COTTON gin and tonics with Gay Visionaries-- aka HALLOWEEN

Happy Halloween Everybody!

Okay, I know I’m late—it’s called CP time. Get with it.

So, it’s been a while since I blogged. It’s because there have almost been too many things to discuss!!! Let’s re-cap:

The Greek went crazy. He began sending me angry emails, hurling insults at me much in the way the god Zeus hurled lightning bolts at mere mortals for sport. He also called me, utilizing his lack of a cell phone to give me attitude and force me to speak with him. He simply could not handle the truth of the fact that I DIDN'T WANT TO SPEAK TO HIM EVER AGAIN.

Whiteley never called. He’s dead to me. I should have known not to even holla at a man who sleeps on a mattress on a floor.

I’m meeting with the co-op board tonight to see if I get my apartment!!! This is the big moment guys. Sojo will finally be free from the shackles of the oppression of her mother and her latin lover Eduardo. Keep your fingers crossed (for me) and your legs crossed (for Jesus)!

Last night was the greatest night of my life. I attended the Halloween/birthday extravaganza of the actor Nick Cearley, where gorgeous gay men were scantily clad and enjoying $5 mojitos. It was men, men everywhere—and not a drop to drink!!! While I’m normally against the “holiday” of Halloween, as it encourages people to assume alternate identities and not live up to the TRUTH, I thought I’d reclaim it and show the truth of who I once was.

I donned my old bonnet, the skirt I wore when working in the fields, and I brought some cotton balls that I’d picked in the hot, sweaty aisles of Duane Reade. I called the white men ‘Massa’ and didn’t look them in the eye—just as I used to do. I knew it might make people uncomfortable, but they don’t call me “You can’t handle the TRUTH” for nothing!

(That's me and Massa Colin, remembering the good times.)

Though I anticipated scorn, and prayed I wouldn't be attacked by someone dressed as a Black Panther, I was pleased to find that the gays could indeed handle my truth. One fine man—his name was Patrick, I believe—was wearing a green sleeveless top and booty shorts to accentuate his…. Masculinity. He came up to me and said, “Sister, where you gon’ lay your troubles down?”

I was shocked. I wasn’t anticipating this introduction from a half-naked man. I faltered.

“What?” I said.

“I said—where you gon’ lay your troubles down?”

“DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE!!!!!”

We began a rousing rendition of the old spiritual that my mammy used to sing to me, and he told me he was from Mississippi. We spoke of the past and how we’d changed, and the freedom we’d both enjoyed as oppressed peoples. I asked him how he could be so bold as to come out on the streets of Manhattan in such a clothing—or, bet yet, lack of clothing.

He explained to me that he was one of BLOW WHITE’S SEVEN WHORES:

Sleazy, Easy, Slutty, Bitchy, Horny, Sticky, and… COCK!

The most brilliant costume I’ve ever seen in my life. Each of these whores came into my world and showed me the TRUTH of Halloween—it’s about creativity, expressing oneself as a strong black woman/man/trans and wearing little more than a codpiece.

As I relished in the beauty of the moment and sang “Wade in the Water” with my new massas, I tall figure caught my eye. It was—No, it couldn’t be! Yes—it was!

Actor Jeff Hiller!!!!!!!

You may recall from my previous posting on the musical extravaganza Bernice Bobs Her Mullet, that Jeff Hiller is my calcium boost, gay icon, and actor/comedian extraordinaire. I have been drawn to his art since seeing him perform in the UCB group CREEP, where is I was drawn to his height, his rapier wit, and subtle-yet-effective fashion sense. When I saw him as Draycott Deyo in Joe Major’s magnum opus, my friend crush grew deeper. And now, it could become real.

I instantly stopped Jeff in his tracks, as he made his way over to the birthday boy. I told him my name, showed him my cotton balls, and told him I would be his surrogate, should the need ever arise. I spoke in run-on sentences, explained how I had TiVo’d the two commercials he’s currently featured in, and called him “Massa Hiller.”

