What's Your Mix? A Filipina with at Least One Spanish Ancestor. So What?

A week or so ago, Bayo launched an advertising campaign that sparked outrage among Filipino Internet users. The advertisements have Anne Curtis' sister Jasmine Curtis-Smith and a number of mestiza models, each executing the theme “What’s Your Mix?” Each model are extremely beautiful and dressed in Bayo’s latest items. Each model is accompanied with curious captions describing their mixed heritage—in Jasmine Curtis-Smith’s case: “50% Filipino, 50% Australian.”

It’s difficult to pinpoint the reason, at first; but I instinctively knew this was definitely offensive. There was something seriously wrong about these models being labeled as “60% African, 40% Filipino” or “80% Chinese, 20% Filipino.” As far as I see it, this advertising campaign completely misses the discrepancy between race and nationality. But then, this article reacted to it:

http://www.rappler.com/move-ph/6560-of-half-bloods-and-hypocrisy

According to the author, those who complained about the campaign are hypocrites for being offended at all. In a nutshell, the author believes that: 

1.       The campaign does not intend to offend anyone, and it doesn’t claim that the models are beautiful because they are mestizas. 

2.       People who are offended are being oversensitive. 

3.       The people who are offended shouldn’t be offended when they yearn to be white anyway.

I disagree.

I think intentions are irrelevant; even if they didn’t mean to give unfortunate implications, they are there. Advertisements are designed to appeal to the psyche. These images appeal to hidden desires to be like the models in the advertisements. It is practically impossible view these images objectively. Yes, it is true that each ad states a fact; but can you expect ANYONE to NOT see anything else?

The message that the theme “What’s Your Mix?” is getting across is that the creativity of mixing and matching seemingly incompatible items of clothing makes a perfect mix. On that line of thinking, YES, the ad campaign strongly implies that these models are beautiful because they are mestizas. Using models of mixed race and addressing this fact revive the guilt Filipinas have about the still-undying notion that mestizas are more beautiful than purebred chocolate-skinned, ebony-haired Filipinas with coffee-bean eyes.

Furthermore, why is it necessary to bring RACE of all themes as a metaphor for mixing and matching clothes? Aren't these advertisers aware that in America, these kinds of thinking are worth banning because it hurts people's feelings? Yes, we don't live in America, but we have racial issues of our own. We don't need to ignite them in things as insignificant as advertising.

Let me just point out that people are not angry because they want to believe they are more beautiful than these half-breed models. They know full well that these models are beautiful because of racial mixing. What they are offended with is the implication that they are NOT as beautiful because they are, as far as they know, are purebred Filipinas. The phrase "What's Your Mix?" sounds like an accusation, an attack.

Let's say there's a girl who is short, has even chocolate brown skin, frizzy ebony hair, a small mouth with thick lips, and a button nose, and coffee-bean eyes; what do you think she would feel if she is confronted with the question "What's your mix?" while there are extremely beautiful mixed race models in her face? Wouldn't you think she would be humiliated? "Oh, my God! I don't have a 'mix.' What am I, then? I must be unimportant." They don’t want that. They don't need that. They don't deserve that.

Yes, it is hypocritical to claim this campaign is racist when most of us still cling to two contrasting notions that are fundamentally racist: that purebred Filipinas are more beautiful and don't need much makeup, and that purebred Filipinas are NOT as beautiful so we need to bleach our skin and hair and wear blue contact lenses. However these two notions are only symptoms and do not quite address the underlying issues that borne them.

What this advertising campaign poses to us Filipinas is the Doña Victorina mentality that we want to scrape off but can't—not at the moment. It was foolish of Bayo to construct their advertising campaign this way and expect people to not react the way they did.

