I've been on the fence about having kids for years now, but this latest display of horrendous bullying has me tying my tubes in a figure-eight knot my damn self, Prometheus style. I can't even sit through the whole thing, but just look at this video taken on a school bus in Greece, New York: kids are saying vulgar things to the bus monitor!
We can't go telling kids that "it gets better" when a 60-something-year-old woman is being ripped apart!
What happened to, at the very least, respecting (and fearing) your elders? If you even looked at my grandmother sideways, you were going to get put in your place and mom wouldn't even flinch. I'm not into corporal punishment, but as the great truthteller Chris Rock says, every kid needs a good whooping on four key transgressions: lying, stealing, cursing, and disrespecting. Just set it straight once and it's never happening again. It's what I like to call terri-fucking-fy you. If you just invoke a stress response, a Pavlovian fear, it's a wrap. When I was hanging with my old-lady friend (she's 86) and some of her peeps (that's how I roll--with the Soft Food Crew), she was telling me about a kid being rude on the subway. Her friends chimed in with other stories about rude young adults.
"I've found that there are two groups of people who are consistently courteous and helpful: European tourists and young black men." BOOM! Are you shocked to hear it, readers?! Can you handle the truth?! I wasn't surprised, but I wanted to know more.
"It's because many of them were raised by women and particularly their grandmothers--they were either in their home or their sole caregiver."
Socioeconomically speaking, that checks out (and here, too). No doubt the kids in this video have little home training. I hope they suffer the consequences for their actions--and get some intensive therapy. Or maybe Greece, New York, should bring back the fucking gladiators and have these kids fight to the death--you know, separate the wheat from the psychopaths.
What do you think?
Showing posts with label cauCRAYsians. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cauCRAYsians. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
This is Getting Ri-Goddamn-diculous!
Hey friends,
I arrived on the plantation today to find many emails in my inbox. Other than the usual Groupons and SPAM, there were emails from random "brokers" and "apartment owners" on craigslist asking for way too much information before setting up an appt to view an apartment. That's not the point of this post, though.
At the very top of my inbox was an email--nay, I'll call it an ALERT--from Scribe about the latest happenings inside Caucasia. It included a link to the following news item:
Her email was titled, "some cray from CauCRAYsia"--certainly an understatement.
For the full story, click here.
Less than six months ago I came to you with news about Sweden's racism. It pains me to be repeating myself, but I can't hide this racist light under a bullshit bushel. Guys, this is the minister of culture shown here.
In an attempt to get more information, I've been reading comments about the article. No, not because commenters are geniuses--or even articulate--but because I want to get a sense of how this is being received in the country in which it took place. Here are some interesting nuggets:
Here's a particularly incendiary back-and-forth:
Another commenter writes:
Sensationalist rubbish. Seriously... Its an art day. Grow up. Talk about twisting a story to sensationalize it.
Um, I'm not clear on how the fact that this is part of "World Art Day" makes it less offensive and inappropriate. I mean, guys--a bunch of white people smiling over an African cake as they devour it just takes the idea of "consumption of the other" to a while new level. Regardless of intent, implications can't be denied. These are supposed to be a group of educated--and decision-making/policy-creating people. I refuse to believe that nobody on staff said something. I imagine it would have gone something like this:
[Anyone With a Brain taps higher-up's shoulder, interrupting a conversation between him and another person.]
Anyone With a Brain: Lise. Jorgen. Um, the World Art Day cake arrived a few minutes ago.
Lise: Great!
Jorgen: Wheel it out!
AWAB: I....don't think that's such a good idea.....I know this is meant to be a work of art, but I think that this is going to be bad publicity.
Lise and Jorgen: Why?
AWAB: It's a cake depicting an African woman--or some sort of traditional tribal statue.
[Anyone With a Brain slinks off, clearly uncomfortable.]
I arrived on the plantation today to find many emails in my inbox. Other than the usual Groupons and SPAM, there were emails from random "brokers" and "apartment owners" on craigslist asking for way too much information before setting up an appt to view an apartment. That's not the point of this post, though.
At the very top of my inbox was an email--nay, I'll call it an ALERT--from Scribe about the latest happenings inside Caucasia. It included a link to the following news item:
Look at all their smiles.....I feel like this is a nightmare from Kunta Kinte's Book of Dreams.*^
For the full story, click here.
Less than six months ago I came to you with news about Sweden's racism. It pains me to be repeating myself, but I can't hide this racist light under a bullshit bushel. Guys, this is the minister of culture shown here.
In an attempt to get more information, I've been reading comments about the article. No, not because commenters are geniuses--or even articulate--but because I want to get a sense of how this is being received in the country in which it took place. Here are some interesting nuggets:
Wanggren writes:
Liljeroth is a member of MODERATERNA, the Swedish conservative party, not 'the left'. She's pretty much the opposite of 'the left' in all possible ways. It is currently the conservatives who are in majority in the Swedish government.
