I been watching and rewatching this video over and over since it dropped. I forgot I had a blog and that you could embed Youtube videos on it and stuff. So …yeah..the homie Bambu doesn’t have a single weakness as an emcee:

Life, Love, and Basketball
(a sestina)

For a lifetime, this has been his team.
Seventeen championships – four of which he has seen – they are without peer.
An obsession for him: no matter where he has lived,
he dreamed imaginary ballgames, along with careers and families. Now the title
of “father” is a reality. There is no more time to dream: the effect
of being tethered to a spot on earth with his children. No, not Boston -

which is implacable – but actual concrete and soil. Where Boston
is just an idea, his children are real and teeming
with possibility. For his Celtics, he feels something to the same effect,
as every challenge flashes then slowly disappears.
Many doubt the Celtics are entitled
to this playoff run, just as he doubts he has earned the life he lives.

But then, this doubt is the reason he lives.
He questions his own memory – maybe because he’s from Boston.
The Celtics fan – once almost entitled
to success, if not in life, then of his team -
as a father now dances over midnights, peers
at each coming day, thinking of ways to make them perfect.

This June night, his hometown squad can affect
tomorrow. There are no religious icons here to believe
in, pray to – just a glowing television and yelps that pierce
the quiet hours before bed. Three miles from Downtown Boston,
this fan draws energy from the Celtics, and self-esteem
from his children fighting the intermittent tidal

waves of sleep and sleeplessness. No father is entitled
to a full night’s rest anyway. So why not let a game affect
him? The clock climbs over itself and his head teems
with more doubts. The playoffs don’t relieve
a father of his duties, but at least tonight in Boston,
the rules for fans usurp those for fathers – so it appears.

This man constantly departs. Reappears.
Sings children to sleep, screams silence at games, writes poems with no titles.
It has never been so good to be in Boston -
a lovely ugly setting, where home sometimes exists. It is perfect.
There may be other cities more enjoyable to live,
but his children are here in this city – and so is his team.

The City of Boston hopes Captain Paul Pierce
can help steer this magnificent team to another title -
if for no other effect than to remind us we’re alive.

This is kinda controversial. Not to anyone else – just to me. It’s hard to pick my favorite spoken word pieces of the last decade because the thing that makes me love them is so personal. It might be the presentation, the wordplay, the structuring – or it could be a lot harder to pin down, like the mood I was in when I first heard it, the way it seemed to complete an incomplete thought I was having, or maybe it became more powerful the more I thought back to it.

Also, I know I did twelve and not the customary ten, but there’s no way I can possibly take any of these off. It was hard enough narrowing it down this far. I’ve included the approximate year I first heard the poem and my favorite line from each piece, but these are coming straight from memory – so don’t quote me on them.

12. “Listen Asshole” – Yellow Rage (2000)
It feels like a lifetime ago. When I first moved to DC right after college, I knew close to nobody – and I had no aspirations to take on spoken word as anything more than just something I did at bars every now and then, since I lived right off Black Broadway and there was no shortage of open mics a couple blocks from my apartment. But pretty soon I found myself part of a duo called re: verse, and we were one of three main API spoken word groups out that way. The other two were Feedback (who I’ll talk about later) from New York and Yellow Rage from Philly.

I don’t really know how we all connected, but folks from all three cities met up in 215 to do a little East Coast retreat and this was the first time I hear them do this ridiculous piece. It was like, yo, who’s gonna stop us now?

Favorite Line: I’m gonna fight with alla my might against motherfuckers who think I’m a white…girl. Watch my finger unfurrrrl…”

11. “Remembrance” – Taiyo Na (2000)
On to the aforementioned Feedback Poets. Taiyo was the baby of the bunch – so I was shocked when I saw this like 17 year old kid spit this amazing piece at the Asian American Writer’s Workshop open mic called (re)collection. It was the most succinct and touching rendition of a Japanese American history and future through its literature and music, done in a way that I guess I haven’t seen anyone else even attempt. Mas Yamagata backed him up on the bass.

Favorite Line: This ain’t just some Biz Mark shit; these lips are rocking a lost taiko

10. “The Last Words of a Roach, Underfoot” – El Guante (2009)
Dark Horse entry here. Everyone else on this list is someone I probably first met like – well – a long time ago. But I didn’t have the pleasure of sharing a stage with El Guante until this past year, and I have to say man I was astounded. This piece from the point of view of a cockroach made me feel like I should be writing a lot more.

