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.
Showing posts with label Oppression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oppression. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
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.
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:
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
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:
Monday, December 27, 2010
Oppressed During Kwanzaa
Habari Gani, gentle readers!! That means 'What's the news?' in Swahili, and is used as the traditional greeting each of the 7 days of Kwanzaa. As you all know, "Kwanzaa" means "After Christmas Sales," and was invented in 1967. I won't bore you with all the Kwanzaa details, seeing as it's basically a remix of Hannukah, and I don't think we can get too wrapped up in any holiday invented after TVs came in color. The gist of it is that there are seven principles, one for each day. They are as follows:
12/26 - Umoja - Unity
12/27 - Kujichagulia - Self-Determination
12/28 - Ujima - Collective Work and Responsibility (who knew one little word could mean so much?!)
12/29 - Ujamaa - Cooperative Economics
12/30 - Nia - Purpose (not to be confused with blacktress Nia Long, for whom I have always had a Love Jones)
12/31 - Kuumba - Creativity (not to be confused with the fellow who went to White Castle with Harold)
1/1 - Imani - Faith (not to be confused with the supermodel and miscegenator)
Today, I am seriously running on Kujichagulia, y'all. I am in Detroit visiting the G-unit (you know you gotta holla at your granny when she's 94.5!) with mamadukes, and it has all gone horribly, horribly wrong. What was supposed to be a 56-hour visit is now a 5-day campout, as the blizzard of 2010 has NY airports closed and our flight postponed for three days!!!
Al was right when he called it an inconvenient truth.
As I was kept on hold by CUNTinental Airlines for 2 hours and 34 minutes, after which point their automated machine got tired of replaying itself and they hung up, I tried to be positive. Yeah, delays suck, and yeah, it's better that we weren't stuck in the airport, but the facts remain:
- I packed only 2 pair of underwear.
- My mother and I are stuck in Michigan without a car.
- My mother and I can only interact in 3-hour increments before we start to hate each other.
- I have heaps of work to do, but all of it is in NYC.
- We are stuck in Detroit, Michigan, for three extra days.
I don't know if you guys have been following me on the Twitter lately, but you might want to look for the hash tag ChristmasInDetroit. Everyone's been in top crazy form, with my aunt asking me to "get the voices back on the computer" (it's my fault for answering her initial question "do you know how to use a computer?" with a yes), and my cousin giving me a "grab bag" for Christmas. Its contents: slipper-socks, a $15 Pier 1 Imports gift card, and a 6-pack sampler of KY warming lubricant.
'Tis the season, y'all.
Last night, we went to a family gathering held by the folks on the other side of the family (my aunt's husband's crew), and as I ate a bit of type-2 diabetes-inducing peach cobbler, I watched some of the older folks dance. I was a bit alarmed when I noticed that a 50-something-year-old gentleman had a gun clipped to his hip.
Yes, y'all--he was ready to bust a cap in someone's ass.
When I pointed it out to my mom and we laughed, my aunt told us that it's legal to carry a gun in Detroit (#whyblackpeoplecan'thavenicethings), and my cousin told me that he and his wife also keep guns. When I asked him where his was he said, "Mine in the car, it's family time." Good to know.
The evening culminated in a "dance contest" in which all children under the age of 14 had to participate. We were urged to put in a dollar for the "winning pot." As children popped, locked, and flipped as the adults urged them on, I admired the ingenuity--with the kids dancing, we had the music, entertainment, and family bonding in one fell swoop. As Aunt Hannah counted out singles to make sure there were enough for every kid to get some, I worried: were we creating a new generation of strippers, children eager for dollar bills that signified acceptance?
Tonight, as I was driven back home after picking up food (everything in my grandmother's house is salt-free and doesn't require chewing), we passed "D&L Market," a grocery store. Along the side, however, it advertised Check Cashing - Beer & Wine - Lotto - Pawn - Poultry
Oh, Detroit..... You are what keeps Tyler Perry rich. How on earth could one shop offer so much? Something's obviously getting short shrift (my guess is the poultry).
According to Wikipedia (my source for all things ethnic and newfangled), the self-determination of kujichagulia means 'to define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves, and speak for ourselves.'