Most Filipinos nowadays would rather just identify has Filipino. Yes, it is true that we have our brand of racism, but these hasn't been addressed yet because the media perpetuates it, and we haven't yet had a serious talk that addresses the issues on our race, our national identity, and our worth. However, most people identify Filipinos as a nation of people of mixed race, all unified with having at least one ancestor tracing their lineage from this tiny archipelago in Southeast Asia. But if you want to be purist about it, we also identify Filipino as these Malayo-Austronesian people with the physical qualities I've explained at least twice before. Yes, we all need to know that we shouldn't rest our worth on our appearances alone. Yes, we are yet to have a concrete and consistent national identity. But we don't need or deserve to get something as wrong as "What's Your Mix?" slammed onto our faces like cream pie.

Most importantly, no one, not even these gorgeous models, deserves to be reduced to an equation. So what if Jasmine Curtis-Smith has a Filipina mother and a white Australian father? Isn't she a whole person with as much beauty, charisma, and promise as her famous sister Anne? So what if I had a Spanish ancestor that gave me an unusual look that some people do not immediately recognize me as a Filipina? I am still born and raised in this beautiful country and a colorful history. I am still me, a girl who wants to become a great novelist someday. Shouldn't that be more important than the race of my ancestors?

Further reading:  http://www.rappler.com/life-and-style/136-technology/viral/6559-viral-what-s-your-mix-campaign-earns-ire-of-netizens

The Real Injustice Against the Hunger Games Tributes (Review Part 2)

The second part of my review of The Hunger Games is long overdue, so I might as well finish it now. I have said in my previous entry that while I am willing to give The Hunger Games a chance by reading the book and really getting to know the protagonist beyond what I see on the screen. However, I am very much put off by the excessive focus we have on Katniss Everdeen. I think it would have been much better if there was no specific protagonist at all; that way, we can see what each of the twenty-four Tributes are going through in this barbarous competition.

I came to the theater knowing nothing beyond the basic fact that there is a gladiator-like competition involving teenagers and older children while one of them serves as the audience’s eye. I wasn’t expecting to be expected to root for this one character, who is “talented”archer and huntress Katniss Everdeen, who lives in District 12 of the post-apocalyptic nation of Panem. The concept is clever, and this highly imaginative vision of the future is surprisingly believable. I even told my sister that Lady Gaga might be a cultural icon to this world like Marilyn Monroe, Jackie O, Audrey Hepburn, or Elizabeth Taylor is to us. And it’s believable that way, and I like how it went that way.

Then, we are introduced to the mechanics of the Hunger Games. I love how intentionally laughable it was. The concept alone is an insult to anyone forced to participate. By the time this is revealed, we have already been introduced to our “heroine” Katniss Everdeen, her pseudo-boyfriendGale Hawthorne, and her sister Primrose, who has been dreading the day she is old enough to be selected as a participant in the Hunger Games.

Then, when it was revealed that there are twenty-four other characters participating in the Hunger Games, I was thrilled. Meeting new characters is like meeting new friends for me. I was looking forward to learning about where they come from, what they are leaving, and what they feel about being there.

After already witnessing how the Harvest works (a cruel draw where their names are simply picked out from a fishbowl), I felt concern over the twenty-two Tributes from the eleven other Districts. What did they feel when they got chosen? Are they as sure as Katniss about winning? Oh, there’s a gorgeous blond boy; this one’s bound to get a lot of screen time.

Alas, we were treated to an hour or so of Katniss trekking, Katniss running, Katniss sleeping, and Katniss evading her “murderous” opponents. This is the point where I get ticked off. For the next several minutes, about five or seven of the remaining Tributes (practically ten of them died in the first few minutes of the tournament) stalk Katniss and attempt to kill her because she is apparently the strongest and most dangerous of them all. I am prompted to ask why considering she hasn’t done anything vaguely threatening except piss off the leaders behind the Hunger Games. Or was it that they’re unrealistically impressed by her feisty attitude?