Jeff could handle the truth!!!!!!! He laughed, he didn’t fear the blacktress, and he was everything I dreamed he’d be. After letting him say his hellos and work the room, I moved in again, apologizing for my intensity. I asked him about his craft, how he became so self-actualized (and tall), and what I could do to get out there as a blacktress. I told him I would be the Mel to his Flight of the Conchords. His response:
“Oh, you mean my friend Kristin?”

SHUT THE FLIP UP! How could he just drop that Nagasaki bomb on me like it wasn’t no thang?! I lost it, I had to be torn away and escorted to the underground railroad so that I could go home.I think he thought I was drunk.

I wasn’t.

But I think I may have finally found my baby daddy.

Everyone who reads this should look Jeff up on MySpace and totally become his friend. Tell him Sojourner sent you. He’ll know what it means.

Okay, back to work on the plantation!

Bernice Bobs Her Mullet

As a woman of color and a writer, it is behoovy of me to attend as many theatrical events as possible. I especially love a good musical (perhaps it's because of the spirituals of my ancestors), and last week I attended one of the greatest musicals of our time: BERNICE BOBS HER MULLET.

It's like "Mean Girls" meets "Jerry Springer" in its sassiness and white trashery. It's the story of Bernice, a po' white girl (so broke she can't afford the "o" or the "r") who longs to leave her small town of Eau Claire, Arkansas, and see the big city. In this case the big city is Little Rock!!!

This is when you know you're in for a treat. As Bernice sings about the "culture shock in Little Rock," I begin clapping like a cracked out toddler. My excitement is further compounded by the fact that I am attending this event with three of the most attractive gay men I've ever seen (other than Isiah Washington, of course). I am sitting next to my crush, Tumbles (I give them all names, kind of like Flava Flav on 'Flavor of Love'), and I am in heaven! We are there to support a friend in the production, actor Nick Cearley. I don't know Nick that well, but after viewing 'Trapped in the Closet' with him, a love affair was born.

Now, after seeing him in "Bernice Bobs Her Mullet," I'm prepared to be his beard, his best woman when he gets gay married, and donate my womb as a surrogate. He is the greatest actor of our time. I believe I squeezed Tumbles' bulging bicep as soon as Nick began to sing the song "What An Awkward Moment."

YES! Finally, a writer has been clever enough to put a lyrical spin on my favorite character trait.
Cearley's acting chops were put to the test when he had to accompany this musical magic with the unneccessary use of jazz hands. It takes a true actor to pull off choreography meant for a 3rd grade girl scout troop.

I would have to say the show's highlight was the musical extravaganza lead by actor Jeff Hiller, who played a fundamentalist Christian preacher named Draycott Deyo.... or however a weird name like that is spelled. Hiller is 6-feet 5 inches tall, gay as the day is long, and funnier than a barrel of monkeys. Give him the accompaniment of song (and the clever use of tambourines and African dance moves as backup), and he simply lights up a stage. And my heart.

Tumbles was thrown by my excitement as I grabbed his testicles in a fit of glee.

There was also the requisite bitchy girl, cousin Marjorie, who can't stand Bernice's white trash ways (little does Marjorie know, she's trashy herself. And a bit of a slut-- which we can infer by the fact that she sings the climax of a song while doing cartwheels and a series of rotating splits, which most likely chafed her vajay-jay). Marjorie's musical moment was the hit song, "I Hate Myself," which was simply brilliant. Marjorie explains to Bernice that if she wants to fit in among the rich elite of Little Rock, it is best to "hate yourself to recreate yourself."

SO TRUE.

Nothing gets a fatty off the couch and on an elliptical like self-loathing.

The lessons provided by this musical are too numerous to mention in one post. I suggest you find a way to see it (hold the cast hostage and force them to reenact it if you have to) and experience the magic for yourself. I also had the pleasure of meeting the writer/elite gay visionary Joe Major (whom I now have a major crush on-- PUNS!), to whom I expressed my awe and desire for negroes in the production. You know a show is good when Sojo wants it to go multi-culti.

I am going to start a petition demanding that "Bernice Bobs Her Mullet" receive an extended run on the great Broad-way in January 2008. I think it's time the NYC tourists saw their lives on the stage, instead of all those damn spelling bees.