Thursday, October 27, 2011


Okay, guys, I don’t want to be a buzz-kill, but I am really starting to get kinda grossed out by all the weddings taking place among my peers. I just found out that a friend from the class of 2007 got married last month—2007! He’s 26. Yes, I know that's well over the legal age and it's really 35 in Midwestern years, but still. I feel like there was a time when the 20-something liberal-arts-college graduate spent most of their early adulthood traveling and trying to help the impoverished before finally giving in and getting a stable job that could pay for the lifestyles to which their parents had made them accustomed. What happened to the Fulbright year, living L’Auberge Espagnole—and, more important, who is teaching those Asian children English and bedding their mothers and older sisters!

For some reason, the idea of marriage just seems far too mature for me. How can I know who I want to be with for the rest of my life (cause, you know, ideally I’m not planning to divorce him when I say my vows) when I don’t even know what I want to do with my life? I like the idea of having a partner, but without the security and ability to live my dreams--e.g. actually get an apartment, have nice things, and cook more than just pasta--would I actually be someone’s wife or would I just be playing house?

Perhaps growing up with a single mom had something to do with it. I never got the memo that a mate was the key to happiness. Or, more accurately, I never got the impression that just cause you got married meant you’d be together forever. After all, if I'd gotten my way and married the person I thought I wanted 3 years ago, you'd probably find me on Maury Povich waiting for the results of a lie detector test. Three years ago, I wasn't getting paid for comedy--I was on the other side of the world! In 3 more years, I could finally get to play the role of Kurt's BFF on GLEE. Does that mean that I'll need a new man at that time? No, not at all. But are there more things that could happen in my life that it might not be ideal/fair to drag someone else along for? Yep. The phrase “All you need is LOVE” is actually kinda bullshit to me—unless love also includes financial security, emotional health, creative fulfillment, and a consistent willingness to improve and explore new things with a partner.

I guess I’m bitter. It’s not that I don’t think my relationship has the power to stand the test of time, but I just wonder if I’m emotionally deficient in some way. I mean, I am or else I wouldn't want to be an actor, but I don’t know why I’m not filled with happiness and excitement for my peers.

I don’t want to blame everything on 9/11, but really, why else are we hurrying to run down the aisle when we can’t even pay our bills?

I get it, people are in love.

OOOOHHH!!!! I figured out why I’m all emotional about this—when I see people my age and younger who are committing to someone for the remainder of their lives, I get anxious because it seems that they’ve figured it all out. Not “the rules of life,” but who they actually are. To say you want to be with someone forever means that you know who you are, what you want now, and what you want in the future. The Q&A session is over. Pencils down, curtain closed, done and done, stick a fork in it, [insert other metaphor here]. Over this last visit to my friends in Caucasia, I realized that, despite all of my desperation for a man (see the last three years of bloggery for proof), I don’t actually want the domesticated life. Going to work, “hitting the gym,” and going home sounds un-fun. What about dreams? Don’t get me wrong—I definitely want someone to put a ring on it. But right now, the main reasons that appeals to me are: 1) I think rings are pretty and shiny; 2) having a wedding means that everyone will have to stand up when I walk into a room, which has always been a dream of mine; 3) I can finally get on that all-carb diet I can’t start until I’ve roped someone in forever.

I think I've been listening to too much Affirmation Nation With Bob Ducca--he's making me far too introspective.
Who's Bob Ducca, you ask?
Well, here he is!

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

You Don't Have to Go Far to Go INSIDE CAUCASIA

Sorry for the delayed blogging--I'm still regaining my strength after my intense journey into Caucasia. For some reason, it was even more nerve-racking than that time I lived in Australia, right in the center of it all. I think it's because of the shock--you don't expect to find such a non-diverse population in your same time zone in 2011. Add to that the abundance of nature and I felt so out of my element that I almost demanded that the toll booth worker stamp my passport!

Before I go into my visits with my married friends, I must show you a photograph of my #1 New Hampshire Fan:

Yes, that is a handlebar mustache. Yes, that is a Hawaiian shirt under his windbreaker. Yes, his head like a supremacist.
And yes, his hand is inappropriately close to my breast area.

