I have EXHALED!

Whew child! You know these last couple weeks have been straight out of the Mayans Guide to the End of the World (now in paperback). With Hurricane Sandy and the election, I didn't know if it was okay to keep breathing, let alone have dreams! Luckily, I can now write to you with the comfort that comes from knowing that our president is not Mitt Romney and our VP is not Paul Ryan--and that my vagina is still a safe space!

Look, I'm not someone who believes Obama is a god (although I do wish he could be my dad and Joe Biden be my baby daddy!). But I am almost 100% sure that Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan are minions of Satan, so I'm happy with how things went down. For me personally, as an able-bodied, heterosexual, college-educated female in NYC, I'm somewhat sure that if the Republicans had gotten their way, I would have been inconvenienced, but mostly ok--I'd currently be packing up all my shit, figuring out how to break my lease, and asking around about how to find work in Canada (would they love a blacktress?). Plus, Jewboo probably wouldn't want to move and then we'd have to negotiate a long-distance relationship (which would probably work well since I wouldn't be able to afford birth control). I really didn't feel like starting over, so I'm glad I get 4 more years in America. Perhaps by then I will be a powerful celebrity in the vein of Brangelina and able to help the Dems hold it down yet again. 

Of course, many of us have joked about moving to Canada when the political climate got colder than life in the D, but I am for SERIOUS. I know Obama has let folks down, but I never expected him to be a magical negro, so I'm cool. And, quite frankly, I hate that the race was even close in some states. It proves that there's still so much to be done, and it's crucial that the energy that built over this election (and actually carried over on election day) be maintained as the president struggles to work with many Republicans who are dedicated to his demise. I found an NYTimes opinion piece that succinctly articulates why Tuesday's results were so hopeful:

Still, Mr. Obama’s victory did not show a united country. Richer Americans supported Mr. Romney, while poorer Americans tended to vote for Mr. Obama. There also remained clear divisions among voters by gender, age, race and religion.

African-Americans and Hispanics overwhelmingly supported Mr. Obama. White men voted for Mr. Romney; he won among those who said they opposed gay marriage, wanted to outlaw abortion, or favored mass deportation of illegal immigrants. None of those are majority positions in this country anymore. ... The polls were heartening in that they indicated that a solid majority of Americans believe abortion should be legal, and that half of Americans now say their states should recognize marriages between same-sex couples.

Of course, I added the underlines. To me, the election of Romney/Ryan would have been indicative of a growing hatred for minorities of all kinds (ethnic, racial, socioeconomic, sexual orientation)--and I would have had to get the hell out of dodge.

Besides, do we really think it's okay for one man to have his own planet and his own country?

Chris Rock: Always Speakin' Truth to Comedic Power

Please forward widely to the most Caucasian people you know--especially the ones over the age of 55. We're down to the wire, people!

Are You There, Michelle? It's Me, Blacktress.

Chills, chills, chills. I can't even cope. She's brilliant. Sidebar: I would like to start a kickstarter campaign to have dinner with the Obama family. He can help me strategize friendships and we'll talk about what ain't right!

Go Shawty, it's yer burfday.....

Today's Obama's birthday!!! YAY!! The chocolate silver fox turns a sexy 48 years old today, and I'm ready to go all Marilyn Monroe on his fine ass!

What do you think the security guards will do if I rock up to the White House and jump out of a birthday cake on the front lawn? Will I be tasered, or will they fall in love with me? I just feel like it'd be a good time to wish him birthday goodness, as well as thank him for my reparations, which finally came through. Holla!

What reparations? You may be asking. I got a scholarship to take FREE improv classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre (UCB), a well-known institution in NYC. Basically, some very liberal and bright member of Caucasia who interns there made a shocking discovery: improv is the realm of straight White boys. She decided to do something about it, and got them to implement a Diversity program. Thanks to Obama, black is the new black, and people are coming out of the woodwork to show some love to the Talented Tenth. UCB decided to jump on that bandwagon and offered up some freebies to 16 people of color.

No, no, I didn't just get it for being black--I got it for being young, gifted, and black, as well as the friend of an influential gay visionary. Comedian Jeff Hiller was telling me about the program and I was initially interested in recruiting, but without telling me, Jeffster ended up nominating me for it! Holla at a nomination--I feel like Taraji P. Henson, and this is my Benjamin Button!
Reason #256 that I love a gay man: They are not afraid to lift up a strong black woman.