In the hands of a lesser writer, this concept could have been corny. But he went in on it; honestly, it’s transcendent.

Favorite Line: You say…that life can be something greater than survival, but what could be greater than survival?

(more…)

My brother from another Bao Phi has a super popular blog on the website for the Star-Tribune, and he’s been doing an interesting thing where he asks various API activists from around the country to talk about the first time they participated in a public protest. So I participated in this joint, and it’s been up for a little while.

Follow this link to check out the homie’s blog, and go ahead and leave comments and isht too. My First Protest, Part 2

BTW, I wrote a piece about this experience that I talk about a while back. It’s included in my chapbook, and an earlier draft is here on my website: “Beautiful Ones”.

Ben Ali, who opened my favorite restaurant in the world – Ben’s Chili Bowl – passed away last night. When I lived a few blocks away, I used to this joint up late night at least every other week. Toward the end of my time in DC, I started heading up to grab lunch from Ben’s too.

It wasn’t just that the food was so magnificent, but that the vibe there was so welcoming. It was always packed, but somehow there was always a table free. It had the best jukebox in DC, and if you needed to tell someone how to get there, you could just say “Walk down U Street until you see bright lights and a line of people out the door.”

The man was a giant and will be missed. What was so great too was that nobody got treated special there – except Bill Cosby. Even this guy had to wait in line:

Ten years ago today, Joseph Ileto was murdered by a white supremacist while delivering mail in Southern California.

Sometimes, it’s hard to trace the impact of any monumental event on one person’s life. But it may be easier for me in this case, for reasons I’ll explain here.

Ten years ago today I was in my final week as an intern at the Organization of Chinese Americans (OCA) in Washington, DC. In general, that experience was life-changing for many reasons, but to put it very succinctly, I learned we are never alone. (If you want to talk more about this, holla via email.)

So on Tuesday of my final week in the office, we were kind of just goofing off all day. (I honestly remember it was a Tuesday, without having to look it up.) And I remember hearing the news that a Filipino American postal worker had been shot and killed as part of a racist shooting rampage. It definitely shattered the loose vibe we were cultivating there, and as we learned more details, I prepared myself to draft the agency’s public response. (Of the six interns in the office that summer, I had established my niche as the one who wanted to write press releases and such.)

And as I sat at the computer, facing something so much more serious than I wanted to be facing at that time, a sense of purpose overcame me. Over the previous 9 weeks, I had felt so supported and loved by people I met from across the country, from different campuses that I had never been to; I was new to this world, I had no plans beyond that summer, whereas a lot of other interns were mapping out law school or their careers. I was – for lack of a better phrase – a scrub compared to all of them. And during this time, I had learned that no matter how unsupported or beaten down I felt, there was always going to be hundreds of others feeling that same way, fighting the same fights. And that even if I never met them, they were my support. I would never have to meet them, I’d just have to believe they existed.

And so typing out the date on that blank Microsoft Word document, I felt that I could return some of that love and support to Joseph and his family. This was bound to be my final real work of the summer, I should put everything I had into it. And I truly did, I can relive that moment like it happened yesterday. I remember typing the gunman’s name (which I still remember but won’t type here) and thinking his name sounded like a white supremacist’s name, all awkward consonant sounds and long vowels jumping on each other. The day is still one of the most vivid days in my memory. (more…)

Richard Aoki, 1938-2009

(more…)

I used to live right off U Street in DC, also known as Black Broadway – and hands down, my favorite place for late night eats was the famous Ben’s Chili Bowl. It was and still is a microcosm of real DC. Forget going to the museums and the monuments and the Senate buildings and the White House. Those are all fine for what they are, but if you wanna see the real DC, Ben’s is the quickest way to immerse yourself.

The local lore says Bill Cosby proposed to his wife there! And they got pictures of dude up in the spot, with the ill juke in the back. When I made the decision to move back to Boston – I started hitting up Ben’s for lunch and late nights because I knew I’d be missing it.

Check out the clip down there of Meet the Press with Obama and Fenty hitting up the joint. Good to see the next president actually wanted to see real DC.

