So, as you all know, the Sojo has opinions. I’ve been inside Caucasia, got hos in different country codes, and love to share my business. This clearly means I need to have a one-blacktress show—first on LOGO, then on Bravo, then on EVERY CHANNEL POSSIBLE.
My first step on the path to world domination is taking a solo-show writing class, taught by a strong black woman in a white woman’s candy coating. I’ve heard great things about her, and although this brain of mine is teeming with ideas, I have no idea how to organize them, or what’s worth expanding upon.
And also I’m lazy and can’t motivate myself. (see any post regarding gchat, which often takes place at work).
So, I started this class on Saturday, and after hosting two shows the night before, was feeling excited to nurture the blacktress within. These feelings quickly disappeared when I walked into the classroom and found myself, yet again, in the heart of Caucasia.
And not just any Caucasia, but smiley, excited, creative types who, despite being able to tap into their emotions, seem to lack self-awareness.
The class was 11 girls and 1 guy, which actually could have been pleasant, given my last improv class experience, which consisted of 14 white boys and one blacktress (such a circle jerk!). But I walk in, and I suddenly felt like it was the first day of Dalton (NYC private school that blacktress attended in her youth. The school’s motto should have been, “Dalton: it’s where self-esteem goes to die.”) All the girls know each other from previous classes and shows, and are giggling and gabbing in their high-pitched tones, and everyone has taken a class with the teacher already—and is her BFF—except for myself. I swear, if there had been a stool in a corner, I would have sat in it.
To make matters worse, the first person I see when I walk in is this girl from my college who I could not stand. Although I’m open to her surprising me, I find her to be overly confident and she gets under my skin. Whatever, I need to let it go and let it flow, right?
So, I try to shake it off, take opposite action and engage in class, not make myself the last person to present as we go through exercises, and generally remind myself that I’m here to work on me, and I don’t need to be besties with anyone.
It’s not really working, though, and the last 30 minutes of the class are spent playing "questions," where one person gets in the circle and everyone else fires questions at them. This exercise is meant to get us closer, remove that awkward feeling, and foster a sense of comaraderie. Here are some highlights:
When asked her favorite book, one girl answers, "The one I wrote."
WHO DOES THAT?
Really? The one you wrote? She seems like a nice girl, but I’m sorry, that is a first-impression FAIL.
Another girl’s questions only consist of drug-related experiences. "When was the last time you were really fucked up?" she asked, or "What's the hardest drug you've ever done?" Of course, when placed in the center of the circle, she spent much of her time recounting the time she did 7 hits of liquid acid after several tequila shots.
I’m sorry, but like Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon, I’m getting too old for this shit.
When asked, "When was the last time you stole something?" one girl, whose name I've blocked out, replies, "Oh, god, I stole some lipstick from CVS, some bracelets from H&M, and a sweater from Century 21--and I got caught for that one." This girl is 20-something, started class whining about crashing with her parents in Westchester while the person she's house-sitting for comes back to town for a week, and is a non-working actress. I don’t think she really needs to steal things. No one has oppressed her--why is she engaging in thievery?
These are basically long examples to explain that, as a blacktress working on a personal-story-driven solo show about time inside Caucasia, and my own conflicting feelings about race, class, and both of these things as modes of performance, these students may not be good for me.
So, this is a bit of a rant, but I had to get it out. Should I stay in the class? I think the teacher could be really great, very smart, and she’s kind of a bad-ass lesbian I’d want to hang out with on the weekends. But if I’m not comfortable and trusting of my fellow classmates, how can I really write and express myself freely? Ain’t I, Sojourner, a woman?! Don’t I deserve to be there? Don’t I need to hang up my hang-ups at the same time that I hang up my coat? I need to get it together, cause I am not being a strong black woman!
How are you today, gentle readers?
Showing posts with label Improvisational comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Improvisational comedy. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A Man With a True Benetton Heart...
We all know that BHM is about celebrating African-American achievements. However, what would a discussion of black culture be without a look at the White man? We derive oppositional meaning from the majority, and it’s vital that we delve deeper into the oppressor to really learn what we’re up against. And, as it turns out, the oppressor is thinking the same thing. I recently sat down with Adam Jacobson—improviser, activist, and proud member of Caucasia. Much like the biblical first man, Adam charted territories unknown when he spent three weeks in Kenya tending to orphan children. He got back a few weeks ago, and I had to know what it was like for him. Did he, like Angelina Jolie, fall in love with the spirit that grows out of poverty (and decide to bring a few babies home for fun)? Did he, like James McAvoy’s character in “Last King of Scotland,” bed multiple native women?? Is he, like John Mayer, a cocky racist??? Find out more below.
Me: First off, let me thank you for taking the time to sit down with me, Massa – I mean, Adam. Sorry, I get a bit confused sometimes, a little of the PTSD flares up.
Can you handle my truth, Mr. Jacobson?
Adam: Oh, jeez. i'll try
Me: Don't be afraid. if i can persevere through slavery, you can handle a few hard-hitting, questions. so, tell me: where exactly were you for the three weeks surrounding Christmas, Kwanzaa, and new year's?
Adam: I was actually in New York for Christmas (and possibly Kwanzaa -- I shamefully don't know when it is)
Me: It's all right--at least you feel the appropriate amount of shame (I’ll break it down for you off the record). When were you gone, exactly?
Adam: I was in Kenya from December 31st to January 22nd, volunteering at an orphanage in Nairobi
Me: so, my first question is obvious—what prompted you to go deep into the heart of Nubia and help brown youth?
Adam: I’ve volunteered abroad before for an organization called students helping Honduras, and I’ve wanted to go to Africa for a while, so volunteering there seemed like a great way/excuse to travel there.
Me: so, you've "wanted to go to Africa for a while”—what is it that first drew you to the Dark Continent?
Adam: well, this will sound kind of morbid, but i studied the history of genocide a lot in college, with a real focus on Rwanda and Darfur. that was kind of my first exposure to African issues. i really wanted to go to Rwanda for a while, and then this opportunity came up
Me: ok, so you were like, "wow, they keep killing all these brown people. i have to get in there and see what that's about"
Adam: Um….
Me: most people would say to themselves, "whoa, genocide. That’s fucked up and scary. Let me just feel bad and donate via a double-click of my mouse from the comfort of my own home."
But not you, Adam Jacobson
You’re a member of Caucasia who actually gives a damn
Me: what were your accommodations like in Kenya?
Adam: our homestay in thika road was amazing. one of the other volunteers i met who was staying elsewhere called it the Hilton of homestays. it was a guesthouse run by a woman named lydia, who lives there with her college-age daughter and adult son
Me: Interesting, the “Hilton of homestays.” I find it interesting that even when you go deep into third-world Nubia, you still manage to find the most first-world accommodations. What's this Lydia woman like?
Adam: Lydia (or mama Lydia, as the volunteers all call her) is an incredibly warm and friendly woman. While i was there, she definitely made me feel like one of the family. i have no idea how old she is though -- a very young looking 50 maybe?
Me: well, you know, black don't crack. She’s probably 78.
Me: Okay, Adam, enough pussy-footin' around. What was it like to be Caucasian in the heart of nubia??????