I had my second class last night, and so far it's going pretty well. I'd taken a couple UCB classes before, but I could never really get into it--it's such a cult, and everyone there is into name-dropping who they've studied with, and all work really hard to be funny. Add to that the fact that it is indeed a boys club, and there just left little for the blacktress to desire. However, it is a great place to be if you want to make it in the comedy world, as anyone who's anyone starts out there. I see tons of UCB people working as talking heads on VH1 (you know, I love the 80s, Best Groundhog's Day Ever, stuff like that), and even see former teachers on "The Office" and "Parks and Recreation." I know that if I want to reach the masses, I gotta take some classes!

So I'm getting in it to win it. I'm making friends with established performers, and vowing to see more shows. Even though I'm a little rusty, my scenes have been pretty strong, and the teacher isn't calling me out, which is always good. The people in the class are all nice, and are grasping concepts quickly, but the humour isn't necessarily strong. That's fine by me, though. If they can at least not fuck up the scenes, then I'm good to go. My teacher is also so tender and smart. He's the Michelle Pfeiffer to my improvisational Dangerous Mind, if you will.

But let me bring this back to the man of the day: Birthday Boy Barack.
Without him, I might not have gotten these reparations. He's proving that 48 is the new 28, and without him I wouldn't even be blogging this right now.

Happy Birthday, Barack! I hope you like your jaunty bday hat!

I Cannot Watch This Without Cracking Up

The rhymes aren't the cleverest, but the hook just has me rolling.

Clearly I spend way too much time on youtube.

Oh, and these last few posts are my way of stalling since I don't know how to begin to write about the fact that I am totes crushing on my very own real-life Weasley twin. Like, for serious. This is an even bigger crush than the one I have on my podiatrist.

And, in line with the tragedy of my life, he is leaving Sydney in about 10 days to spend the next TWO YEARS in Canada!

Fucking Canada.

I Cannot Watch This Without Tearing Up

It's Been A Long Time Coming.....

I think my favorite part would have to be Malia's pre-inauguration pep talk. Here's a quote from the Prez, found on This Week With Barack Obama:

For Barack Obama's historic Inaugural Address:

"And then we go and look at...Lincoln's second inaugural'' etched on the wall of the memorial, Obama said, recounting his daughters' remarks to him. "And Sasha looks up, and she says, 'Boy, that's a long speech. Do you have to give one of those?' I said, 'Actually, that one's pretty short. Mine may even be a little longer.'

"At which point, then Malia turns to me and says, 'First African-American president. Better be good.''

Oh, Malia, it was SOOOO GOOD!!! While I wished I could have been at home--or, even better, in DC--watching it bleary-eyed at 4am, then again at the Democrats Abroad inauguration party, I felt the same chills I felt on election night.

So, um, Michelle, I'm sending in my application to be the girls' governess. I've got the reading list all set, and have no problem picking up dog poop.

Yes We DID!!!

There were news cameras everywhere. When CNN showed images of Sydney, Australia, it was where I was. I got a text message from my Aussie mum saying I was on Australian news tonight. I traded numbers with countless people, suddenly bound by this camaraderie--so many of us joked that if it didn't go well, we were staying in Australia. I even asked one rando Aussie if he'd marry me. He laughed, then said "I don't know your name."
"Don't get caught up in details; this is a marriage of convenience."

I didn't think I would be crying today, but I was. Repeatedly.
When the jumbo screen tuned to CNN said "President-Elect Barack Obama" I felt more than I thought I would.
I felt a pride unprecedented. I felt as though who I was is now somehow more right, more worthy, because of what happened today. When I saw the First Family walk out and greet their crowd, my tears started flowing again. I couldn't stop. That this is finally America, this is seen as worthy, intelligent, beautiful, strong, powerful, positive. It's, as Sam Cooke sang, been a long time coming.

And maybe I don't have the right to feel that. Of course, there are still many red states, and I am not Obama.
But today, in Sydney, Australia, at the Democrats Abroad election coverage, I was surrounded by Americans, Australians, even Brits and Danes--and there was a sense of, as Aussies would say, "Good on ya, America."


Check out this shirt, worn by an Aussie guy:

Western Australians for CHANGE.

Since I've been here, I've gotten into so many conversations about the election. As I discussed Obama with one Aussie, she said something that stuck with me: "Like it or not, America's a superpower. When America sneezes, the whole world catches a cold."
With that kind of thinking, we owed it to ourselves to at least try something different. And today, not only did that happen, but we undermined the very foundation on which this country was built.