As the San Diego Asian Film Festival closed its first leg this week, and the Boston Asian American Film Festival kicks off tonight, I do want to take a minute to remember one of the VIPs on the scene.

I moved to Washington DC in 2000, a month after finishing college because I knew I had to leave Boston behind to grow as a person. I lined up a very low-paying job on the civil rights scene and packed up the U-Haul. Arriving Wednesday night and starting work Thursday morning, I had close to no friends. I mean, I had friends, but not those who i developed on my own. It was all co-workers, other civil rights scenesters, and such and such.

A big part of me regretted leaving my family, and I battled homesickness by drinking heavily. I also gained about 10 pounds that summer. But it wasn’t all destructive behavior; I also caught wind of a group of people starting up an Asian American film festival in DC, and I decided to at least attend a meeting to see what was up. (It was college when I developed a love of writing and performing, but also filmmaking. I even made two short movies…which both…uh, no longer exist I hope.)

The guy leading the meeting was George Lin, a very unassuming but friendly guy who had dreamed up the DC APA Film Festival with a buddy one day and simply turned it into a reality. There was no self-doubt in this guy, he very strongly believed in his own abilities and those of the people around him to simply not get caught up in bull. George knew more than anyone that if you wanted to make it happen…shoot, you could just make it happen. George gave me a ride home that night, and in fact many nights after, as it seemed everyone else lived in Virginia while I was the only one in DC. George lived in Maryland, so he was stuck with the job of getting the little kid home safely. He was always a calming presence and capable of giving others strength without them knowing it. (I specifically remember his pep-talk to me on Election Night 2000 before dropping me off at my apartment.)

I was heavily involved with APA Film that year, and it was a great welcome to DC. APA Film, and in particular George, helped me think larger than my own just-out-of-college world. It was actually the opening night ceremony that I started down the road to an actual career as a spoken word performer; before that, it was just a hobby. (Another story for another time perhaps.)

That initial experience with George and APA Film, helped me feel I could actually follow through on bringing ideas to fruition. Some attempts have been less successful than others, but I never lost the nerve to take the first step. During my time in DC, I was a part of many nascent groups from the failed (APAREN) to the successful (DCAPJ) to the legendary (TLC – I see yall!). By 2002, I was thinking about what it would take to create a collective to support Asian American and Pacific Islander community-based artists in the DC area, but life intervened, and I ended up back in Boston.

And within a month of my return, we held the first ever Boston Progress Arts Collective meeting. And look at us now, still going strong – in fact, stronger – 6 years later. And without exaggeration, BPAC’s very existence was inspired by the work George put in to making his little idea a reality.

To nobody’s and everybody’s surprise, George left his job as a military scientist in 2003 and moved to San Diego to chase his dream of being more involved with not only showcasing, but producing films. His position as Programming Director at SDAFF made him a legitimate “bigshot” (haha) and helped draw more people into his world, no doubt making their lives that much brighter. His passion for our communities and for supporting arts and artists culminated in his co-producing the film Before We Close.

My unofficial tagline for any project nowadays is “we are only limited by our imagination.” George wasn’t the only person who exemplified this mindset, but he was probably the best at it. For many of us, thinking outside the box means thinking ourselves into another box. But George could leave and return to the box as often as he wanted, and always be wearing that same expression, that looked like it could break into full smile at any time. And every time, he would enthusiastically tell you where he had just been, and how he couldn’t wait to go back.

George passed away a few days ago at the age of 37 after a two decade long battle with illness. Rest in power bro.

In lieu of flowers and gifts, the family requests that charitable donations be made to The George C. Lin Memorial Fund established by his family which will provide grants to institutions that provide scholarships to students studying film, and for pheochromocytoma research and education. Please send checks to The San Diego Foundation, 2508 Historic Decatur Rd. Ste. 200, San Diego, CA 92106. Please write the name of the fund, The George C. Lin Memorial Fund, on the memo line of the check.

The homies Geologic and Sabzi – collectively known as Blue Scholars did a little writeup of their trip to Denver to participate in the protest outside the DNC.

Click here to read in its entirety.

Warning: mainstream liberals get mad in the comments section.

A couple of hilarious lines courtesy of Geo:

“I tell her that they’re not true republicans because Red is the communists’ color.”

“We’re watching this all happen with a handful of protesters of color who, unlike some other people, are trying to avoid arrest.”

Real talk once again.