Adam: there's a word 'muzungu' that kenyans have for white folks. Apparently, in colonial times it was super insulting, but now it's more benign and almost affectionate. Everywhere you go, people will call you 'muzungu'. Children on the side of the road will yell out to you, "muzungu! How are you?"
So that gives you some idea. More simply, you stand out
Me: Yes, I’m familiar. I had a similar experience when i was inside caucasia. Except, instead of children yelling for me, it would be white men, asking me if I was Sudanese.
So, would you characterize yourself as having a Benetton heart and a David Duke dick?
Adam: i just had to Google Benetton, and the picture on their homepage is hilarious
Look how scared that girl in the middle looks!
Me: Well, she is surrounded by various minorities.
Adam: Sorry, I was sidetracked. No, my penis doesn't discriminate based on ethnicity
Me: That’s good.
Adam: John Mayer’s a moron.
Me: That’s an understatement.
Me: So, talk me through a typical day in the heart of nubia
Adam: Wake up at 7:30 or so (usually earlier because of the really loud rooster), get dressed/pack candy for the kids/refill water bottle, make some toast, walk down to the shops, take the matatu (no public transportation, so they have this network of privately owned vans called 'matatu' that go along certain routes) to the police station, walk to the orphanage, help the kids with their lessons, play with them, make sure they eat their lunch, take them on a walk, back for more lessons/playing, then home for relaxing and dinner and hanging out, then bed
Me: ok, back it up - why did you go to the police station before going to the orphanage? Were you fearful of the brown children, so you packed heat provided by the local cops?
Adam: No, that's just where the matatu let us off. it was the closest place on the main road to walk to the orphanage
Me: what advice do you have for members of caucasia interested in spending time on the dark continent in a non-tourist/somewhat useful capacity?
Adam: try to be up for anything. don't act like an idiot tourist, for your own sake, but at the same time, don't be too uptight about seeming out of place, because you will no matter what. and don't be afraid, but be aware
Me: Aware of the fact that you're surrounded by black people, and anything could happen?
Adam: No, Sojo-- aware that you're surrounded by people in general and that most likely bad things won't happen. But being smart and conscientious about your surroundings (not flashing money around, not taking pictures without peoples' permission, etc). We’re talking about a city whose nickname is 'nai-robbery' after all
Me: Well, you should never take pictures of the native peoples for your own photo album
As for “Nai-robbery,” I believe that nickname was created by members of Caucasia, to further alienate the Dark Continent.
Me: how old were the kids you were taking care of?
Adam: they were 2-9. The ones i was working closer with were 4-9
Me: did the children take to you?
Adam: yeah, after the first day they definitely liked us. that first day was rough
Me: Do elaborate on the roughness.
Adam: The first day a few of them were acting out a lot and it was exhausting. but even the second day, they were so much better -- like the first day was just them testing us
Me: did you feel like Michelle Pfeiffer, surrounded by...DANGEROUS MINDS?
Adam: Yes, that’s exactly how I felt.
Me: Tell me a bit about yourself.
Adam: i grew up in baltimore, then went to college in Virginia-- university of mary washington
Me: Mary Washington - wife of George? George who...OWNED SLAVES???
Adam: his mother, actually.
Me: Well, that’s a whole ‘nother Oprah we’ll get into next time. Thanks for talking with me, Mr. Jacobson. Unfortunately, I have to cut our interview off now-- "16 and Pregnant" is coming on in 10 minutes
Adam: Not a problem. Thanks so much, Sojourner. Not only does this make me feel less guilty, but it’s very helpful to be able to count you as “among my blackest friends.”
Me: Thank you. I count you among my whitest.
For more insights into Adam's mind, check out his bloggery:
Indie Music I Know Nothing About
His Improv Comedy Crew
Me: First off, let me thank you for taking the time to sit down with me, Massa – I mean, Adam. Sorry, I get a bit confused sometimes, a little of the PTSD flares up.
Can you handle my truth, Mr. Jacobson?
Adam: Oh, jeez. i'll try
Me: Don't be afraid. if i can persevere through slavery, you can handle a few hard-hitting, questions. so, tell me: where exactly were you for the three weeks surrounding Christmas, Kwanzaa, and new year's?
Adam: I was actually in New York for Christmas (and possibly Kwanzaa -- I shamefully don't know when it is)
Me: It's all right--at least you feel the appropriate amount of shame (I’ll break it down for you off the record). When were you gone, exactly?
Adam: I was in Kenya from December 31st to January 22nd, volunteering at an orphanage in Nairobi
Me: so, my first question is obvious—what prompted you to go deep into the heart of Nubia and help brown youth?
Adam: I’ve volunteered abroad before for an organization called students helping Honduras, and I’ve wanted to go to Africa for a while, so volunteering there seemed like a great way/excuse to travel there.
Me: so, you've "wanted to go to Africa for a while”—what is it that first drew you to the Dark Continent?
Adam: well, this will sound kind of morbid, but i studied the history of genocide a lot in college, with a real focus on Rwanda and Darfur. that was kind of my first exposure to African issues. i really wanted to go to Rwanda for a while, and then this opportunity came up
Me: ok, so you were like, "wow, they keep killing all these brown people. i have to get in there and see what that's about"
Adam: Um….
Me: most people would say to themselves, "whoa, genocide. That’s fucked up and scary. Let me just feel bad and donate via a double-click of my mouse from the comfort of my own home."
But not you, Adam Jacobson
You’re a member of Caucasia who actually gives a damn
Me: what were your accommodations like in Kenya?
Adam: our homestay in thika road was amazing. one of the other volunteers i met who was staying elsewhere called it the Hilton of homestays. it was a guesthouse run by a woman named lydia, who lives there with her college-age daughter and adult son
Me: Interesting, the “Hilton of homestays.” I find it interesting that even when you go deep into third-world Nubia, you still manage to find the most first-world accommodations. What's this Lydia woman like?
Adam: Lydia (or mama Lydia, as the volunteers all call her) is an incredibly warm and friendly woman. While i was there, she definitely made me feel like one of the family. i have no idea how old she is though -- a very young looking 50 maybe?
Me: well, you know, black don't crack. She’s probably 78.
Me: Okay, Adam, enough pussy-footin' around. What was it like to be Caucasian in the heart of nubia??????
Adam: there's a word 'muzungu' that kenyans have for white folks. Apparently, in colonial times it was super insulting, but now it's more benign and almost affectionate. Everywhere you go, people will call you 'muzungu'. Children on the side of the road will yell out to you, "muzungu! How are you?"
So that gives you some idea. More simply, you stand out
Me: Yes, I’m familiar. I had a similar experience when i was inside caucasia. Except, instead of children yelling for me, it would be white men, asking me if I was Sudanese.
So, would you characterize yourself as having a Benetton heart and a David Duke dick?
Adam: i just had to Google Benetton, and the picture on their homepage is hilarious
Look how scared that girl in the middle looks!
Me: Well, she is surrounded by various minorities.
Adam: Sorry, I was sidetracked. No, my penis doesn't discriminate based on ethnicity
Me: That’s good.
Adam: John Mayer’s a moron.
Me: That’s an understatement.
