I Can't Keep This To Myself!

Guys,
KWalsh just IM’d me a link to a music video, claiming that it "might be the second coming of 2gether."

Of course, anything that might even hint at 2gether immediately got my attention. Work ethics be damned--I clicked the link.
And I was rewarded.
This “music” video, featuring the apparently non-fake boy band Heart2Heart, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Please, experience it with me:

For those of you who used to read my takes on Teen Mom and 16 & Pregnant, you know that I can’t watch youth ruin their lives without live blogging. It’s the only way I can begin to process my emotions. And Heart2Heart is certainly pushing some buttons. Here goes.

(italics indicate song lyrics.)

0:01
Okay, so are these supposed to be the lights of a spaceship? Was this done on iMovie?

0:13
The blonde one looks like Ashlee Simpson. Why is ze winking at me?
The two ethnically ambiguous ones must be a nod to post-racial America. What’s with the cinnamon-spiced highlight guy? Is he wearing a pair of diamond earrings? (probably purchased from Claire’s Accessories—this video had a budget of $12 and a footlong sandwich from Subway)
Is he licking his tongue out suggestively? Ew.

0:17
Is that Lance Bass under a blue light? Why is he looking like a vampire?! Ugh, Lance, I have you to blame for this? It’s always the quiet (and secretly gay) ones that surprise you.

0:28
Chad? Yes, it's me, Blacktress. I have a few questions:

1: Why are you wearing a letter jacket with D on it? Your name starts with a C, your band starts with an H. Who’s supervising this script?

Why is your eyeliner so thick?

0:28
Um, these girls look 45. That blonde one’s clearly been on Miami Ink.

0:50
Heart2…. Heart is back / FB chat poppin’ on my Mac.
They’ve been here before and I didn’t know about it?

0:54
I like your status / two thumbs up / I met you last week / playing flip cup.

Why is he sitting on the spaceship floor by a car? What’s with all the chains on his vest? Chad, you need to get it together and let go of the flat iron, the DEP, and the All I’ve ever gotten from a guy I met playing flip cup is a nasty hangover and an STD test scare.

As KWalsh says: I honestly cannot abide the one that does the most singing.

Accept this request/ accept my terms of service / the message has been sent / and all I wanna do is put a heart on your page / heart on your page—let’s make it official.

Agree to terms of service? Is this a legally binding contract?! Do you think he wants to steal the girl’s identity so that he can buy more hair gel and face decals?

1:25
Okay, why is this Nordic Ashlee-Simpson-looking fellow wearing a down parka, headphones, and no shirt in what appears to be a boiler room?

1:32
I don’t wanna play Farmville / I just wanna play for real
The intensity with which he sings that line is baffling to me.

1:34
Okay, seriously, that’s not even hair, you elvish, raven-haired boy. He is wearing a helmet.
Who does the brown-haired one look like?
I need to look up "famous lesbians from the 1990s" to jog my memory.

Oh, right, I got it: They are all giving me Jodie Foster in various stages of her career.

1:42
Multicolored backgrounds for each guy—now we’re talkin’ production values!
Oh my god, why is Ashlee Simpson reaching hir's hand out to me?

I don’t even think he’s mouthing the correct words.

2:00
Okay, Chad is straight up channeling Hedwig at this point.

2:09
Okay, now that Mario Lopez/Dora the Explorer hybrid isn’t even mouthing the words! Do you think Chad is the only native English speaker, which is why he was given the lead?
LANCE BASS, HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE GOOD NAME OF BOY BANDS WITH THIS FOOLERY???

Or, as KWalsh notes: these kids are just a bunch of haircuts! IN MY DAY ‘N SYNC BROUGHT THE GOODS

Ain’t that the gospel truth?

2:09
This is the longest 3 minutes and 21 seconds of my life.

2:25
Press that button, double click / Let’s make it facebook official tonight.
Is “facebook official” new slang for having consensual intercourse?

2:35
He just said “Dance Break”! …. And then went on to show the shittiest dance break in the history of boy bands. Does it count as dancing if they’re just forming geometric tableaus? This is some Cabinet of Dr. Caligari meets Bring it On: All or Nothing type of randomness.

