US, US, baby

How good can a movie be that when you leave its premiere, nobody in your four-person group even talks about it? Even when one of those in the group was sort of involved in it? Not so good.

Wednesday I went with some old MU sports geeks to see the premiere of Gunnin’ for That #1 Spot. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s a documentary about high school basketball stars on the verge of NBA stardom. Directed by Beastie Boy Adam Yauch, the film centers around one of their games at Rucker Park in Harlem.

Sounds like a winner for a sports nerd like me…so why no love? Well, for starters, musician Yauch clearly considers himself more of a music man than a filmmaker, which makes for a pretty awful movie. I mean the end of the movie spent yards of film on music credits…detailing every mix in there, but does little to acknowledge the majority of the film clips used in it. Speaking of those clips…most were grainy Internet cut-and-paste jobs that not only make it nauseating to watch on the big screen but also — even before the credits started — left me with little faith that their makers got the same credit (or pay) that the musicians did for the film.

And the actual story? Well, I like documentaries. OK. I REALLY like documentaries. I love how they take the audience on a journey, and we get to see, hear, and feel what another person (or animal) sees, hears, and feels. But this movie doesn’t do that. This movie has no journey. And the whole thing was shot with just a week of following the guys (according to an AP article)…hardly the time it takes to really get to know a subject. Instead, we just get to hear that a court is famous, see some kids playing a game, and hear others talking about how hard they think their life must be (um, hello…”show don’t tell” is a pretty good rule of thumb when it comes to laying out a good story…why didn’t Yauch just SHOW us how hard their life must be?)

It got a lot of hype at the film festivals, and even the premiere drew its fair share of coverage (of course it probably helped that a few of the guys in it were going to be starring in the draft the next night and were in attendance for the big showing). But still, I have to say, it just wasn’t good enough. Fun to watch in the way that I’m sure it was fun to see Jordan play pro baseball…but all the time knowing that someone should just stick to his day job.

What did you do for pop’s day? My sister and I somehow convinced ourselves that a family trip to Memphis would be a great idea (as I was moving to NYC the next week, and she to Atlanta the following month) and gifted that to the rest of the fam.

I have to say…it’s only my second time to Memphis, but I’m still blown away by the people there. I really think it could be the friendliest city in the U.S. It’s definitely the friendliest I’ve been to. Love, love, love that place.

OK…I know I’m definitely back in the US again. How? Well, my day started at 6:45 this morning, as I drug myself off my sister’s couch in preparation for my flight to NYC. After a long day of layovers, delays, and cancellations, I finally made it to LGA 12 hours later.

So, when I hungrily strolled around my (temporary) East Village neighborhood, I was eager to try one of the many Korean places around here. I go into the one that looks the most veg friendly, and I plop down and plow into the food without a thought in the world.

There’s all of three other tables there with customers, but as I’m gnawing away on my kimchi — the first I’ve had since I was in Korea a year ago — I see someone that looks familiar. Could it be? No. It can’t be. This guy’s got a lot of facial hair. And I don’t remember Shawn Hunter having facial hair.

But a few minutes more of stalker staring later, and it was confirmed. I’ve had my first celebrity sighting since returning to the US. Yep. I saw Rider Strong, the heartthrob of my teen years (I think I may have even had a BOP poster or two of him back in the day) again. Yep. Again. I actually saw him on the other coast about two years ago. But that was at a party for a friend of a friend who was releasing a book on memoirs of the sex industry.

Welcome back to land of the movie people, Jayna…

*

I don’t know why I find it so humorous that when I meet people, they always assume I’m from a coast. East or west…but never the Midwest. And never from a small town. Even people who’ve known me for a while are still pretty stunned at how country I grew up. I mean, I think I’m pretty country through and through (um, hello…I drove a pick-up truck!). Apparently, though, it doesn’t always show.

My apparent lack of countri-ness cracks me up even more when my St. Louis friends make their two-hour way down to my neck of the woods and see for themselves all that is my hometown. But, it’s true. I grew up in a small town (as did JCM).

A couple of weekends ago I even went back to go with my pops to the local Country Days festival. It’s the summer festival for the “big city” of Farmington (pop. 13,924), about 20 miles from my hometown. I loved going there as a teen, and I have to say, some parts of it never get old. Especially the funnel cakes. Um. Um. Funnel cakes.

*PS: Ten points to the first person who can name the artist who performed at Country Days (as seen in the above video). I have to admit it’s a bit harder than say, Usher, but if you’re country at all, you’ll know him…

While traveling, people in Asia used to ask me if the different states in the US were different culturally. Indians especially were fascinated by this as indigenous cultures were still quite prevalent, and thus state differences could often be seen in the language, clothing, and wares produced. I’d tell them, no, not really. I mean, we were different but not in the same way that other country’s states were. I tried to tell them that our differences were just more subtle.