Me: So, talk me through a typical day in the heart of nubia
Adam: Wake up at 7:30 or so (usually earlier because of the really loud rooster), get dressed/pack candy for the kids/refill water bottle, make some toast, walk down to the shops, take the matatu (no public transportation, so they have this network of privately owned vans called 'matatu' that go along certain routes) to the police station, walk to the orphanage, help the kids with their lessons, play with them, make sure they eat their lunch, take them on a walk, back for more lessons/playing, then home for relaxing and dinner and hanging out, then bed
Me: ok, back it up - why did you go to the police station before going to the orphanage? Were you fearful of the brown children, so you packed heat provided by the local cops?
Adam: No, that's just where the matatu let us off. it was the closest place on the main road to walk to the orphanage
Me: what advice do you have for members of caucasia interested in spending time on the dark continent in a non-tourist/somewhat useful capacity?
Adam: try to be up for anything. don't act like an idiot tourist, for your own sake, but at the same time, don't be too uptight about seeming out of place, because you will no matter what. and don't be afraid, but be aware
Me: Aware of the fact that you're surrounded by black people, and anything could happen?
Adam: No, Sojo-- aware that you're surrounded by people in general and that most likely bad things won't happen. But being smart and conscientious about your surroundings (not flashing money around, not taking pictures without peoples' permission, etc). We’re talking about a city whose nickname is 'nai-robbery' after all
Me: Well, you should never take pictures of the native peoples for your own photo album
As for “Nai-robbery,” I believe that nickname was created by members of Caucasia, to further alienate the Dark Continent.
Me: how old were the kids you were taking care of?
Adam: they were 2-9. The ones i was working closer with were 4-9
Me: did the children take to you?
Adam: yeah, after the first day they definitely liked us. that first day was rough
Me: Do elaborate on the roughness.
Adam: The first day a few of them were acting out a lot and it was exhausting. but even the second day, they were so much better -- like the first day was just them testing us
Me: did you feel like Michelle Pfeiffer, surrounded by...DANGEROUS MINDS?
Adam: Yes, that’s exactly how I felt.
Me: Tell me a bit about yourself.
Adam: i grew up in baltimore, then went to college in Virginia-- university of mary washington
Me: Mary Washington - wife of George? George who...OWNED SLAVES???
Adam: his mother, actually.
Me: Well, that’s a whole ‘nother Oprah we’ll get into next time. Thanks for talking with me, Mr. Jacobson. Unfortunately, I have to cut our interview off now-- "16 and Pregnant" is coming on in 10 minutes
Adam: Not a problem. Thanks so much, Sojourner. Not only does this make me feel less guilty, but it’s very helpful to be able to count you as “among my blackest friends.”
Me: Thank you. I count you among my whitest.
For more insights into Adam's mind, check out his bloggery:
Indie Music I Know Nothing About
His Improv Comedy Crew
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Character Study
Ok, guys, first off I have to tell you that I’ve been working on this post for an hour--well, not exactly writing it, but writing it slowly and covertly to avoid the judgment of my colleagues. One of my coworkers just left for a press event, so now I feel free to continue writing.
No, this person is not my boss. In fact, he is younger than me, and took my old job when I went off to Oz. However, he is really hardcore and intense, and has, like, a work ethic or something—and, instead of inspiring me to work, his focus and care for the job just makes me feel bad.
Anyway, whatever. Guilt is a useless emotion. Back to blogging!
So, I haven’t slept through the night in over two weeks, but I’m kinda amped today (and no, I haven’t had Starbucks…yet). It’s because tonight I have the first of a two-session character workshop at UCB with…. JEFF HILLER.
I think you all know how I feel about this tall glass of milk (my review of his hit musical Bernice Bobs Her Mullet says it all).
He is my gay icon.
We met a couple years ago at a friend’s Halloween party, which was beyond exciting, as I’d loved his improvisational comedy stylings from afar for a couple of years. Turns out that gay icons are just like us! Jeff’s really nice and always keeps a blacktress in mind, even nominating me for a diversity scholarship at Upright Citizens Brigade Theater – holla at my reparations!
I think if they brought back slavery, I could count on Jeff to buy my freedom.
Since our meeting in ’07, we’ve done Gayest Week Ever together, and discovered that we HAVE THE SAME BIRTHDAY.
Um, hello FATE, it’s me, Blacktress!
I even attended his birthday party this year, which means we’re officially best friends!
(I think. He won’t give me his phone number, or hang out with me one-on-one, but I still like to think we’re close.)
Anyway, I’m pretty amped to do a little BLACting tonight and focus on character work. I tend to mostly play myself in improvised scenes because when forced to think on the spot, I only come up with Me, Me, Me.
My favorite joke pre-improv show is to go around to the other performers and say, “so, I was reading the script, and I think you should really shout at me during your big monologue on page three...”
Get it? I’m implying that it’s not at all improvised, but that we’re doing a scripted production.
Ha.
Anyways, my desire to control the world around me in an attempt to make its citizens bend to my will means that I’m going to jot down a list of characters I’d like to try out – and will force into any scene I’m in whether or not it makes sense.
What do you think of these, gang?
Rhonda A one-armed hooker with a heart of gold who has a severe gluten allergy, but just wants to open her own bakery.
Craig An anemic homosexual teen vampire who loves show tunes. He plans to spend the rest of eternity recreating popular music videos on YouTube. You know, like "He-Wolf."*
Gruff Townsend A gritty, hard-boiled detective on the hunt for an Arby’s in New York City. Just, you know, any Arby’s.
Mellie A southern teenage mother, inspired by every character on ’16 and Pregnant.’
If one of these isn’t comedic gold, then I don’t know what I’ve got left.
Leave any suggestions you may have. If you play your cards right, I can even record it and put it up next week!
*Also, if you love teen gay boys' recreation of music videos as much as I do, here's He Wolf. All I can say is, Shakira better watch her back.
No, this person is not my boss. In fact, he is younger than me, and took my old job when I went off to Oz. However, he is really hardcore and intense, and has, like, a work ethic or something—and, instead of inspiring me to work, his focus and care for the job just makes me feel bad.
Anyway, whatever. Guilt is a useless emotion. Back to blogging!
So, I haven’t slept through the night in over two weeks, but I’m kinda amped today (and no, I haven’t had Starbucks…yet). It’s because tonight I have the first of a two-session character workshop at UCB with…. JEFF HILLER.
I think you all know how I feel about this tall glass of milk (my review of his hit musical Bernice Bobs Her Mullet says it all).
He is my gay icon.
We met a couple years ago at a friend’s Halloween party, which was beyond exciting, as I’d loved his improvisational comedy stylings from afar for a couple of years. Turns out that gay icons are just like us! Jeff’s really nice and always keeps a blacktress in mind, even nominating me for a diversity scholarship at Upright Citizens Brigade Theater – holla at my reparations!
I think if they brought back slavery, I could count on Jeff to buy my freedom.
Since our meeting in ’07, we’ve done Gayest Week Ever together, and discovered that we HAVE THE SAME BIRTHDAY.
Um, hello FATE, it’s me, Blacktress!
I even attended his birthday party this year, which means we’re officially best friends!
(I think. He won’t give me his phone number, or hang out with me one-on-one, but I still like to think we’re close.)
