B(l)ack by Popular Demand

Happy BHM, y'all!!!

Yes, today is the first of what will be 28 days of celebrating the young, gifted, and the black! Last night I was all in a tizzy because of today's agent meeting. I then realized that there was no better day for a blacktress to meet with potential representation than the first day of Black History Month.

Perhaps fate created last week’s storm just so that my meeting could take place on a day when no member of Caucasia could say no to a negress. Either way, I’m rocking a form-fitting bright top and slimming denim, and just used my anti-puff eye roller to help handle my baggy-eyed scandal (I got more bags than a Whole Foods right now, y’all. I look wearier than a woman of Brewster Place).

As I got dressed this morning, the snow and icy rain (aka “wintry mix”) had me stressed. We all know rain is the black woman’s kryptonite, and today is no time for a hairdon't. As I wrapped my hair up and hid it under my hat, I thought about how silly the whole process is. Coming off of last week’s viewing of “Good Hair,” where I saw the disintegrating effects of a chemical relaxer on an aluminum can I realized just how enslaved (and possibly brain-cancer-ridden) I still am--by norms of beauty, my own laziness, and my own tenderheaded-ness.

But of course, I’m not alone in this. Black women have been struggling with handling a hair scandal since the dawn of time (when neander-negros were heating up smooth rocks and using them as a flat iron--you didn’t see that NatGeo special?).
So today I just want to kick-off BHM with brilliant black mind who worked to make looking fine just a bit easier--without chemicals.

Name: Marjorie Joyner

Quick Facts: Marjorie, the granddaughter of a slave and a slave-owner (yes, y’all!), was born in 1896, and in 1912 she moved to Chicago to attend cosmetology school. Upon graduation she worked under Madame C. J. “Thanks for the Relaxer” Walker.

A page from her biography reads:

A dilemma existed for Black women in the 1920's.
[You mean Jim Crow laws? The inability to vote until damn-near the end of the decade? The need to provide for their families with little options besides serving members of Caucasia?]

In order to straighten tightly-curled hair, they could so so only by using a stove-heated curling iron. This was very time-consuming and frustrating as only one iron could be used at a time.
[Ah, yes, the real dilemma.]

Joyner… imagined that if a number of curling irons could be arranged above a women's head, they could work at the same time to straighten her hair all at once. “It all came to me in the kitchen when I was making a pot roast one day, looking at these long, thin rods that held the pot roast together and heated it up from the inside. I figured you could use them like hair rollers, then heat them up to cook a permanent curl into the hair.”

WHAT?! Y’all, for reals! Although black hair care doesn’t seem like a major innovation, let’s look at the genius: Marjorie was just in the kitchen making a roast for her man, and was like, “wait a second…” That’s some straight-up MacGuyver-type ingenuity. When I’m cooking in the kitchen, all I’m thinking about is whether I really have to pre-heat the oven. In 1926, Marjorie turned dinnertime into into breadwinner-time!

Joyner developed her concept by connecting 16 rods to a single electric cord inside of a standard drying hood. A woman would wear the hood for the prescribed period of time and her hair would be straightened or curled. After two years Joyner completed her invention and patented it in 1928, calling it the "Permanent Waving Machine."

Look at Marjorie with that man! She was 98 when this pic was taken, and it looks like she's telling him about himself. She is my (s)hero.

So, as you make tonight's pot roast or soy chicken nuggets, look inside that oven. Think of Marjorie--and think of the possibilities.

My Man Knows All About Slavery!

Here's a bonus clip from the taping of my (imaginary) Jewboo Nick Kroll's upcoming Comedy Central stand-up special that I simply had to share. Watch it all the way through and you'll know why:




If you want to see more hilarity, holla at Comedy Central's site, or watch the special tonight at 10pm on Comedy Central!

Or, you know, if you like to run the streets like Bobby Bottleservice, just DVR it.

No, I did not intend to sound like a tacky publicist.

xoxo,
blacktress!