3:04
Did you see how dramatically Chad’s front bangs flipped?! Those things are deadly weapons.

3:21
It’s over. We made it through, guys!

Okay, is it just me or was there an abundance of spirit fingers in this video?

Ain't She a Woman?! / I am the 34.3 percent.

Hey y'all!

Jewboo showed me this video yesterday and I just had to share. This little girl is my (S)hero of the Week. In addition to her hard-hitting questions to financial district massas, I'm loving her Just for Me perm and CIA-agent-style trench. Her ability to stand up to the major power players in Caucasia is inspiring. Give it a look-see. What do you think?


In other news:
[Jewboo, stop reading!]

I found out today that I'm 34.3% body fat.
Ew.

I had a nutrition consultation this morning, which involved testing my resting metabolic rate. To prep for this test, buff trainer Curtis had to take my vitals. Although my weight has slightly decreased (thanks, Weight Watchers!), apparently my body fat percentage qualifies me for The Biggest Loser.

As I sat down, contemplating my inner obesity (I think my blood type is cookies 'n' cream), I flipped through a magazine. Steve, the other trainer, came in and started chatting with Curtis. Surrounded by all the gym equipment with two attractive men talking as though I wasn't there, I started to have a flashback to 11th grade phys ed.
"Should I go in the waiting room while you set up?" I asked.
"If you want to," said Curtis, "but it doesn't really matter."
"Well, I don't want to interrupt y'all, bro'in out and all."
"You can bro out with us if you want," said Steve.
"No, I can't. I have 34.3% body fat."

Clearly, I'm typing this post while doing squats.

What makes the RMR test even more depressing is that, in order to accurately assess your target, you have to breathe through a tube for 10 minutes (that's not the problem). The demoralization comes when they attach a Hannibal Lecter-like piece of headgear to make sure that no air escapes the tube. Your nasal cavity is effectively closed off, and any attempt at a decent hair day is ruined. As I sat there, wondering how one could even go about making a suit of someone else's skin, I realized that it's probably time to stop eating my feelings. But I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do with friends now that I don't "grab a drink" after work. I guess we can just.... drink herbal tea? Guh.

Target body fat percentage is 18-24%.
I asked the doctor if he wouldn't mind contacting some of my favorite bakeries to let them know I'm no longer welcome. If he doesn't, I can't promise I'll hold up my end of the bargain.

How are you?!

SHOCKtober Fest!*

*This title in no way relates to the following post.

Guys, I am so sorry it's been forever since I posted. There's been so much going on--much of it ripe for bloggery--but I've been so busy that sitting down and writing it all out has been impossible. Now, of course, it's been 2 weeks and there's no way I can condense it all. But let's give it the ol'-liberal-arts-college try, shall we?

9/29/11
I. am. reeling.

I just finished the final book in The Hunger Games trilogy and I can't even cope. I actually re-read the last three pages twice before finally closing the book. It was simply so intense I couldn't let it be over. A tightly wrought political thriller for the tween set has somehow turned my world upside down. Katniss Everdeen is further proof that you don't have to be black to be a strong black woman.

I am still shaken and stirred, with a twist of lime in me. Suzanne Collins took my breath away, Top Gun style. I've decided to add her to my list of (s)heroes.

10/1/11
I'm heading to LA, guys! Los Angeles! The city of angels and demons and most of the cast of Angels & Demons. I'm going to a voiceover event produced by my VO coach in New York. I'm not one for 48-hour jet-sets, but my mom thinks I need to invest in my dreams, which means attending this event, so I will do so. I have no idea what to expect.

10/3-10/5

LA is cool, but I couldn't live here. I did, however, meet a pretty blacktress from Texas who moved here to become a star. She was very domineering, which I really didn't mind all that much. I think the best part of our forced closeness was her gory, detailed account of her stalker attack a year ago. Of course, it was really terrifying and upsetting, but my first thought, as she explained that her Colgate smile was actually porcelain (because her stalker attacked her and knocked her teeth out), was "Oh my god, you had a stalker? That is so A-list. Have you sent a treatment to Lifetime (television for women)?"

The highlight of my trip was meeting hotel employee Tre Fabrice, who moved to LA three years ago "for the fashion." When I asked where he moved from, he revealed that he was a Detroit native.

