Breaking the (Blogger's) Block

Hey Guys,

Sorry for falling off the face of the blogosphere (is that what the cool web-savvy kids are calling it nowadays?). I’ve been at a loss for the funny—or, at least, anything funny enough to post. Although the return of Dexter to my on-demand menu has boosted my spirits slightly, I can’t shake off the cloud hanging overhead. Sojourner’s feeling a little off her game. I need another white valedictorian of a historically black college to get the world riled up or something.
As a woman of color and writer, I’ve learned that the only way to get over a writer’s block is to…write. So, in the spirit of breaking the cycle (of violence, oppression, and non-bloggery), let’s get warmed up. Here are some things I thought about blogging about, but couldn’t quite get off the ground:

Another female middle-school teacher was arrested for having an affair with a student.
Kelsey Peterson, a math teacher at Lexington Middle School, in Lexington, Nebraska, plead guilty to traveling across state lines with the intent of elicit sex with a minor on July 1. She started having sex with the student when he was 12 years old, and when rumors of their affair became public, she put him in a car and headed to Mexico.

I kid you not.

While there are many ways to look at this, I think you know what Sojourner would say:
If this doesn’t show you how hard it is to find a decent man, I don’t know what does. Year after year, gainfully employed, intelligent (and cray-cray) young women, faced with the bleak truth of single life in a small town, have no choice but to get them while they’re young and impressionable and try to make love work. So blinded by the need for affection, they ignore all laws and common sense, risking jail time and registry as a sex offender just so they can find a moment of true love—it really is enough to make the baby Jesus cry.

I’m suffering from Black Mama Drama to the Maxxxxx.
For those of you who don’t have black mothers, let me explain. While yes, all parents/guardians like to stress out their children and have trouble seeing them as adults when the time comes, the single black mother is a different, fiercer breed of parent. With the strength of Audre Lorde and other blacktivists she has raised her children, living a life of sacrifice from the moment she chose to carry them to term. Currently living in the house that mamadukes built, I have discovered I am damned if I do AND if I don’t. When I “stay out till 3am, keeping whore hours” (yes, this was said) I do not want to spend time with the family; when I stay in on a Sunday afternoon, I am treated to a torrent of anger over my “pigsty of a room”—I have to ask myself if slavery days were ever really over.

The Hunt for Bindi Continues…
With the aforementioned black mama drama, the decision to move down under is becoming clearer and clearer. My E.T.A. is October 21, 2008—just when springtime is coming. (I’m going to laugh in the face of god and nature by experiencing two summer seasons in one year) I’ve overcome the biggest hurdle yet: finding a place to get my hair did. Serengeti Hair and Beauty, in the heart of Sydney, will handle my nappy scandals for the low-low price of $90-$150!!! AAAAAHHHHH!
Um, the blacktress is going to have to start a haircare fundraiser, stat.

I think I’ll begin my search for the Emmy-nominated child-activist with the Taronga Zoo, in Sydney. Perhaps Bindi will be cuddling a koala, and will have her guard down so that I can swoop in and befriend her.


Pizza, Pizza, Pizza!
The rejection by the Biblical Teacher (that’s what I’m calling him now) is still hurting Sojourner, which shouldn’t be the case. While the first weekend of crying and watching Dexter was to be expected, I try my best to live by two mottos: Ass, gas, or grass—nobody rides for free; and Erase, replace, embrace new face. But for some reason, I just really feel like I f-d up a good thing, and I’m going to die alone, found only by authorities after the melted pint of ice cream I was consuming combines with the scent of my rotting carcass to create a smell so foul the neighbors had no choice but to call and complain.

What—too morbid?

I found myself thinking of another time I was jilted by a fella I really thought I had “locked down.” At the time I was ranting on the phone to a friend as I perused the Pizza Hut menu. I figured I had nothing to lose—certainly not pounds—since I’d already relapsed into old habits.
After she and I hung up, I turned my phone back on to order my trans-fat pizza pie for one, and I was suddenly struck by the almost maudlin words on the back of Pizza Hut’s flyer.

