It's Too Cold in the D

Apparently, residents of the D are taking justice into their own hands.

Jewboo alerted me to this news item with just the words "Jesus Christ" before the link. Unfortunately, I wasn't all that surprised--not even after reading about Detroit resident Julia Brown.

The last time Brown, 73, called the Detroit police, they didn’t show up until the next day. So she applied for a permit to carry a handgun and says she’s prepared to use it against the young thugs who have taken over her neighborhood, burglarizing entire blocks, opening fire at will and terrorizing the elderly with impunity.

“I don’t intend to be one of their victims,” said Brown, who has lived in Detroit since the late 1950s. “I’m planning on taking one out.”

Although Julia "Throw Down" Brown is obviously related to T-Baby in some way, she is no match for my G-Unit. At 95 years old, G-Unit has been keeping a gun in her house since the Regan administration (hence her lovable nickname). When my cousins and I would play hide-and-seek in her house, she always warned us to "go anywhere but in the front room. That's where I keep my gun."

Having seen Boyz N the Hood and knowing we were already living on borrowed time as black youth in Detroit, none of us were stupid enough to actually look for the firearm, but we were obsessed with the idea of my grandmother having it.

"What are you gonna do with a gun, grandma?" My cousin asked.

"I'll shoot an intruder," she said, with her voice starting to rise. "Some fool tryna come up in here and rob me. I may be old, but I ain't no weak person! I made it this far and I ain't letting some dumb son of a bitch take me."

Ever the logical one, I had only one follow-up "If you shot him, what would you do with the body?"

What my grandmother said next is still emblazoned on my brain 20 years later. So matter-of-fact that she was almost dismissive, she replied, "I'd let the dog eat it."

Y'all! Ethel will leave your body as puppy chow if you try to start some ish! She's gonna make sure black folks can have nice things!

(I think this level of hardness is what makes me such a difficult woman to love. I come from take-no-prisoners Southern sharecropping stock.)

At the time, I imagined a body on the hallway floor with Toby (her dog) biting off bits of it. Even at 7 years old, I assumed there'd be a stench and wondered how Grandma would get pass the corpse to get to the bathroom every two hours, as she was wont to do. I was able to have such a detailed vision because I had no doubt in my mind that G-Unit would do it!

I blame Clint Eastwood. Gran Torino was practically a documentary and then there was that Super Bowl commercial (see below). I guess this is what he meant by "Motor City fighting again."

By "the roar of our engines," did you mean the sounds of caps busting in asses?

He Is My Patronus

Just wanted to share a great clip from one of my favorite comics, Hari Kondabolu. No better way to celebrate BHM with a man who always speaks truth to power.

A Portent?

Y'all, this BHM is starting off WRONG.

I have been on the plantation less than hour and have already received two pieces of news that have shaken my young, gifted, and BLACK world. I can't be alone in this.

1. Don Cornelius, creator of Soul Train, was found dead in his home this morning, of an apparent suicide.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! Don, you created the longest-running show in the history of television! You showed white people how to dance! You provided the basis for countless episodes of sitcoms!

He is, in short, an AfAm Icon. Today of all days, this hurts. And what hurts even more is that it's been buried at the bottom of news and pop-culture websites.

2. While sitting at my desk, my coworker two cubes behind me exclaims. "Holy shit." I need to know the cause, natch. Apparently, "Pfizer just recalled 1 million packets of birth control pills in the US because they may not actually prevent pregnancy." Of the three generic brands, one of them is used by the blacktress!

Y'ALL! THIS IS NOT OKAY. I can't be ringing in BHM Juno style!

Can you imagine a bunch of mini blacktresses and Jewboos running around?! They'd be all kinds of neurotic (cause they're the Jewish spawn of two aspiring comics) and neglected (cause they were accidents). I don't have enough money for dreams, let alone prenatal vitamins! Not to mention the fact that I get weary just watching a Law & Order marathon, so you know late-night feedings would be out. AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I have no one to share this with, as my coworkers find it a bit "inappropriate" that I told them I used one of the brands that have been recalled. Of course, I turn to you, gentle readers. We need each other now more than ever.

In hopes of turning this day--nay, this month--around, I'm going to share what I planned to write about this morning, before all of this earth-shattering news hit my brainhole.

Thank god for JJSiii. Whenever a blacktress is down, he knows exactly what to send from the interwebs to remind me that life's worth living. On Monday, it was an invitation to join his RuPaul Fantasy Drag Race team.

Today, he sent along a music video so amazing, I don't even think I have the words for it. I will let it speak for itself. Please, enjoy. You're welcome.