Anyway, I’m pretty amped to do a little BLACting tonight and focus on character work. I tend to mostly play myself in improvised scenes because when forced to think on the spot, I only come up with Me, Me, Me.
My favorite joke pre-improv show is to go around to the other performers and say, “so, I was reading the script, and I think you should really shout at me during your big monologue on page three...”
Get it? I’m implying that it’s not at all improvised, but that we’re doing a scripted production.
Ha.
Anyways, my desire to control the world around me in an attempt to make its citizens bend to my will means that I’m going to jot down a list of characters I’d like to try out – and will force into any scene I’m in whether or not it makes sense.
What do you think of these, gang?
Rhonda A one-armed hooker with a heart of gold who has a severe gluten allergy, but just wants to open her own bakery.
Craig An anemic homosexual teen vampire who loves show tunes. He plans to spend the rest of eternity recreating popular music videos on YouTube. You know, like "He-Wolf."*
Gruff Townsend A gritty, hard-boiled detective on the hunt for an Arby’s in New York City. Just, you know, any Arby’s.
Mellie A southern teenage mother, inspired by every character on ’16 and Pregnant.’
If one of these isn’t comedic gold, then I don’t know what I’ve got left.
Leave any suggestions you may have. If you play your cards right, I can even record it and put it up next week!
*Also, if you love teen gay boys' recreation of music videos as much as I do, here's He Wolf. All I can say is, Shakira better watch her back.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
It’s cool, not trying to put a rush on you…
But I gotta let you know that I got a crush on… well, not you, this other dude.
Guys, I am totes crushin’ like a 14 year old. There’s this actor who was, like, made for me. FOR ME.
He is 6’4”, he has red hair (holla at a genetic anomaly!), and he is so pasty pale that he is damn near translucent.
He is so lacking in pigment that he appears to have no eyebrows or eyelashes – how does he fight off debris?! What about sweat?! He’s a medical marvel, and I must now how he survives. Maybe’s he’s one of the X-Men or something.
His skin is like porcelain, and looks as soft and smooth as vanilla pudding.
His hair is the color of honey and strawberry jam mixed together
His eyes are as blue as the ocean and the sky - no, the horizon line, where the ocean and sky meet
I am going on about his physical appearance because I have yet to speak to him for more than 2 seconds.
I met him through a mutual friend a couple months ago, and he seemed kinda cold, but this could be because our friend put me on blast, mentioning that when he and I first met, I hugged him and proclaimed, “you will be my winter spoon.” It wasn’t quite the impression I’d hoped to make, but I shook it off.
But I couldn’t get him off of my mind.
I think I know how Bella must have felt the first time she saw Edward.
This past weekend, a friend of mine told me she ran into this same redhead at a party and he referred to me as “a beautiful black woman.” HOLY SHIT.
Needless to say, the flame was rekindled.
I saw him last night at a party, and he was looking as good as ever, all pasty and piercing, with those eyes of his. It would have been a great time to walk up and say hello, now that I was armed with the knowledge that he was down with the brown. However, I was held back by the fact that, whenever I’m surrounded by improvisers, actors, and/or comedians, I become mildly autistic, painfully self-conscious, and my tongue turns to lead. Add that the fact that I wasn’t drinking, and you pretty much have me at the age of 13.
So, instead of re-introducing myself, saying hello, or complimenting him on his show like the strong black woman that I am, I just stared at him longingly/mildly creepily at random moments. This didn’t really bother me at first, because I know deep in my heart that I don’t need to date anyone at all right now, and if I never speak to him, he can never fail me (we all know how I emo I get when things don’t go well).
But after a while I realized that I was basically eye-fucking the poor pasty chap without consent, and the ultimate closure would be to speak to him and realize that he’s racist or something equally deal-breaking so I could stop idealizing. So, in an attempt to close the chapter on what was becoming my own personal Twilight, I told my friend about my crush and asked him what I should do. I believe my exact phraseology was, “How can I get in with ___? And by ‘get in with,’ I don’t mean his P in my V as much as a real conversation.” His advice was threefold:
-Mention Guns N Roses
-Tell him you’re Jewish
-Play with his elbow skin.
The last one was a mockery of my personal penchant for pinching elbow skin (weird, I know. Accept it.), and was just another way to set me up for embarrassment. Based on the first two suggestions, however, it would seem that so far my crush and I have absolutely nothing in common. This won’t stop me from an introduction, though. I’m thinking:
“When I was a little girl in Addis Ababa – I’m an Ethiopian Jew – I remember seeing Guns and Roses on the MTV VMA’s in 1992. Slash’s solo…. Am I right?”
I don’t know anything about said solo, but I’ll let him fill in the blank and get the ball rolling. A conversation is, after all, a two-way street… one that you pave over and construct manipulative roadblocks on to lead the driver (your crush) into the tunnel of LOVE.
I mean, whatever. It's just (just) a little crush (crush) - not like I faint every time we touch.
If you don't know what that line is from, let me take you back to the late 90s, friend.
Guys, I am totes crushin’ like a 14 year old. There’s this actor who was, like, made for me. FOR ME.
He is 6’4”, he has red hair (holla at a genetic anomaly!), and he is so pasty pale that he is damn near translucent.
He is so lacking in pigment that he appears to have no eyebrows or eyelashes – how does he fight off debris?! What about sweat?! He’s a medical marvel, and I must now how he survives. Maybe’s he’s one of the X-Men or something.
His skin is like porcelain, and looks as soft and smooth as vanilla pudding.
His hair is the color of honey and strawberry jam mixed together
His eyes are as blue as the ocean and the sky - no, the horizon line, where the ocean and sky meet
I am going on about his physical appearance because I have yet to speak to him for more than 2 seconds.
I met him through a mutual friend a couple months ago, and he seemed kinda cold, but this could be because our friend put me on blast, mentioning that when he and I first met, I hugged him and proclaimed, “you will be my winter spoon.” It wasn’t quite the impression I’d hoped to make, but I shook it off.
But I couldn’t get him off of my mind.
I think I know how Bella must have felt the first time she saw Edward.
This past weekend, a friend of mine told me she ran into this same redhead at a party and he referred to me as “a beautiful black woman.” HOLY SHIT.
Needless to say, the flame was rekindled.
I saw him last night at a party, and he was looking as good as ever, all pasty and piercing, with those eyes of his. It would have been a great time to walk up and say hello, now that I was armed with the knowledge that he was down with the brown. However, I was held back by the fact that, whenever I’m surrounded by improvisers, actors, and/or comedians, I become mildly autistic, painfully self-conscious, and my tongue turns to lead. Add that the fact that I wasn’t drinking, and you pretty much have me at the age of 13.
So, instead of re-introducing myself, saying hello, or complimenting him on his show like the strong black woman that I am, I just stared at him longingly/mildly creepily at random moments. This didn’t really bother me at first, because I know deep in my heart that I don’t need to date anyone at all right now, and if I never speak to him, he can never fail me (we all know how I emo I get when things don’t go well).