“At Pizza Hut we strive for excellence. If we do not give you your receipt or fall short of your expectations in any way, we would like to hear from you.”

Do you know my first thought?
“I wish men were like Pizza Hut.”
Unlike most self-absorbed guys, who say they are “working through some stuff” and/or “going through a lot right now” (striving for excellence in their own way), Pizza Hut is willing to be called out on it! If, Pizza Hut lets me down during their process of achieving excellence, they not only expect, but ask for phone call. As far as I’m concerned, that makes Pizza Hut more attractive than any man I’ve ever known.

Okay. Now I know that blurb was written by a team of clever advertising executives, most of whom minored in psychology, solely to inspire me to say, “fuck you, Dominos! You don’t care about me!” And yet, I felt like Pizza Hut was proving to be more comforting in two sentences than any heterosexual relationship I had ever been in. And that, I thought immediately afterwards, is a damn shame.


So, in summation:
When your black mama drama gets to be too much to bear, and the repeated viewings of your favorite tv show don’t get you going, apply for a work visa in a foreign country and be glad that you can buy pizza anywhere.

I DEMAND you come back, Dexter!

So, as you know, I’ve been jilted, once again, by a man. Although crazy artists do occasionally provide the boost needed during the work day, I find I need something stronger to really handle my emotional scandal once I’m away from the distractions of the plantation. Oftentimes this is some sort of documentary on Discovery Health, where I can watch everyday people suffer unspeakable tragedies and display the triumph of the human spirit.

I realized the effect these documentaries had on me many moons ago, when I was watching the special “I Eat 30,000 Calories a Day,” which followed 3 morbidly obese people as they consumed more food than it seemed humanly possible. Each segment reached its crescendo when the omniscient director would place all the food the person ate in a given day on one table, so they could really see how much they were taking in.
“I guess do eat a lot.” Said one British woman matter-of-factly.
Yes. Yes, you do.

Lately, Discovery Health hasn’t been doing it for me, and last weekend I needed a fix to get through the dark times.

That’s when I discovered the National Geographic Channel—or “Nat Geo” as they like to call it—where they aren’t afraid to go to the far reaches of the third world and beyond to bring you images of terrifying and captivating deformities. These tales of genetic anomalies are most effective for silencing my tears, for nothing really helps you put petty crap in perspective like seeing an Indian girl who was born with 8 limbs (I HEART LAKSHMI).

I learned the story of Lakshmi last Sunday night, when I was only able to fall asleep after watching “The Girl With 8 Limbs,” followed by “The Science of Dwarfism,” and then “The Science of Gigantism.” (Watching the gigantism doc actually made me feel somewhat better, as I realized it was possible for a glass of milk to be too tall.) As I stared at the television, transfixed, I felt a spark of hope as the Indian doctors took on this groundbreaking surgery. When Lakshmi survived—with only 4 LIMBS—I knew that all was right in the world, even if I was destined to die alone.

The magical effect of this programming is potent, but not long-lasting, and over the last two days, I’ve been in need of another hit. Unfortunately, every time I check the program listings, it’s just stuff about “cooking light” and “people who get kidnapped while vacationing overseas”—bor-ing! I quickly changed the channel to Showtime so I could watch Dexter On Demand. Because, when all else fails, nothing lifts the mood like watching an hour-long drama about a serial killer who makes other serial killers his victims.

I started watching Dexter for the first time about 3 weeks ago, when I stayed in on a sunny Memorial Day and ended up watching 7 episodes in a row. For some reason, getting into the mind of a psychopath was riveting, and that Michael C. Hall is no slouch to look at—even when he’s killing. He really shows the seedy underbelly of everyone, and after a couple of episodes, I kinda start to get where he’s coming from. (Apparently, my therapist thinks this is a “red flag”—to me, it’s a sign of fine screenwriting)

I started season 2 a couple of weeks ago, and came home last night ready to dig back into the show—and take my mind off of things. However, when I went to the On-Demand menu, I was greeted with a site more frightening than the girl with 8 limbs: DEXTER WAS NO LONGER AVAILABLE ON DEMAND.