As my mother gets angry at me for eating too long (her exact words were, "you been at the table damn near an hour!") I am working to define myself as someone who can process her anger in a healthy manner, instead of lashing out at the woman who birthed me. I am naming myself as a strong black woman, instead of "the cause of her mother's hot flashes." And, since mamadukes is looking at me with a sideways glance every time I breathe with conviction, I am taking to my blog so that I can speak for myself.
All right, y'all, I've officially been out of my grandmother's sight for 20 minutes, and she's starting to yell. Luckily, I can use the fact that the thermostat is set at 82 degrees (I kid you not) as an explanation for why I had to step outside.
xoxo,
blacktress!
12/26 - Umoja - Unity
12/27 - Kujichagulia - Self-Determination
12/28 - Ujima - Collective Work and Responsibility (who knew one little word could mean so much?!)
12/29 - Ujamaa - Cooperative Economics
12/30 - Nia - Purpose (not to be confused with blacktress Nia Long, for whom I have always had a Love Jones)
12/31 - Kuumba - Creativity (not to be confused with the fellow who went to White Castle with Harold)
1/1 - Imani - Faith (not to be confused with the supermodel and miscegenator)
Today, I am seriously running on Kujichagulia, y'all. I am in Detroit visiting the G-unit (you know you gotta holla at your granny when she's 94.5!) with mamadukes, and it has all gone horribly, horribly wrong. What was supposed to be a 56-hour visit is now a 5-day campout, as the blizzard of 2010 has NY airports closed and our flight postponed for three days!!!
Al was right when he called it an inconvenient truth.
As I was kept on hold by CUNTinental Airlines for 2 hours and 34 minutes, after which point their automated machine got tired of replaying itself and they hung up, I tried to be positive. Yeah, delays suck, and yeah, it's better that we weren't stuck in the airport, but the facts remain:
- I packed only 2 pair of underwear.
- My mother and I are stuck in Michigan without a car.
- My mother and I can only interact in 3-hour increments before we start to hate each other.
- I have heaps of work to do, but all of it is in NYC.
- We are stuck in Detroit, Michigan, for three extra days.
I don't know if you guys have been following me on the Twitter lately, but you might want to look for the hash tag ChristmasInDetroit. Everyone's been in top crazy form, with my aunt asking me to "get the voices back on the computer" (it's my fault for answering her initial question "do you know how to use a computer?" with a yes), and my cousin giving me a "grab bag" for Christmas. Its contents: slipper-socks, a $15 Pier 1 Imports gift card, and a 6-pack sampler of KY warming lubricant.
'Tis the season, y'all.
Last night, we went to a family gathering held by the folks on the other side of the family (my aunt's husband's crew), and as I ate a bit of type-2 diabetes-inducing peach cobbler, I watched some of the older folks dance. I was a bit alarmed when I noticed that a 50-something-year-old gentleman had a gun clipped to his hip.
Yes, y'all--he was ready to bust a cap in someone's ass.
When I pointed it out to my mom and we laughed, my aunt told us that it's legal to carry a gun in Detroit (#whyblackpeoplecan'thavenicethings), and my cousin told me that he and his wife also keep guns. When I asked him where his was he said, "Mine in the car, it's family time." Good to know.
The evening culminated in a "dance contest" in which all children under the age of 14 had to participate. We were urged to put in a dollar for the "winning pot." As children popped, locked, and flipped as the adults urged them on, I admired the ingenuity--with the kids dancing, we had the music, entertainment, and family bonding in one fell swoop. As Aunt Hannah counted out singles to make sure there were enough for every kid to get some, I worried: were we creating a new generation of strippers, children eager for dollar bills that signified acceptance?
Tonight, as I was driven back home after picking up food (everything in my grandmother's house is salt-free and doesn't require chewing), we passed "D&L Market," a grocery store. Along the side, however, it advertised Check Cashing - Beer & Wine - Lotto - Pawn - Poultry
Oh, Detroit..... You are what keeps Tyler Perry rich. How on earth could one shop offer so much? Something's obviously getting short shrift (my guess is the poultry).