These Are the Breaks!

Happy Friday, y’all!

What a week it’s been. Highs, lows, heavy days, light days. Today’s a light day. I coul even ride a bike.

I’m still reeling from the inception, creation, and blow-uption that is Black Swanson. Me and KWalsh were just doing what we do every day from our respective cubicles: joking around about portmanteaus, discussing our favorite bears, and toolin’ around with photoshop. Next thing you know, we’ve got a wacky image that's reblogged more than 400 times, re-tweeted more than…anything Kanye West ever says, deemed “so relevant it hurts,” and reblogged on MovieLine.com. That’s, like, a real website, y’all.

Wednesday night I had a show at Comix Comedy Club—nothing fancy, a regular bringer. What made this show stress inducing was the fact that my MOM was going to be in attendance. This would be her first time seeing me do stand-up. Ever. She’s seen me in plays in college, but to hear me on stage telling my TRUTH….well, let’s just say I was freaking out backstage. My mind was racing with such thoughts as “Should I keep it clean and not discuss WINTERcourse?” and “Definitely don’t do the joke about Ps in the V without a C—that’ll lead to a talk you’re not ready to have. “

When I got in I went backstage and tried to avoid the crowd. I had to duck out to meet Jewboo, and when I did I not only saw my mother, but two of her homegirls from work, whom I’ve known all my life.
Mom threw me for a loop. She turned my show into a straight-up Waiting to Exhale type of night!

My mom is definitely Angela Bassett.

The show went really well, and not only did my mother think I was funny (and get really tipsy off of two white-wine spritzers—damn you, drink minimum) but the show’s booker came up to me afterwards and said, “You’re really good. I’m gonna put you on an industry show,” meaning the special shows clubs host where they invite talent to perform for agents, producers, etc. Holla!!!

Thursday witnessed the unveiling of the blacktress's second piece on TheHairpin, in which I discuss my adolescent indecent exposure in front of Double Dare host Marc Summers.

Unfortunately, due to the insanity that is the northeast winter, my agent meeting set for yesterday was canceled. I’m okay with that, seeing as I didn’t know how I could possibly dress to impress when 10 inches of snow and slush were on the ground (at best, she would have put me in a Home Depot commercial). We’re scheduled for this coming Tuesday, which gives me plenty of time to lose 12 pounds and get my hair did.

I’m actually not that nervous for the meeting, because, really, it’s all about filling a slot. I learned in my commercial class that my "breakdown" is 'a black female, age 25-35 (in acting years), with a fresh, accessible look'. I’m signed up for a few different websites that list casting notices, and you can put in your information (age range, height, ethnicity, photo, etc) and receive personalized e-mails with casting calls that fit your type. I get two emails a day, which might have you thinking there are tons of roles for a blacktress. Unfortunately, I’m not quite right for any of these parts. Here are a couple of the recent breakdowns I’ve received (all from various film and television projects):



Tina: Early 30s, beautiful, strong, ambitious but extremely vengeful.

Stacy: 26-30. Cute and curvy, Stacy is the more naïve of the two. A Jr. marketing associate, she’s bored of her unchallenging job so she goes after excitement (i.e. drama) in her personal life.
[Um, wait a minute. Those first two sound a lot like me.]


Apparently, one website thought this character breakdown was so fitting, they sent it to my inbox with a “red alert”:

Pam: 40s, A very obese woman, waitress. She's busy but friendly.

Dina: His beautiful wife. Passionate, dangerous, immoral. 35-40.

Role: First Slave. Breakdown: 30-45, tawny-skinned Moor captured and sold in the marketplace

Kim:(20s)- John's junkie girlfriend. Chic in a six-months-to-live kind of way.


Oh yeah, that way. Apparently, things aren’t so post-racial that a blacktress can be fit for a part playing someone young, gifted, and of a healthy weight and size. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised now that the they want to put the goodness of brown in white!