But what I’m even more irritated with is that it’s obvious that the story is turning these characters out to be villains. Why? Weren’t they also forcefully torn from their homes to compete in this ridiculous competition? Aren’t they only doing the only thing they can do to survive? Yes, I can see the malicious smiles on their faces, but I figure that’s their way of dealing with their fears. Isn’t the Hunger Games an insult to all of them equally? Why is this story trying to make me root for Katniss? What's making me so angry considering these facts, is that, as my best friend has said: "Yeah, nobody gives a fuck about how THEY FEEL."

I am more interested in these other characters. I want to meet them. I want to get to know them. I want to know of their hopes and fears. I want to know how they saw their future before getting drawn into the Hunger Games. If they have any hope of winning, what do they want to do with their victory? I am never given the answers to any of those because this story is giving unnecessary focus on Katniss, and I am not even sure why!

For the next few months, I was convinced this was a flaw with film adaptations of novels. You really can’t expect to everything to be neatly translated between the two mediums. Maybe it was deliberate to help non-readers understand what was going on. Once again, I was sorely mistaken.

It was only days ago when I came upon a comment—in YouTube, I think. I don’t quite remember what I was looking at—perhaps a Hunger Games-related news clip or an interview with the cast. Maybe it was a feature article from an entirely different website. Either way, there was some sort of argument going on in the comments section. I didn’t bother with taking a good look at what they were arguing about, but the highest rated comment is apparently part of them. It said: “… Those kids who enjoy killing in the Hunger Games, they are the villains!”

The V-word is an ugly word. I prefer not to use that word except with a cast of characters in certain genres, and the genre of The Hunger Games isn’t one of them. As far as I can tell, those kids who “enjoy” killing in the Hunger Games aren’t enjoying it any more than Katniss does. But they live in a cruel world, and they understand it is the only way they can survive. They know they are helpless now that they’re in the Hunger Games. They might as well do it with a smile because they know moaning about it isn’t going to do anything lest they already have a knife to their throat.

I dunno, maybe that’s just me. Maybe it’s the adaptation. Maybe it’s both. Either way, I refuse to believe that these kids are villains. They’re desperate. They’re constantly on the verge of death. What else would you do if you were in their shoes? I know Katniss must be scared having to put up with them, but it’s not like they entered themselves in the Hunger Games just to kill her. Why is this narrative trying to give me that impression? It’s just so wrong.

Demonym Abuse, and the Difference Between Pride and Egotism; or, the Sad Case of Jessica Sanchez

As of yesterday morning, Phillip Phillips was announced as the eleventh American Idol, the same title bestowed upon KellyClarkson, Fantasia Barrino, Jordin Sparks, and David Cook, to name a few. The opponent he apparently defeated is Jessica Sanchez, who is of Filipino and Mexican descent. The “white guy with a guitar” won over the little brown girl with the big voice, and I am somehow glad.

Don’t get me wrong: I wanted Jessica to win. In fact, as soon as I found out she is half-Filipino and has a legitimate talent in singing, I wanted her to win. Last night, as every Filipino hoped and prayed for her to win, I hoped it so, too. It’s just that the ridiculous news coverage really put me off. Once again, the overwhelming Pinoy Pride has taken control.

Before I get to that one vital topic, let me just discuss one more, seemingly unimportant problem that is actually bigger than what the ignorant populace of this wretched archipelago might not realize: Philippine journalism is run with people who shouldn’t even be in that field. Being a journalism means you have to tell the truth, but how can you tell the truth if you can’t even use words properly? Words are like crystal goblets containing valuable wine while being valuable on their own; they’re not sacks of sand you just throw around and pretend it wouldn’t matter.

I am, of course, talking about how local journalists, namely the anchors of TV Patrol, consistently referring to Jessica Sanchez as a “Filipino-Mexican.” It is understandable in that they are referring to her race, but you don’t describe race in common language like that. Most importantly, it distinctively sounds like they’re disregarding the fact that Jessica Sanchez is American. Yes, my little brown fellowmen, that gorgeous sixteen-year-old who looks exactly like us is American, and she is nothing less of an American than her white male opponent. Just because she is born of a Filipina mother and a Hispanic father (who is Hispanic White, by the way, and hails from Texas, which is populated by a large Mexican population) doesn’t make her any less of an American. Jessica was born in California, and her mother is probably an American citizen by now rather than a permanent resident (a.k.a. a green card holder).