I immediately began singing T-Baby's anthem.
"Nah, I'm mad at that," he said as he stretched out on the lobby couch (why wasn't he working?). "Everybody been makin' fun of me for that."

I asked him if he'd read any of my cousin's hood tales and he said no. I linked him up to Amazon and he was quite taken with the synopsis of his latest page-turner. After giving him my cousin's info--he wanted to contact him about being involved in a non-profit he's starting (I kid you not)--he urged me to stay in New York City. I told him he didn't have to worry.

LA is so intense with the healthiness. My friend and I went to a diner and even the diner was on Atkins. I asked for a glass of milk to go with my "7-grain pancakes," and the waiter goes, "Would you like soy milk, almond, milk, rice milk, hemp--"

I want milk milk, Los Angeles! Give me some skim stuff out of an animal I can find on a farm!

Don't get me wrong, y'all--I'm not against vegetarians and vegans, and I do believe animals have feelings. I just cannot stand a high-and-mighty non-meat eater acting like they can't wait to spend their 75th birthday jumping on my bloated belly like it's a trampoline. Just cause you don't eat meat doesn't make you a life-winner. How can it be okay to turn a bean into a nugget??? Everyone was so into their substitutes. And those bitches LOVE. TO. JUICE.

You know, drink a mixture of vegetables and fruits as a meal.

Speaking of juicing, they also love using nouns as verbs--juice. summer. veg. UGH.

That about sums it up, I guess. There's more I'd love to share, but ever since the blog became an un-safe space (needing to defend and explain every turn of phrase and humor-motivated generalization, etc), I'll just cut to the present......which brings us to today.

Last night I did a set at Broadway Comedy Club and it might have been one of my worst stage moments ever. I ate it so hard last night.

That’s comedy speak for “getting no laughs and having no jokes hit”—taken from the idea of “eating shit.”

Being on stage was painful. I felt like Carrie at the prom—except, in this case, I wanted them to laugh and they wouldn’t. Those bright stage lights may have well been pig’s blood, as they soaked me in a sticky liquid of shame and self-loathing that I still can’t get off.

Carrie, there’s no amount of Dove body wash that’ll get that scent out of your hair. After all, Dove is for real women, and you’re clearly a shell of yourself.

As I stood on stage, staring into the faces of white people who didn’t know who Harriet Tubman was or why “Caucasia” is a funny word, I had no way of winning them back. This was a set for TV and I wasn’t supposed to address the audience—meaning, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU GUYS?!” wasn’t gonna fly for the cameras. It was just really hard because I’d killed it (comedy speak for “slaying the audience with one’s rapier wit) the night before at Therapy, one of Hell’s Kitchen’s best gay bars. I mean, applause breaks and everything. I felt like I was at home.
Honestly, y’all, it was a straight-up Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List moment.


I know exactly how she feels.


Tonight I'm doing a set at another club, this time with family and friends in attendance. Not just mamadukes but also some of her coworkers, which makes me really nervous. I mean, it’s one thing to fail, but to embarrass my mom in front of her friends….let’s just say I better bring it on all or nothing like the love-child of Gabrielle Union and Hayden Panetierre.

I'm sorry I've been gone so long--I won't do it again.

L.Y.L.A.S!

--Blacktress

Now More Than Ever

Is how much I need to blog.

I just got back from round 1 of the dentist (remember how I have to put my teeth on layaway?) and my mouth is still numb. I can’t really talk, which you know is tantamount to oppression. I think the dentist gave me a bit too much novacaine, cause it’s over 3 hours later and I’m still feeling like Two-Faced. I guess I only have myself to blame, though—when he asked if I was allergic to anything, I said “just pain.” He’s a fun, Ken Jeong type of guy, so I can’t hate on him.

I am, however, hoping that my steady work even in the face of dental pain will be duly noted among my colleagues so that after my next long lunch, I can return with my head held high.