Have a good weekend, y’all!


xoxo,
blacktress

Black Swanson (h/t KWalsh)

I love Ron Swanson. My girl KWalsh and I put together our heads and created the father of all portmanteaus:

BLACK SWANSON

What's your favorite block of the pyramid? I'm partial to "stillness: don't waste energy moving unless necessary" and "Friends: One to three is sufficient."

You know you love it.

No Country for Hot Babies

Penelope and Javier just welcomed their bundle of joy, y'all!!
I haven't even bothered finding out the name or gender, but I'm already counting down to its 18th birthday. Does that make me creepy? It's the hottest child in the history of the world!

[NO IMAGE FOUND]

When you try to search "hottest baby ever" in Google, there are no infant photos that can meet the criteria!!! You'll just have to use your brainholes!


Honey, do ju think we should name de bebe 'El Sexo Cruz-Bardem???"

(A Vain Attempt at) Radio Silence

Hello Gentle Readers,

You may have noticed a lack of bloggery over the last week. This wasn't a hiatus as much as a crisis of faith (in blogging, that is). I'll admit that I've definitely brought new meaning to the acronym TMI with my posts, but with tags like "funny," "not funny," and "awkward," I assumed my goal of entertaining would get me off the hook (while at the same time allowing me to exorcise my demons). Alas, no. To top it off, I recently discovered that a Google search of my full name (my real one, obvs) will lead you to not only some wonderful (i.e. NSFW) youtube clips of me discussing Ps in Vs without Cs but also my blog! I, Sojourner, can’t handle my own truth!

This has led to me feel intensely self-conscious, and almost wondering if I should continue with the bloggery. Of course, this is the Internet and my posts aren’t under wraps, but they are also something for which someone actively has to search. If that’s the case, should I not write what I feel, or should people I have IRL relationships with not use my blog as a means of gaining access? Or maybe I should do me and they should do them, and just let the computer chips fall where they may? Yeah, that sounds about right.

Bottom line is: It’s called “Diary of a Mad Blacktress,” not “Diary of a Diplomatic Blacktress”--there should be little surprise if it gets darker than it would in person. I’m not saying people shouldn’t get angry when I express my truths, or that I'm a victim—we all know my feelings on HBCUs has inspired to all sorts of venomous comments—but if you choose to view this page, you must be prepared for my truth, my whole truth, and nothing but my truth! After all, my thoughts don’t make it law, and since when has a diary been filled with rainbows and kittens?
I mean, besides Justin Bieber’s.

Ok, now that that’s out of the way, I do want to let you guys know that things have been a hot mess--and I swear, no humans will be emotionally harmed in the creation of this post.

On Friday I had a 7 ½-hour job interview with seven different interviewers, during which I was asked all types of math and logic problems. Considering I was applying for a position that would mostly entail some copyediting and light Excel-spreadsheet-creating, I was definitely ill equipped for such stumpers as “How can we go about determining the number of teachers in North America?” for which I had to divide 300,000,000 by 175,000 BY HAND.

I haven’t done long division by hand since before 9/11, y'all. The climate’s changed, and I can’t cope!

I left the interview feeling stupider than I’ve felt in a long time. Not like I’m a girl genius, but I’ve never been in a job interview where I’ve felt the failure taking place. I watched interviewers 6 and 7 try to keep straight faces as I botched very basic things (like, you know, saying that the population of North America was 65 million). I won’t go into anymore, since Big Brother’s likely watching, but let’s just say Friday night involved a lot of cupcakes.

Yesterday featured a 2 ½-hour doctor’s appointment in which it was determined that I am developing glaucoma. After waiting for ridiculous amounts of time and pressing my face against what I’m sure were less-than-sanitary chin rests, the doctor deemed me a “glaucoma suspect”. Um, why did she have to make it sound sketchy? Was she profiling me? Did I commit an ocular crime against myself?
I’m sorry if I sound like “conspiracy brother,” but ever since I saw the new Uncle Ben’s rice commercial, I’ve been on the alert for other attempts at eradicating the brown.