Oh, the demonym abuse doesn’t end there, people. Korina Sanchez, at one point, asked a reporter collecting information all the way in Los Angeles, California, “Di kaya manalo itong si Phillip Phillips dahil purong Americano siya?” Purong Americano? Korina Sanchez, don’t you know such a phrase doesn’t exist and has no meaning? There is no such thing as a “pure” American especially when you are referring to a white person! If you call Phillip Phillips a pure American, what then would you call people like Taylor Lautner, or Chaske Spencer, or Julia Jones, or Gil Birmingham, or any of the other black-haired, copper-skinned actors playing the Quileute lupine shape-shifters in the Twilight movies? And for that matter, what then would you call people like Beyonce Knowles, or Will Smith, or Jennifer Hudson? And while we’re at it, do you think people like Jeremy Lin, or Daniel Dae Kim, or heck, Nicole Scherzinger are not American because they’re not white?

More importantly, why do you jump to the conclusion that Phillips' would win just because he's white? HOW UNBELIEVABLY RACIST CAN YOU GET? Okay, it's true that there remains public inclination toward white males, which is possibly the same reason most Hollywood movies have white male action heroes unless the lead is Will Smith. But people, have you forgotten that the first American Idol was Kelly Clarkson, who is a white female, and her successor was Ruben Studdard, who is a Black male? Or maybe you didn't care because there is suddenly "one of us" who have gotten so far in the competition. Phillips didn't win because he is white; he won simply because more people voted for him because his fanbase (composed of rock and pop rock music lovers) were simply heavier than Jessica's.

I know what you’re thinking: oh, they’re just making it easier for the less educated people to understand what they mean. No, using language this way is not doing any favors for the masses. This only makes them even more ignorant of the nuances of racial makeup in the United States population. Some white people in America might actually not be American, and many colored people born and raised in the United States are American, granted that their parents are citizens of the United States of America. Most of the Caucasian (white) population are actually descendants of European settlers, making them essentially, and technically, not just American by birth but American by virtue of being born from a long string of generations of Europeans (many ethnic groups of them, for that matter) also born and raised in the New World to escape oppression from Europe. Some white people in the US today are also of mixed race, meaning they may have at least one Jewish, Hispanic, or more commonly, a Native American ancestor. What does that make colored people labeled American? Well, some of them are Americans in the same manner. However, in the case of people like Jessica Sanchez—in fact, most Filipino Americans of her generation—at least one of their parents are immigrants from the Philippines. Jessica is American because she was born in America to American parents, regardless of race. American is not an ethnic group; it is a nationality. The word describes people born in America to American citizens; the word also applies for immigrants (regardless of race) who applied for American citizenship. Native Americans (sometimes named collectively along with Alaska Natives and Native Hawaiians) are also Americans by virtue of being born and raised in United States territory to parents and ancestors who have been living there long, long before the white people ever knew they existed in the 1500s.

Now that that issue is out of the way, let me settle down the more important issue: the overblown obsession with Jessica Sanchez and the overwhelming desire of having her as the new American Idol. Again, let me reiterate: I share this desire because she is Filipino and is a good singer. Before you call me a hypocrite, let me explain one tidbit I mentioned in a previous blog entry: I understand that we Filipinos see anybody as a brother or sister as long as they can trace their lineage to our precious archipelago. I share this sentiment. Even now, I still wish Jessica won the competition because I also believe that it is a tremendous honor to have “one of us” to have the title.

However, I do not approve of peculiar claims I keep hearing both from these television journalists and the people they interview and encourage. Pop singer Gary Valenciano mentioned at one point that Jessica Sanchez “carries the banner of the Philippines.” Random interviewees and reporters have dramatically proclaimed that having Jessica Sanchez win American Idol would be the triumph of Filipinos in Hollywood.

