The Day the Pop Music Died.

Um, Michael Jackson is very likely dead as I type this.

No, no, this is real. I just double-checked with TMZ, the gossip site that apparently has contacts at every major hospital and airport in LA and always knows when someone's ill or about to skip town. Here's the sobering news.

Wait, now CNN and LA Times say he's in a coma. I don't know what to believe. One news ticker even used the past tense, saying he was the King of Pop! I don't know if I can handle this!

I don't think I can live in a world without Michael Jackson.
I don't think I can even imagine a world without Michael Jackson.


He seems to have actually gotten enough. And now I'm sitting here, emotionally melting, like hot candle wax.
I need to know that I am not alone, that you are here with me. You and I must make a pact. We must bring salvation back. Where there is MJ, I'll be there.

I'm looking at the blacktress in the mirror, I'm asking her to change her ways, cause no message besides the death of Michael Jackson, could be any clearer.

I can only hope that he's still moon walking....with the man upstairs.

Sidebar: Does anyone else feel kinda bad for Farrah Fawcett? Homegirl got about 4 hours of attention and will now be eclipsed by the death of the biggest pop star in the world.

Harry Potter-- the Musical!!!!

This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. Many thanks to JJSiii.

I think my obsession is rekindled.

Mystery Science Theater

Guys, I'm in a bit of a pickle.

So, Wednesday night I had a "date" with a dude. Here are his vitals:
- 28 years old
- stand-up comedian
- former US Marine
- and a dating coach ("yes, like Hitch," he said in his email)

You see why I had to go out with this man. He's a total unicorn. No, wait, he's like a chimera. Or the Easter Bunny--he's fucking mythical and mystical and I can't handle it.

I went into it differently than I used to go into dates. Instead of thinking, "oh god, is he going to like me? oh god, what if he's disappointed?" the loop in my head was, "please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame, please don't let him be lame." I liked this feeling. I had no doubt that I could hold up my end of the conversation, and that my baby blue Banana Republic top was working for me, but I couldn't vouch for this character. I was even quite annoyed, seeing as the plan was to check out his comedy show, then grab a drink afterwards. Was I really going to spend money to see this character? Luckily, the fee was nominal, and as a stand-up comedian myself, judging other comics brings me great joy.

I showed up, got my ticket, and sat inside the club, which was packed to the rafters with a total of 12 people.
Welcome to Awkward Town, population: ME.

He went on fairly early, and was actually pretty funny. After he performed, the next comedian came up and was like, "doesn't he look like Chandler Bing [Matthew Perry from Friends]?" I made a "wtf? no, not at all" face, and the comedian goes, "Dude, I'm about to get you laid by a hot black chick."

Shoot me now. Way to rock out on Date 1.

Unfortch, I had to sit through another 8 comics, only 2 of whom made me laugh out loud. One was a girl, and I sorta developed a friend-crush on her. After the show, I saw my "date" outside and the plan was to head to a bar with a few of the other comics (luckily my girl-crush was there). It was very casual, which actually made me feel more comfortable. As we walked to the bar, I demanded he tell me everything about dating coaching.

It turns out he was recruited by Mystery. THE Mystery, from VH1's "The Pick-Up Artist." Tell me you remember this show? Just in case, why don't I take your memory for a jog:

Mystery is a 6-foot-5-inch Canadian magician/illusionist who has perfected the art of bedding women. It involves alot of acronyms and inside phrases. Here's a bit of Mystery in action:




The man is an evil egomaniacal genius, and I am kind of obsessed with him.
I think he may have herpes--the gift that keeps on giving.

So, I was slightly giddy and starstruck, trying to get my "date" to tell me everything about Mystery and the process. As this is all happening, we're alternating between chatting with his comedy friends and doing our own thing. He keeps telling me how pretty I am and we're trading banter and being ridiculous. I don't like the idea of dating comedians, and found that to initially be more of a turn off than the dating coaching, because I feel like it's too much manic energy and neuroses put together. I also think that nothing could be worse than running into a guy who you dumped, or who dumped you, all around Manhattan in performance settings. Especially when your performance largely involves true stories of your own dating life.