I’ve been slack in the blog world, mostly because I’m just a broke-down blacktress. And as my mother always said, “Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you. Cry, and no one will ever want to be your friend.” So, you know, I’m trying to zip my lip with the negativity. But I do want to draw your attention to some ch-ch-ch-changes:

CALENDAR OF UPCOMING SHOWS
So, it seems that the reason no one calls me is because they’re getting all the info on the internets. With that in mind, I’ve decided to do some cross-promotion on the blog. To the right (to the right, everything you own in the box to the right!) you’ll find a list of upcoming shows where I will be providing laughter to what I hope is an audience of likeminded freedom writers. You should totally come!

WRITERS STOPPED WRITIN’! :(
I had to remove a few names from my blogroll, folks. It’s not that I don’t love them, it’s that they don’t love the internet! Their blogs have ceased. I have, however, added a funny blog of random writings called Gutes Beispiel. You should read it. But not while you’re high—it’ll make your head explode.

A friend of mine recently left for a monthlong sojourn to Sweden and she came to the ultimate Sojourner for advice on navigating Caucasia. As someone who has been inside the belly of the beast and lived to tell, I was more than happy to impart some wisdom gleaned over several solo odysseys. Below is an excerpt from my email to her. Perhaps it will serve you well on your next international journey.

Caucasia Cheat Sheet

dictated but not read

Random "Facts":

• Swedes are kind, but curt. No dilly-dallying, no small talk in the shoppes--they'll say hi, they'll answer a question if you ask it, but they don't come up every 2 minutes, asking if you need help with stuff (which I LOVE).
• It's cold and dark--get up and at 'em early to do your thing before a tween vampire turns you into her lover.
• They don't really sell OTC things we're used to getting. So bring your Advil cold & sinus, cranberry supplements, and Nyquil.
• Sometimes the letter "K" is pronounced "Sh". So, you know, the signs advertising a "KOK" aren't as funny as we'd like them to be.
• There are no brown people, really. So fully expect to see:

White people with dreadlocks (guh)
People in blackface (not all the time, but, you know, it's not unheard of to attend a jungle-themed party and dress like "natives," including makeup.)

To make sure you don't end up in a pit of despair, I suggest bringing:

• A few of your favorite DVDs (or download to your comp)--maybe it was just Australia, but I had a hard time getting Netflix and Hulu out of the US, and even some YouTubes don't play when I was in Europe. Also, DVDs are coded by regions--a Swedish DVD won't play in your laptop. In those early days of jetlag and overwhelmed-ness, nothing takes the edge off like a couple seasons of Arrested Development.
• Cheat sheet of vocab words. It sounds silly, but having a list of foods really helped me when I was in Sweden, Paris, and Germany. Going to the grocery store or a restaurant, I didn't have such an intense breakdown because I knew which one was cake (kaka) and which one was pie (paj)--and I could order from a menu (many will be translated, though) without being scared a fish head would show up on my plate.
• I'd bring a towel, just so you have one that's yours. Of course, I always bring a washcloth, but being Caucasian yourself, perhaps that doesn't apply here.

Frightday!

Pop Quiz:
Which of the following things happened to a blacktress this week?
a. The intern hid the tin of Kit Kats from me yesterday afternoon because--and I fuckin' quote--“You were doing so well, eating an apple and all. I didn’t want to tempt you and you’d already had enough.”
b. I missed not one but TWO chances to showcase my skills to the NBC network’s head of talent diversity.
c. I received a phone call from someone telling me that, “Wednesday’s a big day. I’m coming out of the closet to the community… as a singer-songwriter.”
d. I discovered that the Duane Reade pharmacy cashier knows me by face. Clearly, I’m getting too many meds.
e. All of the above.


I’ve been feeling very un-gifted and black lately. Last night was particularly rough, as I performed in a Gaysian’s hilarious sketch version of “A Raisin in the Sun” as part of an NBC showcase. Of course, it's always fun to perform, but here I was as the best, brightest, and brownest in the comedy community were showcased, and I was serving as mere blackup in an Asian man’s production. Of course, he ended up winning the showcase, cause he’s hilar, but I had the biggest—or smallest?—pity party for myself last night. It involved cereal, staring at ice cream in the freezer, and watching 30 Rock. I had flashb(l)acks to middle school, as I realized how much I was out of the black kid loop yet again. I hadn't even known about the auditions, let alone the showcase, until the Gaysian asked me to reprise my role as the Ruth to his Walter Lee.