But after a while I realized that I was basically eye-fucking the poor pasty chap without consent, and the ultimate closure would be to speak to him and realize that he’s racist or something equally deal-breaking so I could stop idealizing. So, in an attempt to close the chapter on what was becoming my own personal Twilight, I told my friend about my crush and asked him what I should do. I believe my exact phraseology was, “How can I get in with ___? And by ‘get in with,’ I don’t mean his P in my V as much as a real conversation.” His advice was threefold:
-Mention Guns N Roses
-Tell him you’re Jewish
-Play with his elbow skin.
The last one was a mockery of my personal penchant for pinching elbow skin (weird, I know. Accept it.), and was just another way to set me up for embarrassment. Based on the first two suggestions, however, it would seem that so far my crush and I have absolutely nothing in common. This won’t stop me from an introduction, though. I’m thinking:
“When I was a little girl in Addis Ababa – I’m an Ethiopian Jew – I remember seeing Guns and Roses on the MTV VMA’s in 1992. Slash’s solo…. Am I right?”
I don’t know anything about said solo, but I’ll let him fill in the blank and get the ball rolling. A conversation is, after all, a two-way street… one that you pave over and construct manipulative roadblocks on to lead the driver (your crush) into the tunnel of LOVE.
I mean, whatever. It's just (just) a little crush (crush) - not like I faint every time we touch.
If you don't know what that line is from, let me take you back to the late 90s, friend.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Improvised Blogging
So, I'm feeling at a loss guys, unsure of what to write about. In a new and innovative twist, I'm going to go to YOU, the readers. Here's what I'm thinking:
Let's go back to the improvisational comedy roots. In the comments section, write a suggestion. Any word, doesn't matter what it is, or even a sentence/phrase/or random tidbit from the papers. I'll look over the suggestions and see what they inspire me to write. I PROMISE you I will use a suggestion, and I PROMISE you'll have a new blog post by the day's end--that is, IF you give me suggestions!!!
In a way, it's like Choose Your Own Blacktress Adventure!! What fun!
I'm not kidding. Leave a suggestion.
Let's go back to the improvisational comedy roots. In the comments section, write a suggestion. Any word, doesn't matter what it is, or even a sentence/phrase/or random tidbit from the papers. I'll look over the suggestions and see what they inspire me to write. I PROMISE you I will use a suggestion, and I PROMISE you'll have a new blog post by the day's end--that is, IF you give me suggestions!!!
In a way, it's like Choose Your Own Blacktress Adventure!! What fun!
I'm not kidding. Leave a suggestion.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
My New Frenemy
So, I mentioned my reparations in the form of UCB classes, right? Well, they just keep on giving, as this past Saturday I got a call from the theater saying I'd won the lottery!!
Instead of receiving heaps of cash (which my unemployed ass could use), I got the chance to perform on Harold Night with professional house team members, one of whom happened to be my future life partner, Jeff Hiller (I blog about him way too much). The plan was for 10 students, chosen from different levels of classes, to be broken up into two teams with 4 pro-team members on each. We'd do long-form improv, learning and growing with the help of the hardcore improvisers.
We had a rehearsal on Sunday, and us 10 students got to work. Our teacher was another professional improviser, and from the moment I walked in, I was a smitten kitten.
Two words: read beard.
Third word: SWOON!
Our rehearsal went pretty well, but we were such a hodgepodge. Some kids were just starting improv 101, and would now be expected to do the hardcore stuff in front of an audience WITH THE PROS! I was feeling pretty confident, because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!
This all changed pre-show last night. I had no energy and hadn't had a chance to get in the improv headspace, so I just wasn't sure how good I'd be. I started running in place and making stupid jokes to get myself together. When I found out I was put on Jeff Hiller's team, and I knew all would be right in the world. After all, I'm obsessed with him, and although he's never seen me improvise, we do great work together. See for yourself:
Anyhoo, I figured at the very least, I'd let the pros lead the way, and I'd follow along.
Turns out, this blacktress isn't riding the back of the bus! All my scenes went really well, and post-show, I got alot of positive feedback from audience members and improvisers. I think I'm on my way to diversifying UCB from the inside--holla!
However, I have a frenemy in my way. She's another young blacktress who also got the diversity scholarship, and she's very cute. She's got that natural afro, a huge smile, and she's from the Midwest, which, coupled with the fact that she just graduated college in May, makes her bubbly and really smiley and optimistic.
She must be stopped.
She's somewhat funny, and I do want to support fellow blacktresses, but her shiny happy virgin-whore act is making her the blacktress-belle of the improv ball! WHAT ABOUT ME?!?!??! I'm older, I'm smarter, and way better baby-making material.
I wasn't trying to hate until last night, when we all hit up the UCB post-show hot spot, this dingy pub near 14th street. I told her about my fatty crush on Redbeard, and she's like, "let's go talk to him." We start to go over, then get sidetracked by fellow students. While we're talking, my frenemy walks over to Redbeard, and out of the corner of my eye I see her hugging all up on him! HELL TO THE NO!
That's when I knew she couldn't be trusted. We're supposed to have each other's back, not try to tap each other's wanna-be boos!
She hadn't met him before Sunday, there was no reason to touch (especially since most male improvisers, when taken off stage, display signs of mild autism), and SHE KNEW I WANTED HIM BAD BAD BAD.
If she wants to play by those rules, game is on.
God, jealousy and hatred are such lame emotions, and yet I'm finding them oddly satisfying in this moment. In fact, it wasn't until one of my main gays pointed me in the frenemy direction that I realized what I had to do.
Performing was great, and I felt so good afterwards, but it's the schmoozing with other improvisers that's tough for me. I've seen so many of them around the city over the years, and there are so many awkward bearded hotties, and I don't know how to approach them. See, in my head, we have elaborate relationships, we've known each other from the very first day I saw them on stage, and we're supposed to be best friends. In their heads, I'm a random girl who won't stop staring at them across the room.
It makes for uncomfortable dynamics.
Alot of the other students are nice, but some are so into the scene that it's weird, and others are simply not funny and boring. I'd prefer to get in with the veterans, get practical information and advice from those who have been through it, but I don't know how to make our love happen.
Any suggestions as to how to penetrate the world of Comedic Caucasia?
Instead of receiving heaps of cash (which my unemployed ass could use), I got the chance to perform on Harold Night with professional house team members, one of whom happened to be my future life partner, Jeff Hiller (I blog about him way too much). The plan was for 10 students, chosen from different levels of classes, to be broken up into two teams with 4 pro-team members on each. We'd do long-form improv, learning and growing with the help of the hardcore improvisers.
We had a rehearsal on Sunday, and us 10 students got to work. Our teacher was another professional improviser, and from the moment I walked in, I was a smitten kitten.
Two words: read beard.
Third word: SWOON!
Our rehearsal went pretty well, but we were such a hodgepodge. Some kids were just starting improv 101, and would now be expected to do the hardcore stuff in front of an audience WITH THE PROS! I was feeling pretty confident, because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!
This all changed pre-show last night. I had no energy and hadn't had a chance to get in the improv headspace, so I just wasn't sure how good I'd be. I started running in place and making stupid jokes to get myself together. When I found out I was put on Jeff Hiller's team, and I knew all would be right in the world. After all, I'm obsessed with him, and although he's never seen me improvise, we do great work together. See for yourself:
Anyhoo, I figured at the very least, I'd let the pros lead the way, and I'd follow along.