This is one of the reasons I only date men in outer boroughs.

On the other hand, it's the ability to laugh for 4 hours straight and his ability to roll with every punch I throw (both literally and conversationally) that makes comics fun to hang out with and easy to crush on. I'm on the fence with this whole situation, and it's something I'm still sorting out, and I know that there are exceptions to every rule.

Anyway, throughout our good fun time, I couldn't help but think, "Shit, is he playing me Mystery-style?" I mean, I was actually nervous before we kissed--there were veritable butterflies, I tell you! That's crazy town. I mean, he doesn't even have red hair. How did he get me all in a tizzy?

When I got home, I was disheartened to get no "hope you got home safe/i had fun tonight" text message, and began to write him off. Yesterday afternoon I got a text that hinted at a second meeting. After waiting a cool, hip 30 minutes to reply, I AM STILL WAITING FOR A RESPONSE FROM HIM!!

Damn you, Mystery!!!

As I psychoanalyzed this via gchat with my one heterosexual male friend, he said, "Sojourner, you can't make him like you. You may be a blacktress, but you can't control every situation."

But the thing is, HE can make ME like HIM. This is the problem. He is a trained professional in the art of getting me to drop my panties. How do I handle this?!

Although he told me all about how he doesn't teach the same method with all those acronyms, and says he's looking for something more than a bar shag, how do I not know that's not more Mystery-approved dialogue?! Although we had a great time and he's super fun and I totes want to hang out again, will showing my interest simply make him think he has me? I feel like I have to play harder to get than I normally would just to put him in his place. According to Mystery, if all goes well, I should be naked by date 2 or 3. Clearly, I will not fall for these tricks.

Or will I????

I can't decide if I'm buying myself a ticket to the Shit Show, or to Ringling Brothers--The Greatest Show on Earth!

Am I getting a one-way ticket to Sadtown or Idiot Village? What about Unexpected Pregnancy Township? Maybe I'm getting a roundtrip ticket from Sanity City to Hot Mess Country, but I'll make it back to Sanity City before too much damage is done.

Who AM I and how do I find these people?

Blackpacker Diaries: Bend it Like Barker

Tuesday Night, 10 March 2009

I got my Arj Barker tickets, which is quite exciting. For those of you who aren’t obsessed with Flight of the Conchords, Arj plays their friend Dave, who constantly gives them bad advice and has the best deadpan ever. I hadn’t heard of him before FOTC, but I am so into him. He’s also all over the Australian scene, and every Aussie knows who he is—why hadn’t he made it onto my American comedy radar before now? Oh god--Is he Canadian???
No, not possible.
Clearly I needed to see him in the flesh so I could get some answers.

Unable to get a ticket for Arj with Justin on Sunday, I got one for the Tuesday show. One of the things I like about rolling solo is that I don’t have to check-in before making decisions, or worry about whether or not my companion wants to spend the money for such-and-such activity. It’s also really easy to get last-minute tickets to things when you only need one seat, allowing me to be all free and spontaneous and very “Eat Pray Love” about the whole thing. I ended up in the 8th row, with only 2 people seated next to me. One was a surly teen and the other was obviously his mother. While most people who’d came together were chatting it up pre-show, the three of us sat silently, with the son way too cool to talk to his mom and her way too awkward around her son’s changing body to strike up a conversation. To an outsider we probably looked like a dysfunctional family, with me playing the role of their Sudanese refugee adoptee.

It was a mixed crowd, all ages, and definitely touted as PG. Everyone from teens to 30-somethings were there, and the place was chockers. How do they all know him????? I wondered as the placed filled up. I was excited to see him do more than hilarious one-liners, and also am really into seeing solo shows, so I can take notes and figure out how to write my own one-blacktress show. Arj was hilarious. After being greeted with huge applause, he began.
“Hey guys, I’m gonna start with a riddle. Are you ready?”
More clapping.
“So, how many gold medals do you have to win in order to enjoy a relaxing bong hit at a friend’s house?”