I have arrived.

He didn't tell me his name, but he did tell me that I could "tug on these [his handlebars] whenever you want!!!"
No, there was no drink minimum.

All in all, I'd say the set went fine. I did, however, experience a mild fail: I completely forgot my train of thought during my set. I am not kidding. I was doing a lot of crowd work, thinking I'd need to fill my 20 minutes (and realizing that any and all Jewmor--Jew Humor--was lost on the crowd), and it just sidetracked me. I wasn't able to make my Tyler Perry references, nor could I reference anything else that took place in pop culture over the last 20 years.

And, mid-joke, I realized it was probably poor form to talk about comparing parenting to having a terminal illness at a breast cancer fundraiser. (#awkward) There was much awkward back-pedaling.

But all in all, I think the crowd was okay with it. It definitely wasn't my target demographic, so the fact that I got laughs at all--and wasn't actively boo'd offstage or heckled--is a success, I guess. It was a bit weird--as you all know, I'm used to highs and lows when it comes to emotions. When this set was done, I was relatively "meh." I didn't feel horrible or terrible--so I didn't really know how to cope. As I stood in the "talent area" watching the remainder of the show, a bald, old Caucasian man wearing a salmon-pink sweater approached. As he walked by to get to the bathroom (yes, the talent area was near the bathroom), he pointed his fist toward me. I wondered if this was his geriatric attempt at assaulting me but then I realized that he wanted to give me a fist bump!!!
Yes, guys, it happened. An old man gave me a fist bump. I guess he was the one who got my slavery humor.

Other than the show, I got to see some friends I hadn't seen in a while, which was nice. It was also a bit surreal, because they are both mature married couples, with property and children and such. My New Hampshire friends are out of control. Have you ever had a moment with someone where you just think, "How are you this White and I never knew it?" Well, yeah, that's what happened.

As we drove the two hours outside of Boston to their acreage, I watched as the number of bars on my cell phone decreased. As we drove up the winding backroads, I figured out that the trees outnumbered the people about 14 to 1. As we turned onto the private road that leads to their gorgeous house, I wondered if anyone would be able to hear me scream--not that I planned to, but I was just wondering.

We walked to the door and with a gentle push, it opened--they aren't even locking this shit up, y'all! You know it's backwoods when you don't have to say something when you see something and can just sleep without the door locked. The door opened and through the open back door, I could see the lady of the house--like I'd never seen her before.

She stood outside doling out food to the full-grown chickens in the chicken coop, with the 10-month-old baby on her hip!!

For those of you who can't imagine what this could look like, here's a visual aid:
She has become a pioneer wife, I thought to myself. It got really intense, though, when I had hit my bedtime and wanted to rest up before the big show. I couldn't tuck in, however, until the hubby had started a fire in the wood stove downstairs. WHAT?!

This historical relic kept my room both toasty warm and smelling of pine.

I was out of my element; I started having slavery flashbacks. I think part of why Caucasia enjoys living like it's the 1890s is because back then, they were running thangs! I mean, if I could travel back in time and bring my educational opportunities and tampons, I'd be willing to check out the days of yore, too. But as it stands, I'm just glad I'm in a time and place where hate crimes can at least be caught on camera phones and punished.

I gotta run and interview a student, but let's talk soon!

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Mic Check!

When blogging on the plantation I do all my writing in a Word document so that if massa comes by it’ll look like I’m hard at work. This document has grown to 214 pages (and counting) and consists of 74,765 words. Clearly I know how to commit to things.
So why am I always so afraid I’m a failure?

I was up last night, tossing and turning, totally wired like ‘twas the night before Christmas. I couldn’t figure out why I was so anxious. Was it because I met a Deaf ex-convict with Maori-like tattoos who made me an origami crane?
Or because I’m doing a 20-minute set at a country club in New Hampshire on Saturday night?
Yep, I think that’s it.