Liljeroth is a member of MODERATERNA, the Swedish conservative party, not 'the left'. She's pretty much the opposite of 'the left' in all possible ways. It is currently the conservatives who are in majority in the Swedish government.
LiberalenDieter says:
The true racists are those who care about the skincolor of the cake. If you aren't a racist and sexist, you just see human beeings and don't care about skin color or gender.
The true racists are those who care about the skincolor of the cake. If you aren't a racist and sexist, you just see human beeings and don't care about skin color or gender.
An American gal (and likely liberal-arts-college graduate) speaks truth to power:
The reason why this is something to complain about is because of how historically marginalized peoples have been negatively portrayed in the media as comical and savage subhumans. The minstrel figure has long been utilized to degrade certain groups of people. Also, as a woman, she should understand what a degrading, oppressive, and misogynistic practice genital mutilation is, and thus, she should be ashamed for making light of such an atrocity against women's rights.
To which a Scandinavian fella replied:
You are a brainwashed one, aren't you?
[Good lord. This one probably thinks that slavery and the Holocaust never really happened and is a huge Mel Gibson fan.]
Here's a particularly incendiary back-and-forth:
Another commenter writes:
Sensationalist rubbish. Seriously... Its an art day. Grow up. Talk about twisting a story to sensationalize it.
Um, I'm not clear on how the fact that this is part of "World Art Day" makes it less offensive and inappropriate. I mean, guys--a bunch of white people smiling over an African cake as they devour it just takes the idea of "consumption of the other" to a while new level. Regardless of intent, implications can't be denied. These are supposed to be a group of educated--and decision-making/policy-creating people. I refuse to believe that nobody on staff said something. I imagine it would have gone something like this:
[Anyone With a Brain taps higher-up's shoulder, interrupting a conversation between him and another person.]
Anyone With a Brain: Lise. Jorgen. Um, the World Art Day cake arrived a few minutes ago.
Lise: Great!
Jorgen: Wheel it out!
AWAB: I....don't think that's such a good idea.....I know this is meant to be a work of art, but I think that this is going to be bad publicity.
Lise and Jorgen: Why?
AWAB: It's a cake depicting an African woman--or some sort of traditional tribal statue.
Lise: Oh, that sounds so creative.
[A beat. AWAB wonders how to proceed.]
AWAB: The inside is red velvet.
Jorgen: I love red velvet cake!
AWAB: But don't you think it's a bit....gauche?
Lise: Well, is it masterfully executed?
AWAB: It is--which I think is part of what makes it so off--
Jorgen: Nonsense! I'm sure that, after submitting multiple budgets for this event, selecting an artist to create the cake and going over his plans before giving him the go-ahead to make it, the creation is completely in line with the event and the goals of our organization. In fact, I think it would be even more fitting if the minister of culture was the one to cut the first slice!
Jorgen: I love red velvet cake!
AWAB: But don't you think it's a bit....gauche?
Lise: Well, is it masterfully executed?
AWAB: It is--which I think is part of what makes it so off--
Jorgen: Nonsense! I'm sure that, after submitting multiple budgets for this event, selecting an artist to create the cake and going over his plans before giving him the go-ahead to make it, the creation is completely in line with the event and the goals of our organization. In fact, I think it would be even more fitting if the minister of culture was the one to cut the first slice!
Lise: I love it! I'll make sure to get tons of media coverage.
[Anyone With a Brain slinks off, clearly uncomfortable.]
*now in paperback. Soon to be directed by Ed Burns.
^This is not a real thing.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Morning Posts
Ugh, I have no idea what to blog about. But I've started reading The Artist's Way which suggests writing "morning pages" every day. These are three handwritten pages of whatever comes to your mind right after waking up. The goal is to just write, with no judgments or agenda, and just clear out all the crap. So, with that in mind, I'm going to just write about where I'm at, and just see what happens. (without being overly self-indulgent, I swear!)
Not that my life's totally boring (just mildly), but I don't know how to be succinct and witty anymore. Between writing about paintings non-stop and the calls from [insert network here]'s Legal Department, the will to go on has been sucked out of me.
Yes, calls from the legal team. Remember my cuckoo bananas run-in with a mentally ill woman who offered to make me a star? Well, since then I've gotten several more emails, and at 12:06am last night I received a THREE-MINUTE VOICEMAIL MESSAGE from the woman, talking about how NBC writers are just mad at her because "my sketches are perfectly written and LOL."
Yes, she said LOL.
Of course, this is all fodder for something, but I've been suffering from creative blocks and I feel like I just need an emotional laxative. (A relaxative? A frien-ema? I feel like there's a good portmanteau out there just waiting to be found!) In summation, here's where I'm at right now:
Ugh, I just got another email from the crazy lady, telling me to "be nicer to the writer, N" after I wrote her an email asking her to cease communication.
Is that a threat? Y'all, she's going to skin me and wear me as a pelt!