As my iPod has been out of battery power while my right earphone is damaged, I could only cringe and squirm in my seat in the bus while I kept hearing those phrases and variations thereof over and over and over. It was torture. It was torture because these people are either misguided or totally ignorant. Either way, they don’t know what they’re talking about.

When has Jessica Sanchez ever cared about her Filipino heritage? For that matter, I have never heard any Filipino American bragging about it, not even my American cousin, who is delighted about visiting her parents’ home country but doesn’t really care about anything else about it. If you ask me, this is not a problem. I also think that if Jessica doesn’t care, neither should we. Nobody has to. While it is a big deal because if she had become the newest American Idol, that would make her the youngest and the first Filipino, and the first Asian, and the first Hispanic American Idol, Filipinos need to stop claiming that such an honor is shared with us.

This isn’t even just pride anymore; it’s egotism. This is not like a parent beaming over a child with accomplishment; this is like a chained dog cheering over a long and successful struggle of a wolf with a huge prey and then claiming that the success is his because a distant unknown ancestor was once a wolf. My little brown fellowmen, this competition, this triumph, is not about you; this is about her. This is about Jessica and her long and turbulent struggle to come this far in such a prestigious competition. If you wanted to support her, why don’t you just support her? Why didn’t you support Jessica because she is a talented singer and a sister for us? No, you did it because you feel the triumph can be our own. It isn’t. Jessica is not a symbol of our country; she is an incredibly talented individual who got where she is because of her skills and charisma. Most importantly, she is only Filipino because of half of her genetic makeup; as far as I can see it, she is 100% American.

Angst No More

I first heard this song in 2001, the year it was released as a single. 2001 was the time that public musical tastes were switching from boy band bubblegum pop to so-called nü rock, sometimes called nü metal depending on the heaviness of the music. As my peers are familiar with, nü rock is a short-lived genre of rock primarily composed of songs with teen angst themes saturated in lyrics vague or ambiguous enough to pick up emotional issues relevant to the teenagers listening to them.

It was an age of self-discovery for me. I was thirteen, and it was the beginning of my tumultuous adolescence. Like my peers, I was persistently challenged by the demanding requirements of high school education lasting in the next four years. Scholastic responsibilities bore down on me along with bullying experiences that generally broke my motivation to excel at anything I was actually good at.

I was not one of those amazing “inspirational” personalities who overcame their limitations by going to the best universities despite all obstacles, boasting of marvelous academic accomplishments by the time they enter college. My own academic history was widely unremarkable, much to my own regret at present.

But at the time, I seriously felt like I was doing the best I could, and I got angry with my parents for being disappointed in me. And then, I heard this song.

If you’ve heard this song before, you probably already know it’s an anthem for teenagers who feel like their parents persistently criticize them without giving them a chance to feel their way through their daily existence—in other words, “let me make my decisions” so the youngster could learn what is right, by themselves. They feel this much anger because they feel that their parents don’t take them seriously; they feel that they “feel like I am nothing” to their parents.

The music video portrays a teenage boy dining out with his parents. Clips of him singing and screaming the song’s lyrics to his parents who practically ignore him are intercut with clips of them glancing at him only to find him in a calm but passive-aggressive demeanor. They come to the fast food diner where other small families with teenage children are also eating. It seems only the teenagers can “see” the boy in his anguish. By the bridge, all of the teenagers are screaming at their parents who, again, ignore them all—a visual representation of the line: “You don’t know how to listen.” Later, a waitress arrives to deliver food; the expression in her face hints that she somehow sensed the tension in the dining area only to find the customers eating quietly. After eating, the designated protagonist goes to an abandoned parking lot where he sees the Staind band playing until his parents call for him. Then, they go home, leaving the poor boy somewhat helpless—again, a visual representation of the line: “The silence gets us nowhere way too fast.”