I missed being at home today, but I also felt, for the first time, that I was not alone over here. I hugged Aboriginals, I cried with people I'd never met. One Aboriginal man said to me, "You know, when there are whites and blacks at a party in Australia, the room is divided. You are seeing right now, what change is."

It seems that this time, America is spreading something that people actually want to catch.

Think About It...

I have a lot to share about this past weekend, but my ability to engage in fun bloggery is hampered by the fact that, in addition to meeting randoms and wishing I was 50 years old, the black community--no, not just the black community, but the WORLD--has lost two great blacktors.

On Saturday morning, blacktor/comedian Bernie Mac died of pneumonia.

This morning (Sunday), blacktor/songwriter/singer Isaac Hayes was pronounced dead at a hospital in Memphis.

"Sojourner, shut yo' mouth!" you may say with disbelief.
"I'm just talking about Isaac Hayes and Bernie Mac," would be my response. (You know, in the style of the song)

Yes, Isaac Hayes-- best known for the theme song to Shaft, and later as Chef on South Park-- was only 65 years young.

Black visionaries are dropping like flies.

OMG, this just in (from three days ago): blacktor Morgan Freeman (freeman)was in a car accident on August 4. Luckily, he's doing okay after surgery on his arm. I knew Morgan would pull through--the man has a bucket list--you can't kill him!

What is happening to these men? Do you think THE MAN (you know the one I mean) is trying to send Barack a message? He's getting too big for his black britches, and they have to let him know they could end him?

Oh, Sojourner and her conspiracy theories.

But it seems I'm not alone. Check out this piece of spam that came to my work email this morning:

Yesterday, it was Bernie Mac. Today it was Isaac Hayes. Could Samuel Jackson be next?

Daryl Toor, president of Attention!, an Atlanta based publicity firm, a former music reviewer and record company executive notes:

"This photograph, taken from Isaac Hayes' official site at http://www.isaachayes.com/myframes.html is as eerie as the time I read a newspaper obituary on its own obituary writer…."

D. Toor
CEO & Chief Awareness Officer
dtoor@attentiongroup.com


Daryl Toor is searching for the TRUTH!

But, seriously-- think about it... Here's some help from Flight of the Conchords. They know what's up.

Black Love

One time, I was watching an episode of Being Bobby Brown (who is right up there with Flava Flav on my list of “why black people can’t have nice things”) and Bobby and Whitney were talking as someone was applying Whitney’s makeup. Clearly, unclear of the rule no. 1 of reality-television acting (do NOT play for the camera), Bobby started talking about how Whitney was unable to…um…relieve herself earlier in the day, and how he had to…um…stick his finger up her butt to “loosen things up.”

I kid you not.

Whitney, of course, was yelling at him to stop talking, but she was too cracked out to be coherent—and I’m sure being Whitney’s husband teaches you to tune out 90% of the things that are said to you. Anyway, Bobby concluded this riveting story by saying, “That’s black love.”-- and Whitney agreed.

I remember thinking to myself, “Really? Is it?”
If that’s black love, I want no part of it.
I would sooner eat a ducolax pie with flaxseed sprinkles than have someone I love stick their finger up my butt—that’s just not how I roll.

For some reason, two-plus years later, I still remember that portion of the show, and sometimes think of it when I see two possible drug addicts in love. But I also found myself thinking of it this morning, when I saw this photo on the cover of one of the free papes:


HOW GREAT IS THAT?!!!?!?!?!?!?
That is what I call black love!!!

I haven’t really been blogging about the election, because I’m certainly not the smartest political person, and there are millions doing it already, but I must say, this picture brightened my spirits—and my faith in black love. For months now, I’ve blogged about the search for winter spoons and love, and really, when it comes down to it, all I really want is to be the Michelle to someone’s Barack. I know Barack himself is taken and hard to come by, so when I say this, I mean a tall, handsome, driven man, with the smarts and the cool to make big things happen—and who can handle a strong black woman!!!

At 5’11”, the statuesque and brilliant Michelle Obama first came into Barack’s life as his boss--how gangsta is that?! Homegirl handed him his timesheets and told him to put in some OT with her! She’s been poised and confident on the campaign trail, but hasn’t been a boring fly on the wall. She dresses to thrill—this purple number with the black belt is fiercer than an America’s Next Top Model marathon—and she is my she-ro (you know, my female hero).