According to Wikipedia (my source for all things ethnic and newfangled), the self-determination of kujichagulia means 'to define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves, and speak for ourselves.'
As my mother gets angry at me for eating too long (her exact words were, "you been at the table damn near an hour!") I am working to define myself as someone who can process her anger in a healthy manner, instead of lashing out at the woman who birthed me. I am naming myself as a strong black woman, instead of "the cause of her mother's hot flashes." And, since mamadukes is looking at me with a sideways glance every time I breathe with conviction, I am taking to my blog so that I can speak for myself.
All right, y'all, I've officially been out of my grandmother's sight for 20 minutes, and she's starting to yell. Luckily, I can use the fact that the thermostat is set at 82 degrees (I kid you not) as an explanation for why I had to step outside.
xoxo,
blacktress!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Apparently, He No Longer Has a Hold on Anyone
Y'all, I got another rando press release today at work. The subject line was cut off, but what I could see read "SMOKEY ROBINSON MEDIA BLITZ S---"
What?! Smokey Robinson? Homey's still alive and blitzing it up?! I obviously double-clicked on that shizz post haste.
Apparently, Smokey has a new album out, y'all. It's called "Now and Then." This is exciting--the man's a legend, and he's still got it! I was ready to call up my mom and tell her the good news when I read the introduction. Tell me what's wrong with this paragraph, y'all (it has not in any way been altered):
Nashville, TN – Legendary hit-maker Smokey Robinson will commence a media flurry, visiting national media in Nashville and New York to promote his highly anticipated album, Now and Then, which hits Cracker Barrel Old Country Store locations on November 1st.
In addition, Smokey will tape segments for The Weather Channel, Fox Entertainment feed, LXNY, NYC Profiles, ABC Nightline, and Hannity.
Cracker Barrel?! They selling Smokey's albums in Cracker Muthafuckin' Barrel Old Country Stores?! Y'all, this is the man who brought us such mega hits as “Shop Around,” “Tracks of My Tears,” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me.” He is a living legend--and they can't even put his ish on Amazon?!
Smokey is too good for CRACKER BARREL! I call that restaurant "Barrel of Crackers," cause when I stopped at one by the roadside, I didn't see a black person anywhere. In fact, every person in the place turned and looked at us, which I know took a lot of work, because most of them didn't have necks.
And what's this "Weather Channel" foolishness? What about VH1 or BET?! And Hannity?! WTF?! Y'all, I can't cope with this foolishness. Smokey needs to get some new representation, stat.
Don't worry, Smokey--you still got a hold on Sojo!
What?! Smokey Robinson? Homey's still alive and blitzing it up?! I obviously double-clicked on that shizz post haste.
Apparently, Smokey has a new album out, y'all. It's called "Now and Then." This is exciting--the man's a legend, and he's still got it! I was ready to call up my mom and tell her the good news when I read the introduction. Tell me what's wrong with this paragraph, y'all (it has not in any way been altered):
Nashville, TN – Legendary hit-maker Smokey Robinson will commence a media flurry, visiting national media in Nashville and New York to promote his highly anticipated album, Now and Then, which hits Cracker Barrel Old Country Store locations on November 1st.
In addition, Smokey will tape segments for The Weather Channel, Fox Entertainment feed, LXNY, NYC Profiles, ABC Nightline, and Hannity.
Cracker Barrel?! They selling Smokey's albums in Cracker Muthafuckin' Barrel Old Country Stores?! Y'all, this is the man who brought us such mega hits as “Shop Around,” “Tracks of My Tears,” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me.” He is a living legend--and they can't even put his ish on Amazon?!
Smokey is too good for CRACKER BARREL! I call that restaurant "Barrel of Crackers," cause when I stopped at one by the roadside, I didn't see a black person anywhere. In fact, every person in the place turned and looked at us, which I know took a lot of work, because most of them didn't have necks.
And what's this "Weather Channel" foolishness? What about VH1 or BET?! And Hannity?! WTF?! Y'all, I can't cope with this foolishness. Smokey needs to get some new representation, stat.