WTF?!

Um, Showtime, how the f*&% can you tell me I can watch something when I want, but then not let me watch it?! How can you suck me in with your riveting nail-biting drama and then yank it away from me before I can get closure?! How am I supposed to get through this latest rejection without you, Dexter, to tell me all humans are worthless?! HOW?!!!!

Oh god.
How could they both leave me at the same time?!

So, I’m going to go home to night and pray to black Jesus (hair like lamb’s wool!) that there’s some damn good documentary on Nat Geo or D-Health—I don’t know, something about a girl born with a twin inside her liver, a boy with the genetic makeup of a Labrador, or a paraplegic who climbed an ancient Mayan temple. Whatever will remind me that it’s not as bad as I think it is.

Please come back to me, Dex. I need to know how it ends. You're the only man I can trust, because....well, I know that if you didn't like me you'd kill me in a methodical manner. There's no in-between with you.

Contests With Artists II

Here are some more gems from the artists you don't know and don't love.
Again, I must stress: I would LOVE to show you the images that accompany these titles and captions, but I'd hate to end up in the slammer just because I hurt an artist's feelings--and because I did something "illegal."

Caption: The anger portrayed here has a long history. It use to be that I had an anger problem like most Americans. My motivation is to do "quality" work. I use logic/scientific and holistic/random methods to push me past the envelope of "realistic" art. [I would come up with a snarky comment, but the fact that "quality" is in quotes shows that she knows just as well as I do that this is a hot mess]

Oh, this next one is really funny to me because it is part of a series. An older gentleman submitted about 6 self-portraits, all containing multiple images of himself in one space. For example: We see him painting himself while looking at his reflection in a mirror; in another, we walk into a gallery that only has images of his face on all the walls and pillars; in another, he sits by a fireplace having a conversation with himself over a bottle of wine. In "Marc, please sit still," we see the artist sitting in a chair, posing for a portrait. He is being painted by...HIMSELF!!!

Title: Marc, please sit still
Caption: Watercolor, 15" x 18" The idea of an artist painting the artist going beyond the typical portrait into portraying the actual process of doing the painting and having a conversation with himself seemed like an intriging story telling device.
[I think this is a run-on sentence]

Title: In My Realm
Caption: I have loved and collected iridescent glass for as long as I can remember. I also love science fiction, space and the supernatural. When I looked into my display of glass and saw the reflections of me and the art glass I felt as though I were in space......In My Realm. I knew this was my self portrait......this is me.
[Does this make anyone else a little sad?]

Title: Sharon Scissorhands
Caption: Acrylic. Me as my alter-ego Edward Scissorhands.

Title: Me as Don Quijote
Caption: I have that dreamer type of personality that sometimes causes me to sally forth and tilt at windmills so I feel a kinship with the Quixote character of Cervantes.
[That's funny--I have a dreamer type of personality that causes me to sally forth to my computer keyboard and document this weirdness]

Title: Chartreuse
Caption: Acrylic. I am chartreuse...I feel unreal and conspicuous...I want to hide...and be noticed.
[Who doesn't, lady?]

I really like these next two because the guy thought he'd submit two different portraits, to really up his chance of winning. I love his simple captions.

Title: Studying violin
Caption: I am looking intensely at my violin.
[In this painting, the artist holds his violin up to his face, obscuring half of him. Yes, he is looking at his violin]

Title: Self with tuxedo
Caption: As I am a violinist, I wanted to pose with my tuxedo.
[Naturally]

I am Danny Glover.

Have you ever seen the movie Lethal Weapon? One of the great buddy-cop comedies of the 20th century, it stars Mel “Before I Went Crazy and Started Slamming Jews” Gibson and Danny “Proud to be a Brother” Glover. Mel plays Riggs, a young homicidal cop all bent out of shape after the untimely death of his wife, and Danny is veteran cop Murtaugh, who’s just looking to retire and get off the mean streets. Throughout the film, as cars flip over, bullets graze their heads, and they fight for justice—and their lives—Murtaugh says “I’m too old for this shit.”