He’s too hilarious. He then went off on Michael Phelps, and had the crowd dying. He also tackled such issues as global warming (“Have you ever wondered if it’s not the Earth’s fault, but the SUN? Maybe it’s just too hot.”), and the African pirates. My favorite line was probably, “OK, maybe I’m crazy, but I’ve always assumed that if something has been turned into a ride at Disney World, and then a movie with Johnny Depp, it is no longer a real-life threat.”



Sweet, sweet, Arj, you make so much sense to me. I can’t wait for us to make hot Afro-Middle-Eastern babies. Can you imagine how hot that’d be? That baby would be on America’s Next Top Model.

I wanted to tell him this after the show, when he was standing outside selling some CDs, but I got scared. I was intimidated by his funny and thought he’d be uninterested in me trying to talk comedy and subtly brainwash him. I should have bought an effin’ CD, which would have totes made him love me, but I had no money-cash-hos on me, so I just scurried away, consoling myself with the knowledge that we’d one day have America’s Next Top Baby.

Tomorrow I start my 6-day/5-night Groovy Grape bus tour that will take me from Adelaide, at the very bottom of South Australia, all the way to Alice Springs, at the bottom of the Northern Territory. We will travel a total of 1,600 kilometers through the red desert, visiting Coober Pedy, the opal capital of the world, Uluru (aka Ayers Rock), one of Australia’s greatest icons, and Kings Canyon and the Olgas. Apparently, I will be sleeping on the ground and expected to hike. I am really excited, but also scared that I’ll be the slow girl, slowing down the crew with my inability to move quickly.

Perhaps I should have invested in hiking boots.

Or, you know, at least developed some stamina at some point in my life.

Okay, I’m off to bed. It's only 10pm, but I think I need to rest up for this.

The Next Installment of The BLACKpacker Diaries

No matter how few comments I receive, or how boring this may be, I will continue to post the chronicles.....

Tuesday 10 March 2009


I booked a wine tour today, cause you know how I roll—good enough for Jesus, good enough for me! The Barossa region makes some of the best wines in the world and it’s only an hour outside of Adelaide, and I knew I wasn’t missing anything in the city center. I absolutely love wine tours, as it connotes early morning drinking and enables you to meet people. The day always starts out awkward, but by 11am, everyone’s slightly buzzed and super chatty. Or, maybe that’s just me, because I never wake up with enough time to eat brekkie, and that blood of Christ goes straight to my head at 9:30.

I booked with Groovy Grape, which was geared toward backpackers, and the same people I was doing my Outback journey with. As usual, I was the only soloist on the tour, so I just sat in the single seat and chatted with the driver, who I loved as soon as he took up the microphone.
“Good morning everybody,” he shouted way too cheerfully, instantly putting me on edge.
Everyone mumbled hellos, and he took the hint, bless him.
“Thanks for joining this Groovy Grape tour,” he said calmly and softly. “My name’s Stuart, and I’ll be your driver. You can call me Stuart, or Stu, I don’t really care—it’s only a day tour.”
He was dry and emotionless, and he was leading me towards wine, which basically made him my favorite human being. We made a stop for coffee, and to see one of Australia’s greatest sights: the giant rocking horse.
I kid you not.
“There’s a famous toy store over here,” Stuart explained, “and because Australians like building big things in the middle of nowhere, we have the rocking horse on our right.”
Australians seriously do like building big things in the middle of nowhere. There’s the giant prawn, the giant banana, a giant bull, and a giant bottle, among others (for the full list of randomly large things, click here). These things are large and random and relatively useless, other than providing tourists with pictures to bore their friends with. For instance:


It weighs 6 tons and is 25 stories high. And it’s a rocking horse. You don’t have to be drinking to love it.
Thank you, Adelaide. Not only do you give me an extra 30 minutes, you give me a reproduction of a childhood icon.