Don't worry, Smokey--you still got a hold on Sojo!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Celebratin' YK 2K10
Hey gang!!
So, I’ve been doing this new thing where I get to the plantation an hour early (and promptly fuck around online), just so I can get a moment’s peace (as my grandmother would say) before the massa and annoying coworkers get here, all up in my George Foreman, demanding my time. The last three weeks have been beyond cray cray, with one of the main editors out because his wife just had twins, our art director transferred to Colorado, and New Massa generally being unpredictable, dramatic, and demanding. I think the highlight was when I got to my desk after Labor Day weekend and saw a postcard on my desk. The picture on the card was of 6 drag queens in a forest on Fire Island. On the back my boss had written:
"Found this card in the local grocery store on the island. Can you guess which one is yours truly?"
Yes, yes I can. The one in light-pink taffeta.
Of course, I love a gay visionary, and if he wasn’t so bitchy and untrustworthy, I’d be in love.
Although the plantation is beating down on me like the hot Mississippi sun, I am pleased to report that things with Jewboo are beyond tender. This past Saturday was our 6 month-aversary, and he took it to the next level by giving me the key to his APARTMENT!!! Um, this is out of control. I have a key to the crib. Granted, a blacktress isn’t liable to be jetting back-and-forth to Greenpoint, Brooklyn, but this means that I can officially be his Urkel, rocking up unexpectedly whenever I want to. This is so perfect for my stalker tendencies.
We look so much alike, y'all. Trust me. It's uncanny.
In addition to giving me the key (a move that is straight out of an episode of Grey’s Anatomy), he’s also making me a mix CD, and rumor has it (from his roommate) that it’s TWO DISCS. Um, I think we all know how I feel about making a mix tape for a lover. It’s so real. And since he’s basically a real-life version of the main character in Nick Hornby’s book “High Fidelity,” I know this is equally important to him.
So, some of you may be thinking, “Um, Sojourner, this is a key and some music—you need to be cool.” To those of you, I say: stop hating on me like Willow Smith; if you’ve been a long-time reader, you know I’ve been through some man hell and we need to praise black Jesus for the little things! And if music and keys don’t move you, how’s about this:
This Friday, at 5:30pm, I board a bus bound for Reading, Pennsylvania, where I will spend the weekend celebrating YOM KIPPUR!!!!
Blacktress is about to Jew it up, y’all!!! For those of you who don’t know, let me copy and paste from good ol’ Wikipedia:
Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement, is one of the holiest days of the year for Jews. Its central themes are atonement and repentance. Jews traditionally observe this holy day with a 25-hour period of fasting and intensive prayer, often spending most of the day in synagogue services.
Yes, y’all. A lot of my friends are saying this is serious, since Yom Kippur is such a holy day. I must say I’m a bit nervous. According to the Internet, not only can I not eat or drink (not even water!) for 24 hours, I can’t even apply lotions!
Jewboo is about to have a blacktress hungry and ashy up in the suburbs!
I have no idea how I’m supposed to make a good impression under such circumstances. When I don’t eat, I get grumpy as hell, y’all. When I’m dry, I feel unpretty, like TLC. Add to that the fact that I gotta sit up in synagogue for the afternoon and I gotta wonder—are these really the chosen people???
Look at this oil painting from 1878. These peeps look hungry and tired as all get-out. Everyone's leaning on stuff for survival, trying to make it through with their low blood sugar. Matisyahu's standing over the guy with the Talmud (is that what it is? I have no idea), too tired to appropriate hip-hop culture. It's looking bleak.
I’m freaking out about what to wear, and have no idea what food I should bring for dinner on Saturday night, when we break the fast. I even emailed his sister with an SOS, and am waiting for her advice. I’m hoping I can live-tweet the entire experience. Look for the hash tag: #YK2K10 on twitter.com/blacktress!