This line is repeated throughout Lethal Weapons 1, 2, 3, and 4.

I can currently relate to this line like no other.

As you know, Sojourner’s no spring chicken. And as you know if you’ve been following this blog, I can’t keep a sane, straight man to save my life. From Australia to Astoria to the depths of Brooklyn, these dudes are not treating me right. The latest blow comes from a “man” I thought was a tender gentleman caller, who spent the last month calling, texting, and wooing Sojourner with invitations to 8th grade prom and other classy dates. After asking me to spend the night on a weeknight (for the second week in a row), and speaking in more future tenses than a confused ESL student, I asked him what was going on with us.
You know, a simple state-of-the-union address.
You know, perhaps a little reassurance that this was more than a hook-up thing.
It had been a month.
There was constant texting—initiated by him. He even went so far as to respond to my telephone message with a text when he was unable to answer the phone, and then promised to call the next day.
AND HE DID.

So, you can imagine my surprise when he said I seemed to want more than he wanted, as though I was the crazy one.
And he did this an hour before we were supposed to go see a friend's improv show, meaning that not only was I left depressed and jilted, I had no Friday night plans while he got to scamper off and laugh at comedic improvisation.
One of my first thoughts (after "Why is this happening again?" and "What is wrong with me?") was "I am sick and tired of this shit"--much like Murtaugh throughout the Lethal Weapon quadrilogy (is that a word? Probably not). Like him, I just want to settle down, get out of the crossfire of single life in NYC, and retire from this dangerous game before I become a walking STD with a heart made of stone.


(remember this?)

As I lick my wounds in solitary confinement, here is a handy list that should help anyone who tries to reach out to me during this dark time.

Words and Phrases That Will Make Me Cry and Make You Feel Awkward
(Please Omit From All Sentences/Conversations/Email):

Date
Boyfriend
Happy/Happiness (also: Future Happiness)
The Bible (also: King James Version)
Television actor Dean Cain
Able-bodied
Lucky
Sex
Coitus
Relations
Relationship
Battleship (including Russian Montage film “Battleship Potemkin”)
Barren Womb
Nice Guy
Bears
8th grade
Prom
Massachusetts
“Sex and the City” Movie(who takes a girl to see that WILLINGLY, then says she’s being too much?!)
Intense
“I don’t think we should do this.”
Teach for America (also: NYC Teaching Fellows, teaching in general, or "school")
Brooklyn
Q Train
Self-respect
“I don’t know.” (Please be completely certain when we speak. I won’t take it well.)

Contests With Artists

The magazine for which I toil often holds art competitions, which allows us to make small amounts of money and gives artists one true shot at glory. We just finished holding a self-portrait competition, and, as you can imagine, some of these entries are a real doozy. (If you don’t yet know how cray-cray these artists are, please click here)

As the recipient of all general mail—letters to info@artmag.com; help@artmag.com; and contests@artmag.com – all come to me for screening. I usually ignore the weird ones, because I’ve learned it’s best not to engage with the delusional. For instance, when I contacted artists to let them know they were semifinalists in the last competition, I received this response from one winner:
Sojourner:
I'm embarrassed to ask which graphite piece it was I submitted since it was some time ago. I think it was my nude self-portrait with the bat hovering over my head?

I think I can say with complete certainty that it was not.
No, it was not.

Now we’ve begun judging entries for the latest competition, and while I can’t show you the images because it would be “illegal,” I can list some of the hilarious captions that artists have written to explain their self-portraits. We asked that they limit their responses to no more than 3 sentences, and as we review the paintings, we’re all thankful we did.

You’re welcome.

1. Title: Yes, 'tis I
Caption: Self-Portrait of the one and only Miriam Kenkelberg, inspired by a photograph taken by my husband, Stew. This is painted on 140 lb Arches watercolor paper, on the back of a failed landscape. It hangs in our bedroom for our eyes only.
[Trust me, we’re all thankful this portrait is for their eyes only. Oh, and who writes
“ ‘tis”?]