I haven’t performed in over a week and haven’t found much time to hit an open mic, but I’m not really nervous about being on stage. I am, however, nervous about no one laughing at my jokes. I mean, New Hampshire—that’s a wild card of a state. Their motto is “Live Free or Die,” which you know appeals to Sojourner. But they’re 93.9% White (thanks, Wikipedia!), and most of that’s Canadian! Guys, this is Caucasia to the maxxxxxxxx.

Will they get my Harriet Tubman jokes? Will they think a gentrified vagina is the height of hilarity? Do they even have gentrification in New Hampshire? They did make same-sex marriage legal before NYC, so they definitely have a win there. I just hope some gays come out to the show! $5 from every ticket goes to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, so there should be plenty of boob-lovers in the house (what does that mean?). I need plenty of jokes in the ol’ back pocket, so that I can quickly shift gears if I start hearing crickets.

I’m gonna have to start writing out my set list. My first lineup is just all the jokes/ideas I think will work, then I start to screen them and organize it a bit. Here’s what I’ve got so far (yes, this is actually how they are written in my notebook):

  • Why I don’t like nature
  • Netflix
  • Babies = terminal illness – we’re gonna beat this thing
  • Fucked up 7-hour job interview
  • Work ethics—you don’t pay me to care
  • God as dad
  • Drink to feel pretty
  • Harriet Tubman going to the Montreal Jazz Festival
  • Jewboo
  • Why it’s so cold in the D
  • Low Standards/OK Cupid

I don’t know, we’ll see what happens. Friday night I’m staying with friends who live in the New Hampshire countryside. I swear, if they didn't have a baby for me to play with, I would probably have a Shining-style breakdown out in the backwoods. Saturday night, I’m staying with some of the other performers and probably sharing a bed with a random. Wish me luck!

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

I Can't Keep This To Myself!

KWalsh just IM’d me a link to a music video, claiming that it "might be the second coming of 2gether."

Of course, anything that might even hint at 2gether immediately got my attention. Work ethics be damned--I clicked the link.
And I was rewarded.
This “music” video, featuring the apparently non-fake boy band Heart2Heart, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Please, experience it with me:

For those of you who used to read my takes on Teen Mom and 16 & Pregnant, you know that I can’t watch youth ruin their lives without live blogging. It’s the only way I can begin to process my emotions. And Heart2Heart is certainly pushing some buttons. Here goes.

(italics indicate song lyrics.)

Okay, so are these supposed to be the lights of a spaceship? Was this done on iMovie?

The blonde one looks like Ashlee Simpson. Why is ze winking at me?
The two ethnically ambiguous ones must be a nod to post-racial America. What’s with the cinnamon-spiced highlight guy? Is he wearing a pair of diamond earrings? (probably purchased from Claire’s Accessories—this video had a budget of $12 and a footlong sandwich from Subway)
Is he licking his tongue out suggestively? Ew.

Is that Lance Bass under a blue light? Why is he looking like a vampire?! Ugh, Lance, I have you to blame for this? It’s always the quiet (and secretly gay) ones that surprise you.

Chad? Yes, it's me, Blacktress. I have a few questions:
1: Why are you wearing a letter jacket with D on it? Your name starts with a C, your band starts with an H. Who’s supervising this script?
Why is your eyeliner so thick?

Um, these girls look 45. That blonde one’s clearly been on Miami Ink.

Heart2…. Heart is back / FB chat poppin’ on my Mac.
They’ve been here before and I didn’t know about it?

I like your status / two thumbs up / I met you last week / playing flip cup.

Why is he sitting on the spaceship floor by a car? What’s with all the chains on his vest? Chad, you need to get it together and let go of the flat iron, the DEP, and the All I’ve ever gotten from a guy I met playing flip cup is a nasty hangover and an STD test scare.

As KWalsh says: I honestly cannot abide the one that does the most singing.

Accept this request/ accept my terms of service / the message has been sent / and all I wanna do is put a heart on your page / heart on your page—let’s make it official.