I can’t wait for us to have a black first lady. I just really can’t. It’s a blacktresses dream come true.

Oh yeah, and a black president. I love Barack’s international perspective and multi-racial identity. If he’s president, we won’t bomb a damn body—can you imagine?! Barack will be like, “No, we can’t drop bombs there, my cousin lives over there!”
And that’s how you stop war.

From now on, I will only pound up to those I really love—or give, as the paper called it, “the fist bump of hope.”

Chris Rock: Bringer of TRUTH

My life is forever changed. Last night, at Madison Square Garden, I saw Chris Rock perform live.

He is my everything.

His second NYC stop on the “No Apologies” tour, Mr. Rock performed before a packed, diverse crowd—bankers with popped collars, black bourgeoisie, mami’s with jeans painted on their rear, Sojourner and her mother and one of my soul sisters. As I walked in with the masses and surveyed the crowd, my first thought was, “damn, this would be a good place to meet a hottie. Any dude who sprung for Chris Rock tickets must not only be gainfully employed, but also unafraid of the TRUTH.”

After I put my loins on hold (I was with mamadukes, after all—how much game could I kick?), I marveled at how this man could bring in people from all walks of life. True, it’s NYC, but not everything’s gone gentrified. Chris Rock is one of the loudest, fiercest, MOST TRUTHFUL black people in entertainment—even more truthful than Sojourner herself. He goes where many people don’t want to, and as he titled his tour, he’s making NO APOLOGIES.

And he’s a millionaire.
This is what we fought for when we wanted to get free. I believe Chris Rock is what Garvey meant when he talked about THE TALENTED TENTH.

With the election, the Sean Bell verdict, and the general crappiness of our society, I knew Mr. Rock would have no shortage of material. Coming in at just under 2 hours, it was a comedian’s opus, the longest speech I will ever sit through without not only falling asleep, but also being engaged, enlightened, and entertained.

Okay, enough praising my future baby daddy—it’s no surprise Sojo loves Chris. Let me share some of his best nuggets of TRUTH.

On McCain: “How is he gonna make decisions about the future when’s not gonna be here?! I don’t want a president with a bucket list!!!”

On Hilary: “You gonna go to work in the same office your husband got blow jobs? Ain’t no amount of redecorating in the world gonna fix that... ‘Oh, the oval office—we’ve turned that into the rectangle office”
I never even thought of Hilary taking office in that way. I died.

Hilary, cont’d: “If you can’t beat a nigger named Obama in Nebraska, you don’t deserve to be president!! They only sold 4 copies of Thriller in Nebraska—and two of them was returned!”

Obama: “He’s just too cool man, Obama. Is. Cool. And he really thinks he’s gonna win this thing fair and square. He really thinks the votes are gonna speak for themselves...”
Funny cause it’s true and funny cause it’s sad.

General: “What the fuck is a super delegate? They didn’t bring those in 'til a Black man started running and stood a chance. I been watching elections for years and I ain’t never heard of a super delegate til now. Apparently, some white people count as NINE!”

On celebrity: “I gotta do a good show tonight, or else they gonna take my kids—look at Britney. Those boys looked healthy, had no knots upside they heads—but she fucked up those MTV awards and those babies were gone!”
Celebrity, cont’d: “In order for black people to get where they need to be, Flava Flav must be killed. On TV. After Dancing With the Stars. [pause, audience laughs] You think I’m joking? Please, if McCain wanted to beat Obama right now, all he’d have to do is bring Flava Flav on tv.
McCain: Flav, what do you think of global warming?
Flav: Yeah, BOIIIIYYYY!!!!
John McCain. In no way connected to Flava Flav.

(This bit really touched my heart, as you all know my feelings on flava flav. I felt like Chris and I had a mind meld. He, too, wants black people to have nice things.)

On race: “But you notice how quick they take some white kids? Those kids get saved quick—they just rounded up a whole lot of ‘em in Texas....But they’ll let a black kid stay. Look at Bobby and Whitney—Bobbi Kristina can’t get any help. They figure, she's black, things are gonna be tough enough. Look at OJ—they let him have the kids AND he went on tv talking about the tough times being a single dad. OJ, you can’t complain when you killed the mother!!!”