2. Title: The early years
Caption: Acrylic vibrant colors capture the essence of a very full life as Wife, Mother, Businesswoman, Artist, Cook and visionary
[I hope that, when I reach the winter of my life, I can refer to myself as a “cook and visionary.”]

3. Caption: I am orange...I feel indecisive...am I red?...am I yellow?...I am hot then fruity...someone lead so I can follow.
[This is clearly a cry for help. I’d offer to lead her, but she would probably be upset when we ended up outside of Promises Treatment Center.]

4. Title: Thank God for Shades
Caption: Here I am practicing the Great American Pastime. Sunglasses are so enabling!
[I know my description won’t do it justice, but we call this painting, “Portrait of the Artist as a Perv,” because it’s an image of a man on the beach, and through the reflection in his sunglasses, we see that he is looking at a woman in a skimpy bikini.]

5. Caption: 16”x20” framed Décor, stained glass, glass stones, feathers and a monarch butterfly He gave me butterflies even though he never had time, he let my love slip through his fingers and I finally realized… I was just another pet.
[We've all been there, sister!]


*******************OH GOD, THIS JUST IN***************

I am writing an article for one of our mags and have to set up an interview with an artist. I emailed him to see when the best time would be to contact him and he emailed me the following. PLEASE NOTE: there have been no changes to this email. I have not edited it for content or spelling or grammatical errors:

….It would not be a problem at all to do the interview thru pc.

I need to tell you something quickly because of your name:When I was about 25, I was a sportswriter at a big german newspaper..Another stuffmember and a close friend of mine was sent to the Olympic wintergames in Tokyo/Japan.
.In the Olympic Village a japanese hostess needs to take care for him - her name was Sojourner. Walter,the name of my friend, started to write article about the treatment and the interaction with Sojourner.
It was funny,it was charming,it was harmless - but more and more we got the feeling,he is interested in Sojourner much more than in any olympic winter disciplin. And since I knew him very well, I figured out between the lines: He has been falling in love with Sojourner.
Somebody even knew him better than I did: His wife.
So when he came back from Japan, he had a big scene at Home,
and his wife even started to take steps getting divorced.
Somehow they solved the problem,but later,whenever he was sent to another sport event,we adviced him: Make a big detour around any Sojourner.
So my big detour around you would just be,that we handle the interview via computer,
but nevertheless I will give you a call as soon as I am in an acceptable service-area.
all the best
-Cray-Cray Artist

I don’t even know what to say to that.

Choosing the Chosen People

First of all, I must apologize for my lack of bloggery as of late. I was in Detroit, Michigan, visiting my grandmother—or, as I like to call her, “G-Unit.” She turned 92 on June 9, and we all gathered to celebrate the good times.

I absolutely cannot believe I know someone who is 92. What I love most about her is that when she was 86 she dated a 68 year old—holla at a geriatric playa! She had a man even when I didn’t, and all she had to do was put in her dentures (efferdent and forget it)!

Anyway, as I returned to the world of young people and readjusted to procrastinating in the workplace yesterday, I realized something about myself:
Sometimes I wish I was a Jewess.

Perhaps it was my education at a predominantly Jewish private school that had me going to so many Bar Mitzvahs that I can now recite Hebrew prayers in my sleep.
Perhaps it’s because, like Sojourner, the Jews have a history of oppression.
Perhaps it’s my love of brisket and the fact that I’m a challahback girl.
Or perhaps it’s because they run Hollywood.

But I think it’s primarily because they are excellent matchmakers.
Think about it: J-date was the first internet dating site to really take off, and it totally set the bar for match.com, eharmony.com, and others. Several of my main Jewesses have found significant others on this site, and they never seem to have a shortage of dating opportunities. Meanwhile, I’m on match.com wondering why in god’s name there’s no screening process—or at least a spell-check option—for these fools who wink at me.
(Oh, question: can my computer get an STD from a sleazy guy winking at me?)