So, I’ve been doing this new thing where I get to the plantation an hour early (and promptly fuck around online), just so I can get a moment’s peace (as my grandmother would say) before the massa and annoying coworkers get here, all up in my George Foreman, demanding my time. The last three weeks have been beyond cray cray, with one of the main editors out because his wife just had twins, our art director transferred to Colorado, and New Massa generally being unpredictable, dramatic, and demanding. I think the highlight was when I got to my desk after Labor Day weekend and saw a postcard on my desk. The picture on the card was of 6 drag queens in a forest on Fire Island. On the back my boss had written:
"Found this card in the local grocery store on the island. Can you guess which one is yours truly?"
Yes, yes I can. The one in light-pink taffeta.
Of course, I love a gay visionary, and if he wasn’t so bitchy and untrustworthy, I’d be in love.
Although the plantation is beating down on me like the hot Mississippi sun, I am pleased to report that things with Jewboo are beyond tender. This past Saturday was our 6 month-aversary, and he took it to the next level by giving me the key to his APARTMENT!!! Um, this is out of control. I have a key to the crib. Granted, a blacktress isn’t liable to be jetting back-and-forth to Greenpoint, Brooklyn, but this means that I can officially be his Urkel, rocking up unexpectedly whenever I want to. This is so perfect for my stalker tendencies.
We look so much alike, y'all. Trust me. It's uncanny.In addition to giving me the key (a move that is straight out of an episode of Grey’s Anatomy), he’s also making me a mix CD, and rumor has it (from his roommate) that it’s TWO DISCS. Um, I think we all know how I feel about making a mix tape for a lover. It’s so real. And since he’s basically a real-life version of the main character in Nick Hornby’s book “High Fidelity,” I know this is equally important to him.
So, some of you may be thinking, “Um, Sojourner, this is a key and some music—you need to be cool.” To those of you, I say: stop hating on me like Willow Smith; if you’ve been a long-time reader, you know I’ve been through some man hell and we need to praise black Jesus for the little things! And if music and keys don’t move you, how’s about this:
This Friday, at 5:30pm, I board a bus bound for Reading, Pennsylvania, where I will spend the weekend celebrating YOM KIPPUR!!!!
Blacktress is about to Jew it up, y’all!!! For those of you who don’t know, let me copy and paste from good ol’ Wikipedia:
Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement, is one of the holiest days of the year for Jews. Its central themes are atonement and repentance. Jews traditionally observe this holy day with a 25-hour period of fasting and intensive prayer, often spending most of the day in synagogue services.
Yes, y’all. A lot of my friends are saying this is serious, since Yom Kippur is such a holy day. I must say I’m a bit nervous. According to the Internet, not only can I not eat or drink (not even water!) for 24 hours, I can’t even apply lotions!
Jewboo is about to have a blacktress hungry and ashy up in the suburbs!
I have no idea how I’m supposed to make a good impression under such circumstances. When I don’t eat, I get grumpy as hell, y’all. When I’m dry, I feel unpretty, like TLC. Add to that the fact that I gotta sit up in synagogue for the afternoon and I gotta wonder—are these really the chosen people???
Look at this oil painting from 1878. These peeps look hungry and tired as all get-out. Everyone's leaning on stuff for survival, trying to make it through with their low blood sugar. Matisyahu's standing over the guy with the Talmud (is that what it is? I have no idea), too tired to appropriate hip-hop culture. It's looking bleak.I’m freaking out about what to wear, and have no idea what food I should bring for dinner on Saturday night, when we break the fast. I even emailed his sister with an SOS, and am waiting for her advice. I’m hoping I can live-tweet the entire experience. Look for the hash tag: #YK2K10 on twitter.com/blacktress!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Blaxploitation
I am so not feeling the plantation today. I think I’m still holding bitterness from yesterday, when I had to come in during a snowstorm even though both the massa and the overseer were out. In silent protest, I spent much of the day quietly grading film papers as part of my side hustle. For some reason, my coworker’s nit-picking and anal nature has been getting on my last nerve. He’s all “focused,” with an “attention to detail,” and “the desire to do his job.”
Ew.
I woke up yesterday and shoveled snow before coming to work. This is BHM, y’all—I should NOT be so oppressed. This is blaxploitation at its best (or worst, depending on your point of view). After reading a paper on “Point of View Shots in Aladdin” (Yes, Disney’s Aladdin.I swear, these kids never cease to amaze me), I thought I was seriously being punk’d.