Race cont’d: “Black women hate some interracial dating. They hate seeing a black man with a white woman. But you know why? That’s cause black women don’t want a white man. A Black man will sleep with any ol’ white woman, but black women won’t take some run-of-the-mill white dude. Oh, they'll sleep with the pretty ones, the George Clooneys, Brad Pitts, but not those average dudes.. If you see a black woman with some overweight, George Constanza-looking dude, she is with him for one reason: her credit is fucked up!!!”

On terror: “Okay, I know this may sound all Reverend Wright, but what happened to looking for Bin Laden? I don’t think he’s real. I mean, think about it: a 7-foot-tall Muslim who lives in a cave and makes video tapes. We can’t find him, but he always leaves a tape. This man can find electricity in a cave, but we can’t find him?! Bin Laden and Tupac are sitting somewhere making mix tapes!”

I mean, I could go on, but I won't. You'll have to wait for the tape.


He brings the truth, the whole truth, and he needs to be married to SOJOURNER TRUTH, so help me god!

Who Likes to (Ba)rack the Party?!

Okay, so I know the plan was to discuss a Negro a day for the entire month, but I must first spread some truth.

I, Sojourner, am angry.

I woke up this morning to change the world—aka VOTE—and headed to my polling site with a purpose.

I arrived at the school where I’ve been voting for years to find the entry gates locked. I walked the perimeter until I found an entrance. A kindly master of the custodial arts (aka janitor) informed me that the school was no longer a polling site, and I had to go 6 blocks north to PS 194.

Oh hell to the no!! How did I not get a memo? Why wasn’t there at least a sign on the school gates and/or entryway to inform all of us rabid voters that there had been a change?

As I walked to the next site trying to calm my nerves and focus on rocking the vote, I was accosted by independents, urging me vote as one of them. I think my favorite was a White woman wearing a shirt that read: “WHO SAYS HILLARY’S BEST FOR THE BLACK COMMUNITY????”

If that’s not gentrification, I don’t know what is.

Anyway, I appear at the second voting site only to be told that I’m yet again in the wrong place—apparently, I have to cross the street and go to another school.
W. T. F?!

I’m sorry, y’all, but I have a conspiracy theory. They don’t want Negroes voting today. Why else would they make it a mystery maze to get to a voting site and in no way place visual cues? Why was my voting site 10 blocks from my home when I am near 3 schools and 4 churches?

Because they don’t want me SPEAKING MY TRUTH!

Yep, I said it. They are making it as complicated and confusing as possible for me to pull my lever to the left, to the left (much like Beyoncé says).

Is it because they don’t want my black behind voting for…BARACK????

Which brings me to today’s Negro: Barack Obama.

Now, Sojo hasn’t gotten too political this year, and I’ve done this on purpose. Everybody and their mama wants to put two cents into this debate. And, while that’s all well and good, I’m gonna keep my pennies for my damn self.

I must admit, I never thought I’d see the day we were torn between a black man and a woman (even if that woman is a cyborg). I’ve been on this earth over 200 years (I’m still looking good cause black don’t crack!), and I have seen some changes. I mean, when I saw Brad Pitt holding that black baby girl for the first time, I almost lost my mind. I thought it was the end of days…but now I see the days are just beginning.

Barack.
Hillary.

Black everyman.

White woman.

I’m mad at both of ‘em.

They’re forcing me to decide how liberal I am and which minority I care more about. As a black woman, I’m doubly torn. As a bleeding-heart liberal, well I’m just racked with guilt either way.

I’m worried that if Barack is president, he’ll get shot before Michelle can put new drapes in the oval office. If Hillary is president, I will get Bill back, which would make me happy because I miss him very much. I sometimes put on my favorite blue dress and reminisce on our good times….

I digress.

We all know everyone loves a mixie. And we all love a worldly man. Barack is both. And he has used his fine brownness and brought young, attractive people out of the woodwork. Look at this music video:

politics gets rhythmic!

Scarlett Johannson sings and Tatyana Ali comes out of hiding—all for Barack!!!
(um…why’s the lead actor from “Prime” and that random pussycat doll in there, though?)

YES. WE. CAN.

I know he’s young and delicate. I know he’s not as experienced as H-320-2008 is (that’s her robot name). What’s working for him the friendly charisma that allows me to make him anything I want him to be. He’s like the cool black kid in private school—the white boys totally want to hang out with him and ask him the lyrics to popular rap songs. Who didn’t want to be friends with that guy?!

Um, here’s a question, though: Where’s the white mum and his Asian sis? Is he keeping her quiet and in hiding, like some sort of geisha?!

Let’s think about that.