One of my wives is a Jewess, and she’s got a different j-date every night of the week! She just cannot pass over those matzoh balls, no matter how hard she tries. I mean, no wonder they’re the “chosen people”—they’re only choosing each other!

She recently decided to take a break from j-date--you know, to let her internet bedsheets cool-- but it seems she can’t escape the matchmaking of her brethren. I simply died laughing when she forwarded an email sent to her by an uncle:

To: Jewess11@jew.org; Jewster@jew.org
From: YourUncle@joiningthejews.com
Subject: Introduction
Consider this e-mail a modern introduction. We think you guys should meet. Your aunt and I connected with Jewster's parents on our hiking trip in Croatia, and we couldn't resist the chance to exchange contact particulars.

Besides both being attractive, the right age and culturally linked, you have a name in common (Jewster's last name is Levinson, Jewess' middle name is Levinson) and the same e-mail provider! What more is there? What do you have to lose?

Your e-mails are above, plus Jewster's phone is (xxx) xxx-xxxx and Jewess' is (xxx) xxx-xxxx (at least, that's the last one we have for her).

Go for it, please…and…ENJOY,

Uncle (and Aunt, too)

Um, how amazing is that?! Other than changing the names (to protect the Jewish), everything in that email is as it originally appeared. Do you know what Sojourner would give to have trusted family members set her up with well-to-do young chaps who share my email provider?????-- I mean, the uncle is right: WHAT MORE IS THERE?!
NOTHING.

He outlines the key points to a happy union in one sentence: they are both attractive, the right age, and culturally linked. Um, cut and print—this one’s winning an Oscar for BEST ROMANTIC COMEDY! Hell, I don’t even need to be culturally linked or the right age—just be attractive, and the rest will work itself out.

Although this email was sent to me in an attempt to prove the silliness/borderline madness of her family members, I am quite jealous, and am now thinking of getting me a Yentle—someone to grill me up some Hebrew National hot dogs, if you know what I mean (and I think you do).
Right now, the closest thing I’ve got is my 92-year-old G-Unit, who said she wanted to set me up with Bob, the brother of my uncle’s wife (who happens to be white)—he’s 40, divorced, and moderately obese. I’m not exactly sure why she thought that would be a good idea—but I like where her head’s at.

No, Seriously, Can I Buy You a Drank?

Um, you know how I’m really into T-Pain, right? I believe that from the beginning of this blog, I have referenced the hideous rapper on more than one occasion. I first found him humorous when he came on the scene, offering to buy you a “drank,” which is funny because that is not how the word is spelled, but it is how T-Pain pronounces it in the song, during which he also says we should “get drunk and forget what we did.” And even funnier than the song itself was its instant popularity.

Even funnier than that is this latest product, brought to my attention by a man who is rapidly rising the ranks of my favorite gays:



Yes. It is called DRANK. And yes, at the bottom of the can appears its tagline: “Slow your roll.”
The drink, a product of Houston, Texas, is a grape-flavored “anti-energy” drink that contains a combination of rose hips, melatonin, and valerian root—you know, to calm your wild ass down. It’s sold throughout the South in liquor and convenience stores and is scheduled to cross the Mason-Dixon line soon.

I think the best thing about Drank is its target audience. Straight from the press release, the creators say:
From design to production, every aspect of this calming drink was inspired by today’s popular hip hop artists who embrace the much sought-after hip hop lifestyle that encourages people to capture a stress-free state of mind.

Oh, they mean like that old song about “rolling down the street, smoking indo, sipping on gin and DRANK”? I think I’ve heard that old Negro spiritual.

Some facts about DRANK:
1. it’s not a joke.
2. people are actually drinking this
3. it costs 5 dollars a can, which I think is far too expensive for something that’s going to make me tired and lazy.
4. it apparently tastes great with vodka, which must really slow your roll.
5. the mere presence of this beverage in the marketplace confuses me and makes me uncomfortable.