Turns out, this blacktress isn't riding the back of the bus! All my scenes went really well, and post-show, I got alot of positive feedback from audience members and improvisers. I think I'm on my way to diversifying UCB from the inside--holla!
However, I have a frenemy in my way. She's another young blacktress who also got the diversity scholarship, and she's very cute. She's got that natural afro, a huge smile, and she's from the Midwest, which, coupled with the fact that she just graduated college in May, makes her bubbly and really smiley and optimistic.
She must be stopped.
She's somewhat funny, and I do want to support fellow blacktresses, but her shiny happy virgin-whore act is making her the blacktress-belle of the improv ball! WHAT ABOUT ME?!?!??! I'm older, I'm smarter, and way better baby-making material.
I wasn't trying to hate until last night, when we all hit up the UCB post-show hot spot, this dingy pub near 14th street. I told her about my fatty crush on Redbeard, and she's like, "let's go talk to him." We start to go over, then get sidetracked by fellow students. While we're talking, my frenemy walks over to Redbeard, and out of the corner of my eye I see her hugging all up on him! HELL TO THE NO!
That's when I knew she couldn't be trusted. We're supposed to have each other's back, not try to tap each other's wanna-be boos!
She hadn't met him before Sunday, there was no reason to touch (especially since most male improvisers, when taken off stage, display signs of mild autism), and SHE KNEW I WANTED HIM BAD BAD BAD.
If she wants to play by those rules, game is on.
God, jealousy and hatred are such lame emotions, and yet I'm finding them oddly satisfying in this moment. In fact, it wasn't until one of my main gays pointed me in the frenemy direction that I realized what I had to do.
Performing was great, and I felt so good afterwards, but it's the schmoozing with other improvisers that's tough for me. I've seen so many of them around the city over the years, and there are so many awkward bearded hotties, and I don't know how to approach them. See, in my head, we have elaborate relationships, we've known each other from the very first day I saw them on stage, and we're supposed to be best friends. In their heads, I'm a random girl who won't stop staring at them across the room.
It makes for uncomfortable dynamics.
Alot of the other students are nice, but some are so into the scene that it's weird, and others are simply not funny and boring. I'd prefer to get in with the veterans, get practical information and advice from those who have been through it, but I don't know how to make our love happen.
Any suggestions as to how to penetrate the world of Comedic Caucasia?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Go Shawty, it's yer burfday.....
Today's Obama's birthday!!! YAY!! The chocolate silver fox turns a sexy 48 years old today, and I'm ready to go all Marilyn Monroe on his fine ass!
What do you think the security guards will do if I rock up to the White House and jump out of a birthday cake on the front lawn? Will I be tasered, or will they fall in love with me? I just feel like it'd be a good time to wish him birthday goodness, as well as thank him for my reparations, which finally came through. Holla!
What reparations? You may be asking. I got a scholarship to take FREE improv classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre (UCB), a well-known institution in NYC. Basically, some very liberal and bright member of Caucasia who interns there made a shocking discovery: improv is the realm of straight White boys. She decided to do something about it, and got them to implement a Diversity program. Thanks to Obama, black is the new black, and people are coming out of the woodwork to show some love to the Talented Tenth. UCB decided to jump on that bandwagon and offered up some freebies to 16 people of color.
No, no, I didn't just get it for being black--I got it for being young, gifted, and black, as well as the friend of an influential gay visionary. Comedian Jeff Hiller was telling me about the program and I was initially interested in recruiting, but without telling me, Jeffster ended up nominating me for it! Holla at a nomination--I feel like Taraji P. Henson, and this is my Benjamin Button!
Reason #256 that I love a gay man: They are not afraid to lift up a strong black woman.
I had my second class last night, and so far it's going pretty well. I'd taken a couple UCB classes before, but I could never really get into it--it's such a cult, and everyone there is into name-dropping who they've studied with, and all work really hard to be funny. Add to that the fact that it is indeed a boys club, and there just left little for the blacktress to desire. However, it is a great place to be if you want to make it in the comedy world, as anyone who's anyone starts out there. I see tons of UCB people working as talking heads on VH1 (you know, I love the 80s, Best Groundhog's Day Ever, stuff like that), and even see former teachers on "The Office" and "Parks and Recreation." I know that if I want to reach the masses, I gotta take some classes!
So I'm getting in it to win it. I'm making friends with established performers, and vowing to see more shows. Even though I'm a little rusty, my scenes have been pretty strong, and the teacher isn't calling me out, which is always good. The people in the class are all nice, and are grasping concepts quickly, but the humour isn't necessarily strong. That's fine by me, though. If they can at least not fuck up the scenes, then I'm good to go. My teacher is also so tender and smart. He's the Michelle Pfeiffer to my improvisational Dangerous Mind, if you will.
But let me bring this back to the man of the day: Birthday Boy Barack.
Without him, I might not have gotten these reparations. He's proving that 48 is the new 28, and without him I wouldn't even be blogging this right now.
Happy Birthday, Barack! I hope you like your jaunty bday hat!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?? / Sojourner May Not Be Suitable for Children...
Well, technically, guess who went to dinner--ME!
Last night was dinner at the boss's place--massa let Sojo into the big house, y'all!!
I arrived with a 6-pack--of juiceboxes--and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift for the adults. I was instantly greeted by 3-year-old Timmy,* who is really into trains. As massa cooked, I chatted with his new missus** (who actually used to work on my plantation, too, and currently freelances, so we weren't total strangers) and drank some of the wine that they'd already opened. We mostly discussed my impending move Down Under, and entertained the young one. After a few minutes, I noticed that everyone was shoeless, and asked if they preferred I took my shoes off.
"Oh, no, it's fine, whatever you prefer," said Massa.
"Oh, good, um, I'm going to keep them on because I've got a short-pants/ankle-socks situation that the boots are hiding, and it's very unflattering."
I think he understood.
Anyway, dinner was quite pleasant and low-key, and I didn't slip up by, you know, talking about how I can't wait to leave my plantation. In fact, my heart was actually warmed when the massa told me that the big massa (the overseer, if you will--will you?^) has been interviewing potential successors and singing my praises to each of them, basically telling them, "you've got big shoes to fill, and from the looks of it, you can't handle clown shoes."
Or, you know, something tender about me.
Anyway, the thing I like about little kids is that in new situations, they force everyone to focus on them, thereby taking attention away from the guest/new person/or cousin with Elephantitis. I didn't finish my dinner (it was delicious, I swear!), and started to feel guilty, when little Timmy (who clearly had left the table long before the adults and was amusing himself) came back and asked me to wear a mask and a conductor hat and let him ride on my back as though I was a human train.
Who was I to deny the cherub this wish? (As you know from previous posts, I have a way with the children.)
So there I was, in a mask that obscured my vision and a hat fit for a toddler, yelling "Choo Choo" and prattling on about Thomas the Tank Engine in front of my boss and his future wife.
Yep, the blacktress has no shame.
It really helps that my massa and I have a rapport, and he finds me pretty funny. Turns out the future wife shares his sense of humor, and, like, Sojo, she is really rational with children. Take, for instance, the following dinner time excerpt:
Timmy: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Mom: Well, Timmy, you didn't eat your dinner, and dinner time is over. You can have milk, or an apple.