I ended up leaving work early, as the pretense of productivity became too much to maintain. I at least gave my email a look-see from my home computer, just in case massa was watching me electronically.
I am so being blaxploited.
Speaking, of blaxploitation, why not celebrate BHM today with a trailer from one of my favorite blaxplotation films—BLACULA.
I own this film on VHS.
Yep, I said it.
And no, it wasn’t purchased ironically in 2008. I had to beg my mother to give me her copy back in, like, 1998, and she made a big deal out of how hard it was to find and how I better not lose it.
My family is very serious about black cinema.
You should be, too:
I think my favorite line of the trailer is “Blacula….Dracula’s soul brother”
I’d like to make a third one (oh, yes, there’s already a sequel, Scream Blacula, Scream), starring myself as Blacula’s love interest. It’ll be called:
Blacula Meets Blacktress: Black Love 4-Eva
Maybe we can get a crossover with the Twilight kids, maybe get sparkly Pattinson to have a crush on me and fight Blacula to the death for my love?
Let’s get this into production, people!
Ew.
I woke up yesterday and shoveled snow before coming to work. This is BHM, y’all—I should NOT be so oppressed. This is blaxploitation at its best (or worst, depending on your point of view). After reading a paper on “Point of View Shots in Aladdin” (Yes, Disney’s Aladdin.I swear, these kids never cease to amaze me), I thought I was seriously being punk’d.
I ended up leaving work early, as the pretense of productivity became too much to maintain. I at least gave my email a look-see from my home computer, just in case massa was watching me electronically.
I am so being blaxploited.
Speaking, of blaxploitation, why not celebrate BHM today with a trailer from one of my favorite blaxplotation films—BLACULA.
I own this film on VHS.
Yep, I said it.
And no, it wasn’t purchased ironically in 2008. I had to beg my mother to give me her copy back in, like, 1998, and she made a big deal out of how hard it was to find and how I better not lose it.
My family is very serious about black cinema.
You should be, too:
I think my favorite line of the trailer is “Blacula….Dracula’s soul brother”
I’d like to make a third one (oh, yes, there’s already a sequel, Scream Blacula, Scream), starring myself as Blacula’s love interest. It’ll be called:
Blacula Meets Blacktress: Black Love 4-Eva
Maybe we can get a crossover with the Twilight kids, maybe get sparkly Pattinson to have a crush on me and fight Blacula to the death for my love?
Let’s get this into production, people!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
I May Be A Quitter, But At Least I Don't Litter*
I have to quit my job.
For serious.
This place is just a bizarro world in which I'm the town crazy, only I'm the one walking around thinking logic and spouting talk that makes sense.
My first inkling that this was getting to be too much was when I started my shift at 8pm on Tuesday to find the place packed. I was shocked; the drunkards don't arrive until 10pm at the earliest. I then followed the crowds gaze and discovered that there was a bikini contest going on. Ladies from all over the world paraded around in their finest beachwear as the crowd clapped and hollered.
The announcer introduced each girl as she walked across, praising her virtue.
"Sarah is from England, she likes vodka-lemonade and Italian men!!!!" At which point Italian men would whistle and English guys would boo.
After the contest, I noticed a few of my female coworkers were wearing bathing suits under their work shirts. Apparently, they had participated in this contest. Ah, to be 18, pierced, and full of confidence.
My next tip-off was on Christmas Eve, where I worked 6pm-3am, and the night started off with a "Jager Train." For only $6 (down from the $9 normal price) patrons could buy a shot on the jager train, which was set up all along the bar. The goal was to break the Australian record for longest Jager train. Instead, it just meant that people got drunk and annoying way earlier than usual.
I've also been sick like whoa recently--probably because I sleep odd hours and eat way too much fast food at 4am. My body is rejecting this lifestyle and telling me to sit my ass down. I even had to leave my 10pm shift on Friday after only 2 hours, because I could not breathe and the bad house music was making my head pulse even more.