We then headed to wineries, which were loverly. My favorite would have to be Richmond Grove, where we were given a tour of the facilities by Essey, a spunky 40-something woman from San Francisco who I bet totally rocked an ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’ vibe and moved to Australia to nurture her heart and reconnect with the land through grapes and wine. She was hilarious and had great energy, and I totally played the domineering group member who kept adding quips and sassing her. We got along smashingly, and she even let me take a pic with the barrels—holla at a wine-induced bestie! She wanted me to add her to f-book, which I love, but I knew I wouldn’t get internet time for ages, and hoped she would remember me later. Lo and behold, she not only Google-searched blacktress, but she facebooked me and is now a loyal follower!!!

We have a bond that will never die, even when my buzz wears off.

Sojourner, Why Are You Shaking Uncontrollably With Laughter?

Um, this is why, mother. This. Is. Why.





OH MY GOD, I was not ready for the Zach Attack. The attention to detail is amazing. MPG looks sweet as in his stonewashed denim. When he broke out the celly, I almost died.

I have not watched The Jimmy Fallon Show, but now I think Mr. Fallon may be my new favorite person. Is that wrong?

This video has been the highlight of my long Detroit weekend.
I guess that doesn't really say too much, but seriously. How great is it?????!?!?!?!?

Family Matters....Or Does It?

Hey guys, quick Q:
Is it possible to have a Boone's Farm hangover, or could it be I just feel really ashamed of myself?

I write to you now from Detroit, Michigan--aka The City That God Forgot. I'm celebrating the 93rd birthday of my dear grandmother, and couldn't be less annoyed by it.
I know, I know, I'm going to hell.

Hey guys, one more Q: Have you ever shared a bed with someone going through menopause? Well, I have. Cause my uncle's also here, my mom and I are sharing a bed, and home girl is having hot flashes like whoa. So, you know, random thrashing about, turning on and off the fan, and stripping are the course for the night. Hence my bright-and-early bloggery before 10am.

Sunday the whole fam gathered to celebrate, and the awkwardness set in. Although I used to spend every summer in Detroit until I was about 13, I don't feel remotely close to my family at all. Perhaps it's because they teased me for 'talking white' or because my cousin would ask me incredulously how I could 'like a White boy.' Or maybe it's because they teased me for being so dark-skinned and said my toes looked like roaches (they don't). Being an only child, I wasn't used to such teasing and never found it particularly pleasant or manageable. And the fact that these things are still brought up over 10 years later causes me to bristle.

One of my cousins is a year older than me and graduated college about a year ago--which is a hot mess. He actually just self-published a book that would fall under the category of 'urban fiction.' In the first paragraph, we follow our protagonist as he awakes from dreams of being violated by his stepfather. It's hardcore.

Anyway, he'd mellowed out since I'd seen him last, and was talking with his sister about her latest 'man friends.' My cousin says she doesn't have a boyfriend, just 'various dudes I kick it with.' I don't think this means she's bending it like Beckham, though. Her broface got pretty annoyed and made everyone be silent as he imparted the following words of wisdom:

"Men cannot be friends with a woman," he yelled, slamming his can of soda--oops, I mean pop--on the table for emphasis. "If you are not willing to be intimate with a man, you need to leave him alone. Or hook him up with one of your girls who would like to be intimate. If you can't do that, you need to cook him some food. There has to be a physical need met by your presence, or you are useless."
Is he right? What do you think?


I was two seconds away from thinking he was an idiot savant when I heard him offer this next pearl of advice:

"Nah, nah, for real dog--If you need work done in yo' house, you gotta get one of them good, high-functionin' crackheads, who used to be an engineer or some shit. My boy Young Ju got all his Ikea furniture put together by John who live down the street for, like, 20 dollas. And cracky did that shit in about an hour."

Think there's any way I can move up my return flight?