Timmy: I don't want an apple! (pouting, of course, ensues)
Mom: Well, what about a glass of milk?
Timmy: I don't want milk. ("Oh my god, do I see a glisten of a tear?" I wonder as the scene goes down)
Mom: Well, Timmy, I don't know what to tell you.
HAHAHAHH!!! That's exactly how I will be if I ever accidentally get knocked up and decide to carry my kid to term and raise it myself.
Seriously, you've got to be logical with them, you can't let that ranting and whining go unchecked, or you'll end up with a brat.
In the end, he went for the apple and was quite pleased.
After the "human-train" incident, Timmy and I had really bonded, and he ran into his room and returned with The Cat in the Hat.
"Here, you be the teacher!" He said to me, as he pulled me over to the living room chair. He nestled beside me so I could read to him. (Tenderness!!!) He then made his mom and my massa sit on the floor in front of us so that we could read to them.
Oh my god, I was about to conduct story-time to my boss.
For serious, guys. I cannot make my life up. Is this normal?
As I said earlier, I don't really go for baby talk with the little people (or with dwarfs). I also have a tendency to see the seedy, sketchy, darkly humorous sides of so many of children's shows and books (see my serious analysis of television show Max and Ruby, for more). As a seasoned comedic veteran, I know the importance of connecting with the audience. While I had a 3-year-old who wanted to read, I also had two adults who were not about to sit through Cat in the Hat while seated on the floor. I had to provide a literary experience that would reach them all.
So, here, for your reading pleasure, is the completely improvised (and then quickly written down on the subway home) version of the Cat in the Hat, as told by Sojourner to Massa, his future wifey, and the cutest little boy ever.
PLEASE NOTE: The underlying goal of my story was also to help get little Timmy drowsy and ready for bed (it was, after all, already an hour past his bedtime!).
Last night was dinner at the boss's place--massa let Sojo into the big house, y'all!!
I arrived with a 6-pack--of juiceboxes--and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift for the adults. I was instantly greeted by 3-year-old Timmy,* who is really into trains. As massa cooked, I chatted with his new missus** (who actually used to work on my plantation, too, and currently freelances, so we weren't total strangers) and drank some of the wine that they'd already opened. We mostly discussed my impending move Down Under, and entertained the young one. After a few minutes, I noticed that everyone was shoeless, and asked if they preferred I took my shoes off.
"Oh, no, it's fine, whatever you prefer," said Massa.
"Oh, good, um, I'm going to keep them on because I've got a short-pants/ankle-socks situation that the boots are hiding, and it's very unflattering."
I think he understood.
Anyway, dinner was quite pleasant and low-key, and I didn't slip up by, you know, talking about how I can't wait to leave my plantation. In fact, my heart was actually warmed when the massa told me that the big massa (the overseer, if you will--will you?^) has been interviewing potential successors and singing my praises to each of them, basically telling them, "you've got big shoes to fill, and from the looks of it, you can't handle clown shoes."
Or, you know, something tender about me.
Anyway, the thing I like about little kids is that in new situations, they force everyone to focus on them, thereby taking attention away from the guest/new person/or cousin with Elephantitis. I didn't finish my dinner (it was delicious, I swear!), and started to feel guilty, when little Timmy (who clearly had left the table long before the adults and was amusing himself) came back and asked me to wear a mask and a conductor hat and let him ride on my back as though I was a human train.
Who was I to deny the cherub this wish? (As you know from previous posts, I have a way with the children.)
So there I was, in a mask that obscured my vision and a hat fit for a toddler, yelling "Choo Choo" and prattling on about Thomas the Tank Engine in front of my boss and his future wife.
Yep, the blacktress has no shame.
It really helps that my massa and I have a rapport, and he finds me pretty funny. Turns out the future wife shares his sense of humor, and, like, Sojo, she is really rational with children. Take, for instance, the following dinner time excerpt:
Timmy: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Mom: Well, Timmy, you didn't eat your dinner, and dinner time is over. You can have milk, or an apple.
Timmy: I don't want an apple! (pouting, of course, ensues)
Mom: Well, what about a glass of milk?
Timmy: I don't want milk. ("Oh my god, do I see a glisten of a tear?" I wonder as the scene goes down)
Mom: Well, Timmy, I don't know what to tell you.
HAHAHAHH!!! That's exactly how I will be if I ever accidentally get knocked up and decide to carry my kid to term and raise it myself.
Seriously, you've got to be logical with them, you can't let that ranting and whining go unchecked, or you'll end up with a brat.
In the end, he went for the apple and was quite pleased.
After the "human-train" incident, Timmy and I had really bonded, and he ran into his room and returned with The Cat in the Hat.
"Here, you be the teacher!" He said to me, as he pulled me over to the living room chair. He nestled beside me so I could read to him. (Tenderness!!!) He then made his mom and my massa sit on the floor in front of us so that we could read to them.
Oh my god, I was about to conduct story-time to my boss.
For serious, guys. I cannot make my life up. Is this normal?
As I said earlier, I don't really go for baby talk with the little people (or with dwarfs). I also have a tendency to see the seedy, sketchy, darkly humorous sides of so many of children's shows and books (see my serious analysis of television show Max and Ruby, for more). As a seasoned comedic veteran, I know the importance of connecting with the audience. While I had a 3-year-old who wanted to read, I also had two adults who were not about to sit through Cat in the Hat while seated on the floor. I had to provide a literary experience that would reach them all.
So, here, for your reading pleasure, is the completely improvised (and then quickly written down on the subway home) version of the Cat in the Hat, as told by Sojourner to Massa, his future wifey, and the cutest little boy ever.
PLEASE NOTE: The underlying goal of my story was also to help get little Timmy drowsy and ready for bed (it was, after all, already an hour past his bedtime!).
THE CAT IN THE HAT: BLACKTRESS VERSION
The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
And tried to sleep the day away.
I sat there with Timmy.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish you were older
so I could be friends with you."
Mom wasn't home
'cause she was making ends meet
So we sat in the house
And wondered what we would eat.
But all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.
And then
something went BUMP!
Sally reached for the phone.
I said, "Oh god, why did mom leave us alone?"
We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"Tomorrow's school, but don't be weepy
We can have the kind of good fun
that will make you nice and sleepy!"
"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
"I know some new tricks," [Ed. Note:Watch for child molesting]
Said the Cat in the Hat.
"A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do."
Then Sally and I
Did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
For the day.
Who were to deny a feline in fancy dress?
The times would be good, we expected no less.
But our fish said, "No! No!
Make that cat go away!"
See, the fish is a buzzkill [Young Timmy looked at me blankly at this point]
cause he does nothing all day.
Then the cat let out a yawn,
and said, "fish, kill that noise.
"We're gonna have some fun,
then sleep soundly--and poised."
"I have a game called,
INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE--
It's where everyone stops yelling
And jumping on his knees."
[Improvising in rhyme is hard--especially when you have to keep it PG.
I made it about that far when Timmy got distracted and they went and got Goodnight Gorilla-- a completely unsanitary tale about animals breaking out of their cages at the zoo and going into the home of the zookeeper so they can sleep in his bed.