Then, last week while driving home I realized that our state-to-state differences aren’t necessarily more subtle. They’re just more developed (as in signs of a developed society). We may not weave our own cloths, but skirt length? That’s definitely a cultural norm that has acceptability varying from state to state as Ms. Kyla Ebberts so clearly displayed that what’s acceptable in Southern Cali definitely won’t fly elsewhere (yes, pun intended).

And what caused this little observance? While driving back into a middle-class, mostly white neighborhood here in St. Louis I changed lanes. Being the Missouri-raised girl I was, I checked both mirrors, put on my blinker, and switched lanes. Still, the 20-something white dude in that lane decided I was clearly a muck of a driver and rode up on my tail and flipped me off. I was appalled. I had not been flipped off while driving in five years. And you can bet your boots that when I was in LA on the 405 last month I definitely cut across four lanes of traffic…with no honking or middle fingers to show for it. Yes. In Cali, drivers don’t flip each other off (partly caused due to the highway shootings). In Missouri, you’ll get the finger for no good reason (to which you can always respond as I did…slowing and pumping my brakes in front of the guy…then speeding up…then braking).

But that is just one of our state-to-state differences…some others I’ve noticed?
Bars:
In Cali or New York, bars aren’t just about getting smashed or hooking up. It’s as much about making new (career) connections or a little conversation as it is getting digits. In Missouri, screw the digits…everyone just wants a lay with the hottest guy/girl they can find.

Looks:
OK…I have to relate this to a day back in SoCal when the roomies and I were talking about Nick Lachey. Great-looking guy, no? Well, we all agreed, but then I added that he’s cute…but you know people just think he’s so hot because he’s famous. “I mean he looks like a guy I could have gone to high school with,” I say. My Michigan roommate responds with, “I’ve seen your pictures…and yeah maybe a guy YOU could’ve gone to school with, but…” So what am I saying? In general, Missouri guys are pretty darn hot to the rest of the states. Missourians, in particular I think are just more attractive peeps. Seriously, in my four years of school, I traveled to many other Big 12 universities, and I have to say that both the guys and girls at MU are far more attractive than any other college I’ve been to. This is both good and bad. Great for eye candy. But terrible for a girls’ self-esteem. None of my out-of-state friends know as many girls from college that had eating disorders as I do. Nobody else had to listen to girls retching their 12-course diner dinner in the dorm toilet or had their sorority meetings address girls puking in the shower (again).

Recycling:
OK. It happens in MO…but recycling containers here are like 1/4 of the size they are in Cali. Clearly it’s not happening like it should be.

Food:
T-Rav. ‘Nuff said.

Yeah…the more I think about things, the easier it is to come up with ways in which Missouri is unique or at least different from the other states here in our little ol’ country. We may not have our own Missouri religion, but yeah, each state is different from the next.

“You’re American? But you don’t have the face of an American!” a Laos guy tried to tell me last year while I waited to get on my boat. Apparently my reply was a little curt as the Canadian chick next to me started laughing when I dryly replied, “America has many faces.”

Seriously, though, not only is the “Where are you from?…No where are you REALLY from?” question incredibly annoying in the US, but it was also maddeningly frustrating while traveling. Just because I’m not white or black, people couldn’t believe that I was REALLY American. Really, though. Have you heard me talk? Have you looked at what I’m wearing? Have you seen my passport? Seriously. And do you know ANYTHING about American history? I mean, really. Americans get bagged on all the time for our lack of world history and geographical knowledge (and generally rightfully so), but come on…I look far more “indigenous” American than any of the blond-haired chicks next to me. And none of us are actually indigenous. America is full of immigrants. Nobody “looks American”…regardless of our faces, or even our clothes. America is a nation of immigrants, Beavis.

Don’t believe me? Last week while in LA, I caught up with my old co-workers, which included three partial/full Latinas, an Indian gal, and a Vietnamese guy; then I went and had my taxes done by a guy who’d grown up in Calcutta; then I had my hair cut by a woman from Seoul; and at the end of the day I had dinner with my old roommate (of Scandinavian descent) and was served Mexican food by a guy from Jalisco, Mexico.

…and we’re all American. Yes. None of us are no more or no less American than the next. Perhaps we were raised with different religions, languages, or values than each other, but that is exactly what makes us American, my friend. Regardless of what face you’re looking at.

Only when you actually have no home do you realize how often people ask you where you live. Yep. Whether they be complete and utter strangers, new co-workers, or friends of friends, people want to know what state, city, or even neighborhood you’re calling home. And when you can’t give a straightforward answer, (”well, my legal residence is in Los Angeles, but I’m moving to New York next month, and I’m staying here in Missouri until then…”), you feel pretty lame.

Yeah, I need to come up with a new way to describe my current couch-surfing/daybed-stealing situation. Because seriously, it’s a Q that usually precedes a 1-second answer, but currently any questioners are getting a bit of a monologue. And we’ve got at least three more weeks of this schtick.

one of my many “homes” over the past year