After writing what I thought were the lyrics, I ran them against JJSiii and found we were on the same page. Clearly, English isn't Andrew Doriane's first language, but bless him for putting his feelings out there. For those who may be having trouble deciphering, here's the breakdown:

“Breath of the ocean / Tranquil emotions / I’m feeling so safe in her arms / One thing is clear / Heaven is here / With her, I can reach for the stars / Looking at us...

CHORUS: Somehow she’s like gay / I’ve always had this feeling / even deep inside / She has been playing gay so real that I believe it / Am I losing my mind?

“No one except her / Keeps me protected / From different storms on my way / Her guessing my wishes / Makes me suspicious / She knows me for (??) what I think / God, she’s like gay

(repeat chorus)

Somehow she’s like gay, because she seems to know men as well as gays do / She must be playing gay with me so I can only be like lesbian too

(repeat chorus)

Gay (echo, echo, echo)”

Give Me a CRAY to Build a Dream On…

...And my imagination will drive upon that cray!

NB: {RF} denotes a Red Flag.

Happy Monday, gang—Sojourner here, writing to you live from my veal pen. I apologize for the delayed post. There was much going on but I wasn’t sure if it was share-worthy until now. I’ll start with the most CRAY:

Last Sunday (1/22) I did a set at a gay bar in Hell’s Kitchen that I thought changed my life. I mean, I wasn’t so amazing, but I did well and discovered I have a growing fan base among the 20-something unemployed-gay-male set. After the show, a woman approached me, congratulating me on my set and asking if I “had done any television.” She was very small and dressed like a tourist, with an oversized hunter-green fleece and a fanny pack. {RF} She asked for my card and introduced herself as a writer for SNL and script supervisor on 30 Rock. "I work closely with Marci Klein and have script supervised for Tina Fey," she said. "And I always like to keep an eye out for new faces for casting. Can I have your card?"

OH EM GEE!!! Dreams DO come true! Perhaps I can still be noticed doing my stand-up thang even though I’m not in the cult of UCB. Perhaps I am above average. Perhaps—

Now, y’all know mama didn’t raise no fool. Before the show ended I approached the host and asked if this woman was legit. “No, she is,” he assured me. “She’ll email you tomorrow, pass your info on, it’s all good.” Because I want this man to be my best friend, and because he's a working actor and comic who's been in the business many years, I trust his judgment.

That night, giddy with excitement but not one to count my chickens, I search for the woman online. After all, a writer for two of the most famous and popular shows on television must have an IMDB or a Wiki, right?

Well, not a damn thing came up. {RF} Um, this is 2012--if you are not on the internet, you do not exist. Even as a freelancer--especially as a freelancer--one should have a website so that people can know you're legit.

The next day, she did email, asking for a high-res picture she could send to NBC casting--perhaps I was just being negative. As I scrambled to find a good shot on my work comp, I noticed that the email came from a--let’s say schmachel.schmuben@aol.com. {RF} The woman I met introduced herself as let’s say Schmobbie Jones. Ok, maybe it’s an assistant, I thought to myself. So I decided to google the name in the email address, adding “NBC” “SNL,” “writer staff”—no dice. {RF}

As I'm pretending to be Garcia from "Criminal Minds," Schmobbie was sending emails like this:
Subject: 3 scripts printed I can mail
or do you want to meet briefly - it's rainy & i am writing /sent pitch to NBC west they like
your casting & brad gave you a rave as actress/ comedian - I am into the series it's
really got a got shot it's in the semi finals on west coast development/ anyway totally!
[insert rando alias] nbc 30 r

{RF} WHAT THE FUCK? The "semi finals"? Of what--America's Next Top CauCRAYsian?

At this point, I was glad I hadn't told anyone besides Jewboo and my mom.

I like to think of myself as Nancy Drew Must Not Know Bout Me, which means I'm never done sleuthing (imagine if this was an internet date!). I decided to contact a friend—ok, let’s be real, a Facebook friend—who writes for SNL and tell her about this person. She’s never heard of the woman! I email the comedian through whom I met this woman to let him know the status:

Hey B - Have you actually been called in for anything through [insert rando alias]? I can't find hide nor hair of her on the interwebs, and she said she wrote at SNL and my friend who's a writer there has never heard of her. Also got an email from her under the address [another random alias]@yahoo.com (sent to my youtube account) and schmachel.schmuben@aol.....Is she going to have us all gathered together for a sex party?
-N

He replies with:
Lol. No, she's legit. She writes freelance for snl.. So not a staff writer. And is one of the script supervisor's for 30Rock. She ain't Tina Fey or Lorne Michaels... But she's also not Kathy Bates in Misery...

Mmmmkay…..But I can't ignore the feeling in my gut. Much like young Christina Aguilera when she was a genie in a bottle, my body was sayin' let’s go (ahead and think you may be getting a great opportunity) but my heart was saying NO (this bitch is cray)!