Last night (Saturday) I worked 7pm - 3:30am, without a single break. What's curious about this is that the cute blonde girls always get breaks, and sometimes get to even skip out on clean-up if they start work before 8. One of the girls, who started an hour after me, was told to go out for a cigarette break and no one even told me we were shutting down my side of the bar. Um, I think I'm being oppressed, and I'm hella pissed. I'm gonna have to bring this up with Obama, cause these white folks are straight trippin'! This shit's reminding me of plantation days.
And if those aggregious crimes against the blacktress weren't enough, the DJ last night played terrible music, the worst of which was a.... dance remix of Tracy Chapman's 'Fast Car'. I kid you not. It was horrible, and I think Tracy, if she were dead, would have rolled over in her grave. In fact, I bet she had nightmares last night which caused her to roll over in bed.
And this song was played TWICE--along with a dance version of 'Wonderwall' by Oasis.
Clearly this is not my element. I did not come down under to spend most of my waking hours reeking of beer, insecurity, and work visas. I can't even do a weekend getaway, and the city is hella wack (um, don't know why I went late-90s-California on you, sorry), and I'm in desperate need of an escape. With an ever-changing schedule, even taking a class is out of the question.
And remember mom's old saying: when you start taking shots of whiskey to get through your day at the office, you know it's time to get the hell out.
TRUTH.
*trying to find the silver lining here, and figured rhyme was the way to go.
For serious.
This place is just a bizarro world in which I'm the town crazy, only I'm the one walking around thinking logic and spouting talk that makes sense.
My first inkling that this was getting to be too much was when I started my shift at 8pm on Tuesday to find the place packed. I was shocked; the drunkards don't arrive until 10pm at the earliest. I then followed the crowds gaze and discovered that there was a bikini contest going on. Ladies from all over the world paraded around in their finest beachwear as the crowd clapped and hollered.
The announcer introduced each girl as she walked across, praising her virtue.
"Sarah is from England, she likes vodka-lemonade and Italian men!!!!" At which point Italian men would whistle and English guys would boo.
After the contest, I noticed a few of my female coworkers were wearing bathing suits under their work shirts. Apparently, they had participated in this contest. Ah, to be 18, pierced, and full of confidence.
My next tip-off was on Christmas Eve, where I worked 6pm-3am, and the night started off with a "Jager Train." For only $6 (down from the $9 normal price) patrons could buy a shot on the jager train, which was set up all along the bar. The goal was to break the Australian record for longest Jager train. Instead, it just meant that people got drunk and annoying way earlier than usual.
I've also been sick like whoa recently--probably because I sleep odd hours and eat way too much fast food at 4am. My body is rejecting this lifestyle and telling me to sit my ass down. I even had to leave my 10pm shift on Friday after only 2 hours, because I could not breathe and the bad house music was making my head pulse even more.
Last night (Saturday) I worked 7pm - 3:30am, without a single break. What's curious about this is that the cute blonde girls always get breaks, and sometimes get to even skip out on clean-up if they start work before 8. One of the girls, who started an hour after me, was told to go out for a cigarette break and no one even told me we were shutting down my side of the bar. Um, I think I'm being oppressed, and I'm hella pissed. I'm gonna have to bring this up with Obama, cause these white folks are straight trippin'! This shit's reminding me of plantation days.
And if those aggregious crimes against the blacktress weren't enough, the DJ last night played terrible music, the worst of which was a.... dance remix of Tracy Chapman's 'Fast Car'. I kid you not. It was horrible, and I think Tracy, if she were dead, would have rolled over in her grave. In fact, I bet she had nightmares last night which caused her to roll over in bed.
And this song was played TWICE--along with a dance version of 'Wonderwall' by Oasis.
Clearly this is not my element. I did not come down under to spend most of my waking hours reeking of beer, insecurity, and work visas. I can't even do a weekend getaway, and the city is hella wack (um, don't know why I went late-90s-California on you, sorry), and I'm in desperate need of an escape. With an ever-changing schedule, even taking a class is out of the question.
And remember mom's old saying: when you start taking shots of whiskey to get through your day at the office, you know it's time to get the hell out.
TRUTH.
*trying to find the silver lining here, and figured rhyme was the way to go.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
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.
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.
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