It was fun and all, but I couldn't help but feel like this precious baby animal (h/t Michael, the man who brought us Big Freedia):

This delicate, half-blind red seal has been shunned from his colony because of his color.
Look at him, standing on the rocky shore as his black brethren mix and mingle in the distance. I'm gonna send him a copy of this book:




I mean, look at these eyes. How can you not want to be his friend?

Hey guys! What's up?!

Oh, you like fish? I like it, too. Hahahhaa.

We have so much in common.

Can I come to the ocean depths with you?

Let's be friends?

Riding the Elevator in a Post-Racial America

Conversation on an Elevator

The time is 4 minutes ago. I'm on the elevator heading back up to my office after grabbing some organic fruits at Trader Joe's. It's me and a white-bearded Caucasian fellow who works on the 4th floor.

Me [on the phone with a friend]: All right, girl, I gotta get back up to the plantation. I'll see you Saturday. Bye! [I hang up.]

Man [smiling to himself, looking straight ahead. then, in a sing-song voice]: Pickin' some cotton, pickin some cotton'.

Me: Mmm-hmmm. Always toiling.

DING.

The elevator opens on 4.

Man: Have a good day.

He exits.

I have to find out what happens on the 4th floor.

Workplace Dynamics in a Post-Racial America

Guys, my boss won’t stop calling me “Ebony Beyond" and it's getting annoying.

Wait, have I not told you about this?

So, last week he was in a friendly mood and we were discussing drag names. [By “discussing,” I mean he was standing by my desk (cheating out, of course) but talking loudly enough that the whole office could hear him.] We went on a tangent about Bette Davis, during which I said, “If I was a drag queen, I’d totally be Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, all haggard and tragic and living in the past.” To this, massa replied, “No, your drag name would be Ebony Beyond,” before walking back down to his office.

(You know a former drag queen always knows to exit on a laugh line.)

It was funny at the time and maybe even amazing. I felt as though I’d been knighted, a la Judy Dench. We had a laugh about it the next day, and that was that.
Or so I thought.

Two days later, Massa began addressing me as “Ebony Beyond” in all email correspondence. At worst, it's a serious HR violation and I could sue the company for enough money to fund my dreams; at best, it's awkward. Here are some examples.* All of them have been copied and pasted directly, with no editing.:
I got to work (late) this morning and had this email waiting for me:
Hey Ebony---Do you have contact info handy for [so-and-so]?

[When I assured him I'd be able to get some information from an contributor, even though the contrib was being difficult, he gave the following reply.]
Ok---if anybody can reign ‘em in its Ebony Beyond Belief

And this one just takes the cake. The matter-of-factness with which he calls me Ebony and uses text-message language is just out of control.:
Ebony--- think we are covered—thanks though for jumping in. BTW are you thinking to revisit some of these artists in the subsequent issues—they seen deserving of additional coverage—esp the one you sent yesterday—omg hipster wc—who would have thunk it!

Um, did my massa write “omg” in business-related correspondence? I swear, this is the same one who will give you dagger eyes if you disagree with him in public. I feel like I work for Demi Lovato. I need to call up Obama at the UN and tell him what's going on--he'd have me sitting on a settlement in no time.

I guess I should be glad I have a nickname because it means I'm in massa's good graces. I got to work 2 hours late this morning because of a--you guessed it--doctor's appointment. I've been having back spasms and extreme pain that was so bad that I couldn't sleep at all on Monday night. And I don't mean "I didn't sleep at all" in a I-slept-but-tossed-and-turned-and-woke-up-a-few-times way. I mean I straight-up laid still on an incline and tried to stop the pain from shooting down my arm as I watched 1995 hit film Masterminds (Vincent Kartheiser's best work) and a portion of Terminator 3 (it just made my back hurt even more). It even hurt to lay down. Y'all, when it hurts to be lazy, you know something up!

At this morning's appointment I learned that my back muscles are so hard they're practically calcified. When the doctor touched my shoulders, she actually jumped back a bit and furrowed her brow, like she was in a scene from Aliens and a creature was gonna pop out. Good news: I got muscle relaxants. Bad news: I'll never leave the house again.

*I never thought I’d see the day when I’d search for “Ebony” in my Outlook inbox.