The emails keep coming all week, with requests to meet for a read-through, phone calls telling me where the scripts have been dropped off for me to pick up, and emails cc’d to me and NBC exec producer Marci Klein, Bob Greenwalt, and others. If she was a fraud, wouldn't any of the NBC people on the emails--or one of their assistants or an intern--send a standard reply to those included on the chain so that they can head this off at the pass? And this "Schmobbie" woman hasn’t tried to extort money from me or put me in an ice bath so she can jack a kidney, so what exactly is her end-game?

Last night—exactly seven days after our initial meeting—my theories were confirmed. I went to the same bar from last week to pick up the scripts that this woman left for me, and the comic pulls me into the coat-check room as soon as he sees me. He's sighing and clutching his temples, and won't say anything until he's closed the barricade and tightly sequestered us in the corner of the dimly lit coatroom. (love my dramatic gays) “Did you get my email?” he asks tensely. Alas, no. I was out all day, and had just come from doing a shitty set at a comedy show in Harlem. He fills me in on his email, which was:

[One of the other comics embroiled in this mess] just texted me to say she was contacted by NBC legal regarding [this sketchy woman] and supposedly she is NOT affiliated with NBC and they're basically reaching out to people to make sure we steer clear of her. I'm waiting for [comic] to call me and give me more details and I'll let you know all I know... So stay tuned
Ps. I hate this business...


Y’all, I just don’t know what to say. I’m annoyed, depressed, and frustrated. People always tell me I’m being pessimistic, but then shit like this goes down, and I’m like, “I TOLD YOU IT WASN’T HAPPENIN’ FOR ME!” These out-of-control incidences are the kinds of unforgettable things that influence your outlook! Although I saw it comin’ a mile away, and I know the woman is sick and suffering, I can’t help but feel the following:

• If NBC knows about this woman, why couldn’t I have gotten a form-email saying that she wasn’t who she claimed to be? (she’d cc’d real NBC executives on our emails) I'm not saying I Marci Klein should have scooped me up in her arms, rocked me gently, and told me I was talented, but I mean, it's fuckin' NBC—I know they got auto-reply and an IT staff that’s probably got 19 PhDs among them. This lady wears a laminated NBC badge—really, they aren’t gonna take any recourse or help others avoid falling prey to her fuckery?
• How can this delusional woman involve so many young, hopeful actors into her elaborate lies?? She’s heartbreakin’ and impersonatin’!
• I’m trying to “suit up and show up,” as they say—do what I can, be open and honest, and try not to let the successes of people 10 years young and 20 pounds thinner make me feel bad. And yet, when I put myself out there in spite of my negativity, I’m met with mentally unstable hobbit-like creatures who are still emailing me about a green-lit pilot in which I'd play a 40-something-year-old former model. Yes, y’all—allegedly, there’s a read-through tonight at 10pm.

#DreamsDeferred

On an Up-Note:

It seems that Dave Chappelle and Chris Rock might go on tour together.
Reason to live? – Present!
Of course, Dave’s the wild card in this scenario, but if anyone could persuade him, it’s Chris “Solid As A” Rock. Fingers crossed! I'd love to be their roadie.

Even I didn't see this coming!

God, I can't believe it's been 12 days since my last post. Apologies, friends!

I meant to put this post up yesterday and got all kinds of sidetracked. Apparently, when you purchase a “Mattress in a Box” from Overstock.com, the condition of the box cannot be trusted. It’s tough to roll something when the wheels are broken off. It's even tougher to carry it when it's nearly 80 pounds. Luckily, there were a few good men willing to play their gender and my back is already out, so it didn't hurt much. I digress...

Guys, I’m really excited about Melissa McCarthy being nominated for an Oscar. I didn’t think Bridesmaids was as great as everyone said, but she was certainly the best part of that film. Every word out of her mouth was gold and she embodied the values of a SBW (Strong Black Woman). She reminds me why doing comedy is important--and shows that true talent can't be denied. Comedies are rarely acknowledged by the Academy, let alone comedic actresses. This is fucking HUGE!

Plus, she’s bff with Octavia Spencer, which makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

And also makes me want to become Octavia Spencer...

Of course, you probably want me to say a little something about Viola, Octavia, and The Help buzz. To those inquiring minds, all I have is this: I have no love for a film that centers on a kindly Caucasian recognizing racism and inequality. Emma Stone, I don’t need your Help!

Viola Davis is the new Angela Bassett of my heart, only even more versatile.* I want to be her when I grow up. I love what she has to say in interviews and she’s definitely a blacktress paving the way. But Viola should have won the Oscar for Doubt and that’s all I have to say.

So anyway, back to MMc--Which one of Megan’s hilarious moments do you think AMPAS will use for the nominee clip? I hope it’s the airplane scene with the air marshal.

