dream? Or a German Dream?

Dear Jennica,

What an interesting story. The church has such an all consuming role in Salt Lake, it keeps amazing me. The thing is tho-- that despite its omnipresent role in your young life, there are still rules you dont know, or dont understand because you have never really been a part of the community. You've always been the outsider wearing pants and luring these young boys astray.

Its not unlike how i grew up in such a dominantly Chinese suburb. Even though i know the drill, can tell you when its time to celebrate things and swear in chinese-- i will never be chinese. My identity will always be that of someone just outside of it, when people see me and hear where i am from, they dont see my experiences in the community where i was raised. Because race becomes involved, i dont get to belong to the club. I recently recalled these two guys in high school, actually--

lets call them Thomas and Walter. they were chinese and they were always together. they both loved basketball and their thing was being a team of 2. they would rap and laugh at each other's jokes, they were Thomas and Walter. Inseparable. but the main thing they would do is finish each other's sentences. and the one they would use on me was this:
Thomas: stupid
Walter: whitegirl.

they'd look up from their classwork and say it to my face. deadpan. i'd roll my eyes and go back to whatever i was doing. that was just life.

i had forgotten all about this til last month, when it came back to me, suddenly, and i realized how fucked up that was. i think Vancouver and its suburbs are actually pretty fantastic places where racism isnt a major issue, but things like this did happen and it was ok with my friends and classmates because i was white. wait, no because in their eyes i was whitey.

even tho i was a minority in my school i was supposed to belong to the cultural majority nationally and thus had to absorb outsider feelings of not being chinese AND absorb the negative stuff coming off of local groups who saw me as the oppressing majority. they saw that majority in me- even when i didnt. i was always the awkward whitegirl, i didnt bring any mooncakes to school and i was too tall. i was wearing the pants at the funeral too. but i am not there in Richmond facing this anymore, and you have gone back to all this, intentionally, in Salt Lake. i am still outside wearing pants tho, but now i am at a different funeral where i am allowed to not belong because i fall under the title of foreigner.

so i dont just have in-laws i dont understand, i have in-laws that speak a completely different language. and i am bitching about it! but now i am wearing pants as a choice too, right? how about that.

but on to another part of your letter- Myspace. social networking websites. online friends.

wait, no. first- you told a really intense story! i wish i could give you a hug about it. death like this is especially haunting and can follow you around.

and it was so complicated by technology. you didnt want to keep him as a project, or a real friend, but somehow you kept him around as an online friend. its a whole new level of social distance. at my new years eve party last night someone made a joke about meeting people and right away knowing they would only qualify to be a distant online social contact. me and Tola starting dissing people with facebook, and talking about the benefits of real-live friends-- like stinky breath and vivid colours. but the real point was how much we hate facebook and will never get it. Henning is here visiting from Vienna and he was making sarcastic comments about his facebook addiction, how he's actually 'twitter'ing his constant movements to facebook (he's not, really) (but i didnt even know this was possible- you send a sms (text message) to your own facebook- updating it remotely throughout the day!)

how bizarre this adding someone as your friend because they have the same class as you, but never actually speaking to them when they are physically just two rows over! and i am such a hater of it, i love being above it all. facebook? No way, i say proudly. but as the world of facebook grows (i already occupies 1/3 of all internet usage!) i get further and further away from the world and me and Tola are the only ones left idealizing stinky breathe and dirty faces. so somehow, it IS bringing people together and leaving us out.

my own sister has told me so many times that i would know more about her everyday life if i would just get facebook already! poo poo for not being allowed to see my sister's life and poo poo for more time being used to create social networks that dont actually bring us closer together, but let us keep each other an arms length apart, just far enough that we know when they die, but not close enough for real human connection which might save us. how enragingly ironic.

love,
marie

ps: its really cold here.