Granted, there are abusive parents who shoot “insults and curses” at their children until they “feel like I’m not a person.” But the strange thing is that the kids who listen to this song are exactly the ones portrayed in the video: well-groomed and well-dressed kids with their parents in a steady relationship while they seem to earn quite enough that they afford dining out. In the case of the video’s designated protagonist, he has his own sturdy pair of headphones. It means the boy’s parents can afford giving him beautiful headphones with a portable CD player, and presumably the Staind CD he is listening to, which he probably only had to ask for.

At this point, let me just speak for myself because I now see how wrong I was for identifying with the video’s teenage characters at all. Like them, I felt like I wasn’t being taken seriously, like I was somehow worthless because nobody listened to me. Then, I watch this video again and realize I neglected one key point: I wasn’t even talking at all. Neither were the teenage characters in the video. So how were their parents supposed to know what they were feeling? How can they complain about not being listened to when they don’t even say anything? On that context, how could I?

Ten years later, I now realize I was wrong to feel that way. It was my fault my parents ever scolded me for my grades or lack of achievement; I didn’t accomplish as much as my capacity. It was my fault they didn’t know me; I didn’t talk with them. Things have been much better now. As an adult myself, I have enough practical imagination to realize it must be hard for them, too, to live for others more than their own selves. I love them very much, and I promise to love my children the same way someday. Somehow, I’ll make them understand me as much as I’ll try to understand them.

The Hunger Games Review

Maybe it's early for me to say that The Hunger Games was a disappointed; in fact, I'm disappointed with myself for being disappointed with it because I haven't even read the books and have only got the vital information on the story from my sister who recently downloaded and audio book and loved it. While I do not doubt the credibility of the book (I still intend to buy the full set to see if I might change my mind) or the skill of its author, I have quite a few problems with the characters.

Before I delve into the negative criticism, let me just point out that I do not hate The Hunger Games. I am actually impressed with this vision of a post-apocalyptic world. Although I have yet to understand why the Capitol wants to kill off a good chunk of the population that can rebuild human civilization, I like how it somehow becomes an allegory of the world today. I think it is socially relevant and really makes you think about how many governments leech out what's left of their nations' poor to exploit them as if it is a game.

This leads me to my strongest criticism of the story: I think it could have done well without a specific protagonist. I think it would have been better if each of the Tributes have their own place in the narrative, thus giving the plot more meat. By this I mean I think it would have been better if we focused on the Capitol's bullshit instead of one teenage girl's bullshit.

There, I said it: The Hunger Games' biggest flaw is its protagonist. While I understand her background and where she's coming from, I find myself not feeling for this character. As I watch as Katniss Everdeen pines for her hometown and she subsequently runs and fights for her life, I find myself idle. I don't feel like I care for this character.

Contrary to popular belief, good characterization is not all about 'relating' or identifying with her; I think it is more on caring for the character. It means you want her to succeed and survive and be happy by the end (or feel tortured for her failing). And I feel nothing like that for Katniss.

I do not hate Katniss, but I don't like her either. The first thing that turned me off about her was how she insults her mother just as she's saying goodbye. "No matter what you feel, you have to be there for her!" she orders her old lady. And before that, she is just dismissive on the woman. Okay, I understand Katniss is a teenager with her own brand of self-centeredness (this is not an insult; every teenager is self-centered at some degree). But just because she loves her sister like a daughter doesn't mean she is a wonderful, thoughtful, self-sacrificing martyr or something. If you want me to believe that, she has to understand the dynamics of loving someone; with her mother, apparently not.