*I’ll forgive her one Tyler Perry Production indiscretion, as I assume it involved some bad management and/or outstanding grad-school debt.

I think we could all learn a little something from this girl.

She is a young, white, Southern version of me.

The video really started to resonate with me when she started smushing her belly. I enjoy doing that, especially when I'm trying to prove why I'll never be a star of stage or screen.

I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I called someone "honey boo-boo child," I'd be a trillionaire. Nay--a chamillionaire!

Sidebar: I know kids are energetic, but does it kinda seem like Alana might be on meth or some other sort of stimulant?

Guys, I have to tell you about this rando show I did last night.*

*[Balls--I wrote this yesterday (Thurs) and thought I'd hit send.]

I did a set at a cabaret-type club as part of an inaugural “musical comedy variety show.”

Friends, let me let you in on a little “industry secret”: Comedy and music don’t mix very well, and stand-ups hate doing ‘variety’ shows. No one who is interested in either—or both—wants to view them at the same time. They require two different modes of engaging, one of which is passive and the other is much more of a dialogue. Basically, my point is, I was ready for it to be very awkward and uncomfortable. Add to that my lack of sleep and the small crowd, and it was really anybody’s game.

[Sidebar: Ugh, my coworker is trying to get us to pitch in to buy wedding gifts for two of our coworkers who are getting married (not to each other). I’m still pissed off about the waste of money that was The Yankee Swap. These people don’t pay me enough to waste my money. Besides, you’re about to marry the person you love more than anything and take three weeks off of work—as far as I’m concerned, you need to be getting me a consolation prize!]

Anyway, back to the show:
The order was: music – stand-up (a young Caucasian) – music – special musical guest – music – Sojourner – music.

The music was amazing. Although the mastermind behind it all was a delicate Canadian, white as the freshly driven show, she had some serious soul. It was like she got a shaman to steal the voices of Sarah Vaughn and Etta James. I went up to her and her bass player afterward and asked them what was in the water in British Columbia that made the youth so soulful. (Bass player posited it was animal urine. Oh, Canucks!)

It was a great show, but by the time I got on stage—following a jazz rendition of The Cardigans hit “Lovefool” (which was AMAZING)—I was damn-near asleep and thought I’d be a hot mess. The band was onstage during the set, so I had to make inappropriate comments to them, of course. I also dropped a lot of TRUTH BOMBS that they’re weren’t ready for, like the popularity of the Swedish dessert niggerbollen. After about three minutes, I just looked at the audience and said, “THIS IS HOW I DO, Y’ALL. GET IN IT TO WIN IT OR CHOOSE TO LOSE.”

It actually wasn’t that bad of a set, considering the small, jazz-loving crowd. I was accosted by two audience members post-show, which is always a sign of success. One of them was a cute fashionista (seriously; she worked in fashion) and the other was an honest-to-goodness CauCRAYsian.

Guys, I don’t know how to describe him. He just sort of happened to me. He came to the show late—about a minute into my set—and even if it had been crowded, he would have been impossible to miss. With long, thin brown hair (parted down the middle), large Hollywood-royalty sunglasses (yes, he wore them indoors), a floor-length Neo-like coat, and an ascot, he was like Ozzie Osbourne’s whimsical younger brother. He cracked up during my set, and as I was making my way to the door, he stopped me in my tracks.

“YOU!” he said, grabbing my face. “Darling, Darling, Darling!!!” He really enjoying rolling his r’s. I laughed, but before I could say anything, he leans in with his pillowy lips to kiss me on the mouth.
WHAT. THE. FUCK?!

I manage to turn my head (his grip was strong), saying, “Didn’t you pay attention to the words that were coming out of my mouth?! I have a Jewboo now and I’m a classy lady!”
He then plays it off in top form, saying, “Oh, yes, that is good. That was a test and you passed. We can now be friends.”
He then tells me that he loved “Caucasia” because he is Georgian—as in, from Georgia, aka the Caucasus region of Europe/Asia. Guys, he is FROM THE CAUCUS MOUNTAINS. HE IS AN ORIGINAL CAUCASIAN!

He then goes on to tell me that, if you were to talk to a Russian, they’d refer to him as “the name of those Swedish balls.” Apparently, the Georgians are looked down upon. Between his minority status and Caucasian roots, he decided we were best friends. He refused to let go of me and demanded I accompany him to Marie’s Crisis, a basement piano bar where everyone’s a diva. I explained that I had to go. of course, there was a time not so long ago, when I would have hung out with this random pillowy-lipped, likely herpetic Georgia until 4am, just for the 10 minutes of material later on.

But I’m a new woman, with chronic fatigue, a tender lover, and a penchant for baked goods. Oh, and I’m now a blogger for a movie website! Check it out.