The goodness of brown, now in WHITE???? Why can’t the rice just be brown?! How many folks are looking at their plates going, “this rice tastes good, but it’s brown coloring just makes me sick.” I can’t handle this RICism!

After all the test, my vision returned to normal this morning—just in time for me to check my e-mail and read that I was rejected from the Women in Comedy Festival. Apparently, a show titled “The Blacktress Goes Inside Caucasia” isn’t appealing to the comedic women of Boston (I may have to call up Henry Louis Gates Jr. and see if he can get me and the ladies on a porch with some beers). I know rejection’s a part of the biz, but I’m just a squirrel trying to get a nut, y’all! And by “nut” I mean “seven minutes of stage time.” Is that so wrong?

Okay, I don’t want to leave you as depressed as I am, so here’s some potentially good news: I have a meeting with an agent on Thursday!

Unfortunately, it’s not one of the ones who came to my commercial class last week. I say it’s unfortunate because one of them was a hilarious nerdy gay man who referenced both Battlestar Galactica and Truth in Comedy, the improviser’s bible. If there’s anyone who should be representing a blacktress, it’s him.

I was put in touch with the woman I’m meeting on Thursday through one of the teachers of the class. After sending a thank-you e-mail to her, I followed up with:

Do you know if there are agents that specialize in/look primarily for comedians? I feel as though there's a lack of funny Af-Am females who aren't acting ghetto and aren't over 40, and there has to be an agent that wants to fill the void. In other words: I need to be playing Michelle Obama on SNL. Let me know your thoughts if you get a chance.

Best,
Blacktress

I was mostly being silly, but since she had complimented me several times on my sense of humor, I figured I could get her attention with some outlandish statements. She didn’t reply for a little while, so I started to get nervous (you know, just like I do after I tell a guy I have a crush on him). Just before I flipped out, I got an e-mail back from her titled “meet and greet,” addressed to be and some aol address. It only read:

C_____- meet Sojourner. She thinks she should play Michelle Obama on a miniseries.

Two minutes later I had an interview scheduled for 1pm!!!

Oh, and while I’m on an upswing, let me bring your attention to this wonderful video posted by the elite gay visionary Michael Martin. Re-post and spread widely!




*With a title espousing TRUTH, it's no wonder I love this book.

When Will I Be Free?

Happy MLK Day, y'all!!!

I am able to blog because I AM AT WORK TODAY.

Yes, y'all. No one seems to be able to believe it, and Scribe was most alarmed.

Scribe: you have to work today?!

me: YES

Scribe: that is ridiculous!

the post office is closed!

is your office more important than the post office?

NO!
you work in Arizona

we have to get you outta there.

Ain't that the gospel truth? I know I need to keep on steppin', but I feel like I'm just wading in the water. My job seems to think that a nationally recognized, legal holiday isn't real. My boss is basically standing over Martin's grave, screaming, "WHERE'S THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE???"
Or maybe he's just real close with the governor of Maine. Either way, I am sitting here, toiling and resentful, and it shouldn't even be legal.

Luckily, because everyone else has a holiday there are no calls and very few emails. I've got writing to do and can really get into it. I am a bit distracted, though, because tomorrow is the last commercial class, and two agents come in to watch us read our copy! I have several friends who took the class and got agents from it, so it could be a big night, y'all! Of course, it all depends on who the agents are and whether they're looking to add a blacktress to their roster. One agency reps a lot of famous child actors, but our teachers said they're looking to grow their "adult client base," so maybe they're lack means there's a void I can fill. Although precocious children scare/disgust me, I would certainly love to join an agency that includes such high-profile talent as "The Asian girl who plays Charlotte's daughter in the Sex and the City movies" and the lead blacktor from "Everybody Hates Chris." Cross your fingers (for me) and your legs (for Jesus)!

Okay, let me get back to the fields, y'all. I leave you with Public Enemy: