I am on a total high today, guys. Last night I did a short stand-up set at a bar in Darlinghurst--one of Sydney's most fashionable gayborhoods. The night was called "Girl, Corrupted," and featured female comics as part of the festivities leading up to Mardi Gras (March 7) that are taking place all over Sydney. Mardi Gras is a gay ol' time, and people have come from all over the world for the events and final party. Girl, Corrupted, was run by a lovely woman I've recently become friends with, and I was asked to do a 5-minute spot after a particularly successful open mic I did.
I was really nervous the days leading up to it, unsure of what to do. I've only done 3 shows here in Sydney, mostly because I spent the first four months freaking out about whether or not the Aussies could handle Sojourner's truths. Of course, once I finally faced the fear, it all went fine, although I felt a bit rusty. This time, instead of being in a dusty pub with an audience of 20, there were over 100 people and they'd paid $25 to see all of us--I had to be a credit to my race.
Last night's show attracted a mostly lesbian crowd, and I was worried the gays wouldn't appreciate my hetero nature. About half the comics were into lady love, and definitely stated their sexual orientation during their set.
I, however, chose to get up on stage and start singing "All my single ladies, all my single ladies...."
And it just went from there. Check it out, and leave feedback:
Showing posts with label girl power. Show all posts
Showing posts with label girl power. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Thursday, May 15, 2008
And Now a Word From Our Sponsor
I think I’ve found a potential sponsor.
Tuesday night, while doing some stand up at The Pinch, I watched the other comedians and learned what to do—and what not to do. Last night’s show was interesting for a few reasons:
1. There was a large crowd in the back of the bar glued to the basketball game on the television, and they were quite vocal—about the game. This meant that during a comedian’s set, there would be random loud groans and frustrated screams as basketball player Tony Parker (aka, Eva Longoria’s husband) dribbled up and down the court with his fine-ass self. This created awkwardness and discomfort.
2. 4 of the 7 comedians were female!! Woot, sexy lady time! AND there was a blacktor. AND one of the chicks was Canadian!! It’s like it was minority night at The Pinch—god bless it!
3. Quite a few randoms appeared, though not many of my die-hard fans. This made me slightly nervous, as I felt the need to win over the crowd.
4. Oh yeah, and I met my sponsor.
Let me explain.
Fellow woman of color and writer, Scribe, explained the concept of sponsorship to me. A sponsor is your Caucasian ally who will support your dreams and goals through financial support, reference writing, and generally vouching that you will not roll your eyes or snap your neck in public—they will help prove you’re a darkie that can be trusted. Basically, if we were still in slave days, a sponsor is the white person who would buy your freedom.
My future sponsor’s name is Debbie Shea, and she’s a funny comedian--and probably a strong black woman in her own way. She’s been on Comedy Central’s Premium Blend, won competitions, and even crosses her legs when she drops a doody in the toilet (her words, not mine. Actually, she didn’t say “drop a doody,” because she’s not 4 years old, but I think you get what I mean). She performed before I did, and I was instantly nervous because she had actual professional credits to her name. She was also sitting in the very front during my set, and I feared her judgment.
However, when the show was over, Miss Shea had praise for a blacktress. She was as cool and deadpan offstage as she was on, so when she said, “Hey, I’ve never seen you around. Do you perform a lot?” I felt a shiver down my spine, as though the cool kid in class had suddenly asked to borrow my pen. I told her no, and how I had been nervous to perform after someone “who was real”—I mean, after all, you’re nobody until you’ve been on television. I gave her my blacktress business card and asked her if she’d buy my freedom. She took this request in stride (as only a potential sponsor could), and gave me a link to her website.
I am swooning over her. I really want to keep doing comedy, but standing up in front of strangers who are basically looking at you with a face that says “dance, puppet, DANCE!!!” can be terrifying. When a seasoned pro tells me I’m good in a way that’s too cool for school, it gives the blacktress the boost she needs to keep spreading the TRUTH.
So, Debbie Shea, if you’re reading this… Thank you for the street cred. I promise, if you’re ever on the verge of getting into a bar fight, I will be your blackup.
The blacktress. Brought to you by Debbie Shea, the letter Q, and....readers like you.
Tuesday night, while doing some stand up at The Pinch, I watched the other comedians and learned what to do—and what not to do. Last night’s show was interesting for a few reasons:
1. There was a large crowd in the back of the bar glued to the basketball game on the television, and they were quite vocal—about the game. This meant that during a comedian’s set, there would be random loud groans and frustrated screams as basketball player Tony Parker (aka, Eva Longoria’s husband) dribbled up and down the court with his fine-ass self. This created awkwardness and discomfort.
2. 4 of the 7 comedians were female!! Woot, sexy lady time! AND there was a blacktor. AND one of the chicks was Canadian!! It’s like it was minority night at The Pinch—god bless it!
3. Quite a few randoms appeared, though not many of my die-hard fans. This made me slightly nervous, as I felt the need to win over the crowd.
4. Oh yeah, and I met my sponsor.
Let me explain.
Fellow woman of color and writer, Scribe, explained the concept of sponsorship to me. A sponsor is your Caucasian ally who will support your dreams and goals through financial support, reference writing, and generally vouching that you will not roll your eyes or snap your neck in public—they will help prove you’re a darkie that can be trusted. Basically, if we were still in slave days, a sponsor is the white person who would buy your freedom.
My future sponsor’s name is Debbie Shea, and she’s a funny comedian--and probably a strong black woman in her own way. She’s been on Comedy Central’s Premium Blend, won competitions, and even crosses her legs when she drops a doody in the toilet (her words, not mine. Actually, she didn’t say “drop a doody,” because she’s not 4 years old, but I think you get what I mean). She performed before I did, and I was instantly nervous because she had actual professional credits to her name. She was also sitting in the very front during my set, and I feared her judgment.
However, when the show was over, Miss Shea had praise for a blacktress. She was as cool and deadpan offstage as she was on, so when she said, “Hey, I’ve never seen you around. Do you perform a lot?” I felt a shiver down my spine, as though the cool kid in class had suddenly asked to borrow my pen. I told her no, and how I had been nervous to perform after someone “who was real”—I mean, after all, you’re nobody until you’ve been on television. I gave her my blacktress business card and asked her if she’d buy my freedom. She took this request in stride (as only a potential sponsor could), and gave me a link to her website.
I am swooning over her. I really want to keep doing comedy, but standing up in front of strangers who are basically looking at you with a face that says “dance, puppet, DANCE!!!” can be terrifying. When a seasoned pro tells me I’m good in a way that’s too cool for school, it gives the blacktress the boost she needs to keep spreading the TRUTH.
So, Debbie Shea, if you’re reading this… Thank you for the street cred. I promise, if you’re ever on the verge of getting into a bar fight, I will be your blackup.
The blacktress. Brought to you by Debbie Shea, the letter Q, and....readers like you.
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