The poor woman is devastated over the untimely death of her husband; while I can understand that Katniss would be angry with her for her subsequently becoming unsupportive of her two young daughters, leaving young Katniss to become the parent in the family, I think Katniss should have had better sense than to talk to her mother like that especially as she's literally facing the possibility of death. I know Katniss is not readily perceptive of the idea of falling in love. However, I think, as a woman, she should grasp better the idea of how awful it is to share your life, your soul, to someone who gives you two beautiful daughters, only to have him practically stolen from you by fate. While her mother definitely becomes halfway irresponsible, it would have been nice if Katniss stops to think: "Hey, this is my mother. I should cut her some slack now that I might never see her again."

Any chance of me giving a damn about Katniss spirals down further when I find myself rooting for some of the other characters, including seemingly antagonistic tributes like the older Black guy, the gorgeous blond guy, or the vicious knife-thrower. Despite their seeming cruelty, I find myself rooting for these characters (sorry I can't remember their names at the moment) because you have to remember that, like Katniss, they were brought to the Hunger Games against their will. They learned early on that they have to kill to survive. Despite how disgusting the concept is, I respect these characters because you just know that one basic fact, and it's enough. They don't need to resort to sob stories to take them seriously, like supposedly living in the "poorest town" of the "poorest district" where you support your family alone because your father died and your mother seemed to stop caring. But with Katniss, she seems to have all these hardships and still be awesome (with her hunting skills) and yet give me a reason to feel sorry for her. No, I'm not buying it.

And for a supposedly mature and cerebral young woman, she is extremely indecisive. I never really know what she wants in life. Sure, there are her responsibilities with her family, but other points in the plot seems to point to something involving romance. I accept that, so why can't this story just outright tell me that she's somehow interested in raising a family except she 's afraid to? Why resort to the Twilight standard "oh-I'll-just-play-with-this-other-guy's-feelings-to-test-if-I-feel-the-same-way" game?

This leads me to another peeve that irks even male fans of the franchise: Peeta is too wimpy to be taken seriously as a leading man. Don't give me that crap about him and Katniss "complementing" each other, because they don't. From the first time he and Katniss decide to be a team in the Hunger Games, all he ever does is whine and cry.

Look, I've seen men cry before, and it doesn't normally bother me. However, it does bother me that Peeta cries and Katniss is meant to become the strong one for him. While there are narratives pertaining to this type of situation, there are some narratives that do it well; The Hunger Games does not. If anything, its sole purpose is to make Katniss look good in contrast. A good writer should never have to resort to that contrived trick especially when you are dealing with a pair of characters of opposite sexes.

After some good exposure to feminist film and literature, I have since learned that so-called feminist authors are just as guilty as their male "adversaries" in demonizing the other sex. Is male demonization present in The Hunger Games? I can't tell yet. But there is definitely some Twilight-grade objectification. Peeta seems to exist to be an ornament for a contrived love triangle that shouldn't even exist when you already have something socially relevant and emotionally compelling like, you know, THE HUNGER GAMES!

Besides, if Katniss is interested in Gale, her friend from her hometown, she should have known better than to play with Peeta like that, especially when she already knows he has the hots for her. And again, why should I even bother paying attention with this subplot when I would have been happier to learn more about the other Tributes? Ugh…this is making me agitated. I think I'll write a Part 2.

On Emilie Autumn

Last night, I discovered a YouTuber who is severely disenchanted with Emilie Autumn for quite a few good reasons (though I admit she has several misses herself). Though I'm glad there's another fan (she still likes Emilie Autumn, the same way I like Evanescence but not Amy (not anymore)) who is brave enough to say that Emilie Autumn can't sing. There are only a couple of songs where she doesn't go off key or over-the-top.

Still, I like what she stands for, and even though this other fan is quick to point out inconsistencies of Autumn's statements (and calling her a liar at one point), somehow I still want to believe that Autumn is a strong, intelligent, and talented person who represents Wild Woman: intuitive, sexy, and vicious when she has to be. Though she definitely goes out of line once in a while.

However, I admit I'm having second thoughts about her that I might not get my fictional characters to be fans of hers. But that's just a thought. After all, I remain an Evanescence fan while I can go out of my way to call Amy Lee a poseur.