Ew.]
Well, even though I couldn't make it to the end for Timmy, here's where the story was headed.
"The cat was acting totes wired
But Sally and Timmy were really tired.
They wanted the fun, but knew they had a big day ahead
So they said, 'hey cat, come back tomorrow,
we're gonna go to bed.'"
"But what about your mother?
Don't you want to say hi when she gets in?"
"No," said Sally,
"She'll probably be surly, and will
undoubtedly be reeking of gin."
So the Cat sighed, and almost cried.
"No one every wants to play me!
This is why I resort to breaking and entering!"
Sally and her brother just shuffled up the stairs.
Hardened by life as latchkey children,
they just yelled back, "Dude, who cares?"
As they tucked themselves soundly in their own beds,
The cat sat in the living room,
balancing the fish bowl on his head.
He then went searching in the cupboards, for a little late-night nip
As tears poured down his cheeks, he said,
"Step 13--it's okay if I have one little sip..."
THE END.
Take that, Seuss!
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
And tried to sleep the day away.
I sat there with Timmy.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish you were older
so I could be friends with you."
Mom wasn't home
'cause she was making ends meet
So we sat in the house
And wondered what we would eat.
But all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.
And then
something went BUMP!
Sally reached for the phone.
I said, "Oh god, why did mom leave us alone?"
We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"Tomorrow's school, but don't be weepy
We can have the kind of good fun
that will make you nice and sleepy!"
"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
"I know some new tricks," [Ed. Note:Watch for child molesting]
Said the Cat in the Hat.
"A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do."
Then Sally and I
Did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
For the day.
Who were to deny a feline in fancy dress?
The times would be good, we expected no less.
But our fish said, "No! No!
Make that cat go away!"
See, the fish is a buzzkill [Young Timmy looked at me blankly at this point]
cause he does nothing all day.
Then the cat let out a yawn,
and said, "fish, kill that noise.
"We're gonna have some fun,
then sleep soundly--and poised."
"I have a game called,
INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE--
It's where everyone stops yelling
And jumping on his knees."
[Improvising in rhyme is hard--especially when you have to keep it PG.
I made it about that far when Timmy got distracted and they went and got Goodnight Gorilla-- a completely unsanitary tale about animals breaking out of their cages at the zoo and going into the home of the zookeeper so they can sleep in his bed.
Ew.]
Well, even though I couldn't make it to the end for Timmy, here's where the story was headed.
"The cat was acting totes wired
But Sally and Timmy were really tired.
They wanted the fun, but knew they had a big day ahead
So they said, 'hey cat, come back tomorrow,
we're gonna go to bed.'"
"But what about your mother?
Don't you want to say hi when she gets in?"
"No," said Sally,
"She'll probably be surly, and will
undoubtedly be reeking of gin."
So the Cat sighed, and almost cried.
"No one every wants to play me!
This is why I resort to breaking and entering!"
Sally and her brother just shuffled up the stairs.
Hardened by life as latchkey children,
they just yelled back, "Dude, who cares?"
As they tucked themselves soundly in their own beds,
The cat sat in the living room,
balancing the fish bowl on his head.
He then went searching in the cupboards, for a little late-night nip
As tears poured down his cheeks, he said,
"Step 13--it's okay if I have one little sip..."
THE END.
Take that, Seuss!
Dude, he so has an addiction.
*Name has been changed to protect the innocent Caucasian youth.
**How do you like them apples?! Massa did the cookin' while Sojo did the drankin'!
^If it makes you uncomfortable, you can just call him "editor-in-chief," which I guess is "technically his title."
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Inconvenient Truths
Sorry guys. For a hot minute I forgot I was a mad blacktress-- then I took a crazy improv class.
It wasn't any crazier or weirder than any acting class I've ever taken (except for the class I was in when another student referred to someone as "colored." Like, un-ironically. It was a dark day). But it was still awkward, which you know is my favorite thing ever, and I'd like to share it with you.
So, we were playing all these tender, heartwarming get-to-know-you-and-as-a-result-get-to-know-myself games (you know, the awkward ones you do during orientation week), and one of them involved standing in the middle of a circle, surrounded by the other classmates, who were seated. You then stated a fact about yourself (no lies!) and whoever shared that truth had to get up. The goal was to get another person's seat, thereby leaving another defenseless soul in the middle of the circle to share a truth about themselves.
It started off simply enough-- we began with physical characteristics that were easy to note in others. When it was my turn in the center, I felt like a buck on the auction block. Of course, I was the only blacktress in the room, and I'd chosen this day to wear a dress. There were few physical characteristics I had in common with my fellow classmates-- *oppression*. I had to settle for "Anyone who has polished toes, stand up!" just to get the other two women in the class moving.
After a few minutes of pointing out physical flaws in ourselves, we then had to state facts that were true for us, but not visible ("Anyone who has been to a foreign country!" for instance). By doing this, we'd share bits of ourselves and in turn realize we weren't alone. Magical.
Some things that I shared with the class:
Anyone who cried at the end of Harry Potter, stand up!
(no one did)
Anyone who has ever hooked up with someone they didn't like just cause they were bored, stand up!
(the people under 25 did)
Anyone who says they like children cause they know it's the right thing to say, but really don't, stand up!
(again, no one. This surprised me because, for real, most kids are annoying.)
Anyone who thinks race is a social construct, stand up!
(I don't know why I bothered.)
I am different and that is bad.
It wasn't any crazier or weirder than any acting class I've ever taken (except for the class I was in when another student referred to someone as "colored." Like, un-ironically. It was a dark day). But it was still awkward, which you know is my favorite thing ever, and I'd like to share it with you.
So, we were playing all these tender, heartwarming get-to-know-you-and-as-a-result-get-to-know-myself games (you know, the awkward ones you do during orientation week), and one of them involved standing in the middle of a circle, surrounded by the other classmates, who were seated. You then stated a fact about yourself (no lies!) and whoever shared that truth had to get up. The goal was to get another person's seat, thereby leaving another defenseless soul in the middle of the circle to share a truth about themselves.
It started off simply enough-- we began with physical characteristics that were easy to note in others. When it was my turn in the center, I felt like a buck on the auction block. Of course, I was the only blacktress in the room, and I'd chosen this day to wear a dress. There were few physical characteristics I had in common with my fellow classmates-- *oppression*. I had to settle for "Anyone who has polished toes, stand up!" just to get the other two women in the class moving.
After a few minutes of pointing out physical flaws in ourselves, we then had to state facts that were true for us, but not visible ("Anyone who has been to a foreign country!" for instance). By doing this, we'd share bits of ourselves and in turn realize we weren't alone. Magical.
Some things that I shared with the class:
Anyone who cried at the end of Harry Potter, stand up!
(no one did)
Anyone who has ever hooked up with someone they didn't like just cause they were bored, stand up!
(the people under 25 did)
Anyone who says they like children cause they know it's the right thing to say, but really don't, stand up!
(again, no one. This surprised me because, for real, most kids are annoying.)
Anyone who thinks race is a social construct, stand up!
(I don't know why I bothered.)
I am different and that is bad.
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