Agree to terms of service? Is this a legally binding contract?! Do you think he wants to steal the girl’s identity so that he can buy more hair gel and face decals?

Okay, why is this Nordic Ashlee-Simpson-looking fellow wearing a down parka, headphones, and no shirt in what appears to be a boiler room?

I don’t wanna play Farmville / I just wanna play for real
The intensity with which he sings that line is baffling to me.

Okay, seriously, that’s not even hair, you elvish, raven-haired boy. He is wearing a helmet.
Who does the brown-haired one look like?
I need to look up "famous lesbians from the 1990s" to jog my memory.

Oh, right, I got it: They are all giving me Jodie Foster in various stages of her career.

Multicolored backgrounds for each guy—now we’re talkin’ production values!
Oh my god, why is Ashlee Simpson reaching hir's hand out to me?
I don’t even think he’s mouthing the correct words.

Okay, Chad is straight up channeling Hedwig at this point.

Okay, now that Mario Lopez/Dora the Explorer hybrid isn’t even mouthing the words! Do you think Chad is the only native English speaker, which is why he was given the lead?

Or, as KWalsh notes: these kids are just a bunch of haircuts! IN MY DAY ‘N SYNC BROUGHT THE GOODS

Ain’t that the gospel truth?

This is the longest 3 minutes and 21 seconds of my life.

Press that button, double click / Let’s make it facebook official tonight.
Is “facebook official” new slang for having consensual intercourse?

He just said “Dance Break”! …. And then went on to show the shittiest dance break in the history of boy bands. Does it count as dancing if they’re just forming geometric tableaus? This is some Cabinet of Dr. Caligari meets Bring it On: All or Nothing type of randomness.

Did you see how dramatically Chad’s front bangs flipped?! Those things are deadly weapons.

It’s over. We made it through, guys!

Okay, is it just me or was there an abundance of spirit fingers in this video?

Monday, October 17, 2011

Ain't She a Woman?! / I am the 34.3 percent.

Hey y'all!

Jewboo showed me this video yesterday and I just had to share. This little girl is my (S)hero of the Week. In addition to her hard-hitting questions to financial district massas, I'm loving her Just for Me perm and CIA-agent-style trench. Her ability to stand up to the major power players in Caucasia is inspiring. Give it a look-see. What do you think?

In other news:
[Jewboo, stop reading!]

I found out today that I'm 34.3% body fat.

I had a nutrition consultation this morning, which involved testing my resting metabolic rate. To prep for this test, buff trainer Curtis had to take my vitals. Although my weight has slightly decreased (thanks, Weight Watchers!), apparently my body fat percentage qualifies me for The Biggest Loser.

As I sat down, contemplating my inner obesity (I think my blood type is cookies 'n' cream), I flipped through a magazine. Steve, the other trainer, came in and started chatting with Curtis. Surrounded by all the gym equipment with two attractive men talking as though I wasn't there, I started to have a flashback to 11th grade phys ed.
"Should I go in the waiting room while you set up?" I asked.
"If you want to," said Curtis, "but it doesn't really matter."
"Well, I don't want to interrupt y'all, bro'in out and all."
"You can bro out with us if you want," said Steve.
"No, I can't. I have 34.3% body fat."

Clearly, I'm typing this post while doing squats.

What makes the RMR test even more depressing is that, in order to accurately assess your target, you have to breathe through a tube for 10 minutes (that's not the problem). The demoralization comes when they attach a Hannibal Lecter-like piece of headgear to make sure that no air escapes the tube. Your nasal cavity is effectively closed off, and any attempt at a decent hair day is ruined. As I sat there, wondering how one could even go about making a suit of someone else's skin, I realized that it's probably time to stop eating my feelings. But I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do with friends now that I don't "grab a drink" after work. I guess we can just.... drink herbal tea? Guh.

Target body fat percentage is 18-24%.
I asked the doctor if he wouldn't mind contacting some of my favorite bakeries to let them know I'm no longer welcome. If he doesn't, I can't promise I'll hold up my end of the bargain.

How are you?!