Not that my life's totally boring (just mildly), but I don't know how to be succinct and witty anymore. Between writing about paintings non-stop and the calls from [insert network here]'s Legal Department, the will to go on has been sucked out of me.
Yes, calls from the legal team. Remember my cuckoo bananas run-in with a mentally ill woman who offered to make me a star? Well, since then I've gotten several more emails, and at 12:06am last night I received a THREE-MINUTE VOICEMAIL MESSAGE from the woman, talking about how NBC writers are just mad at her because "my sketches are perfectly written and LOL."
Yes, she said LOL.
Of course, this is all fodder for something, but I've been suffering from creative blocks and I feel like I just need an emotional laxative. (A relaxative? A frien-ema? I feel like there's a good portmanteau out there just waiting to be found!) In summation, here's where I'm at right now:
Sojourner's Current Truths
- I cringe every time my coworker opens the blinds to the window that stretches across both of our cubicles. I realize it's because the feeling of the sunlight on my skin reminds me that this is reality. (Sometimes when I'm in the office alone, I don't open any blinds at all.)
- Is it wrong for me to ask the German roommate not to use the kitchen as a study space so that I can get up and have my morning oatmeal (and general pre-day prep) in peace and quiet?
- What about if I ask her to stop making her gross-smelling coffee that makes the house smell like wet garbage?
- Whenever I'm crossing the street, I'm afraid that turning cars are going to hit me. A couple weeks ago, a guy stopped his car after I ran across (I had the light), he opened his door, and yelled after me, "WHY YOU RUNNING??? WHY YOU RUNNING? YOU FUCKING IDIOT." It was awkward.
- Jewboo and I are starting to look for an apartment and the place we were interested in just fell through. We had a sure-fire in, there was a washer/dryer IN THE BUILDING, and the apt has a special spot in my heart because it's where I saw my very first episode of 16 & Pregnant. Then the landlords decided we had to go through a broker (after speaking with us directly and giving us apps to fill out), who would charges a $1700 fee! Um, no thanks.
Ugh, I just got another email from the crazy lady, telling me to "be nicer to the writer, N" after I wrote her an email asking her to cease communication.
Is that a threat? Y'all, she's going to skin me and wear me as a pelt!
Monday, January 30, 2012
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—
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.
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}
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:
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:
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.
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?
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)!
-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.
On an Up-Note:
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.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
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.]
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.
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.
[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.
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.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Really?! (Said in the voice of Chandler Bing)
One of my fellow freedom writers alerted me to the latest CauCRAYsian activity--this time, taking place on our own American soil.
Last week, six sorority girls at the University of Southern Mississippi went to an 80s-themed party as the Huxtable family dressed in blackface.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!??? WHITE PEOPLE, WHAT IS UP WITH YOU???? I can't cope!!
Apparently, the six members of the Phi Mu sorority--who have not been publicly identified, because someone is caring enough to protect these delicate Southern belles--have been placed on probation. According to the article:
"Phi Mu National President Kris Bridges says the matter is being investigated and more disciplinary action could follow. She says the local chapter will sponsor a campus-wide program on diversity appreciation."
What will a program on "diversity appreciation" do? I don't think these six girls lack an appreciation of black people--after all, where would they get such excellent costuming ideas? I think they lack a moral compass that directs them toward respecting people of color and remembering the history of racism, oppression, and segregation that is still alive and well in some parts of the very state in which they study.
Of course, I had to get some more info--you know how I like to go inside Caucasia and get answers from the root. A visit to the Phi Mu website led me to their creed, which I'd like to share with you:
THE CREED OF PHI MU FRATERNITY
To lend to those less fortunate a helping hand.
To think of God as a protector and guide of us all.
To keep forever sacred the memory of those we have loved and lost.
To be to others what we would they would be to us.
To keep our lives gentle, merciful and just,
Thus being true to the womanhood of love.
To walk in the way of honor, guarding the purity of our thoughts and deeds.
Being steadfast in every duty small or large.
Believing that our given word is binding.
Striving to esteem the inner man above culture, wealth or pedigree.
Being honorable, courteous, tender,
Thus being true to the womanhood of honor.
To serve in the light of truth avoiding egotism, narrowness and scorn.
To give freely of our sympathies.
To reverence God as our Maker, striving to serve Him in all things.
To minister to the needy and unfortunate.
To practice day by day love, honor, truth.
Thus keeping true to the meaning, spirit and reality of Phi Mu.
Okay, well in some ways these three girls did stay true to the creed.
Last week, six sorority girls at the University of Southern Mississippi went to an 80s-themed party as the Huxtable family dressed in blackface.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!??? WHITE PEOPLE, WHAT IS UP WITH YOU???? I can't cope!!
Apparently, the six members of the Phi Mu sorority--who have not been publicly identified, because someone is caring enough to protect these delicate Southern belles--have been placed on probation. According to the article:
"Phi Mu National President Kris Bridges says the matter is being investigated and more disciplinary action could follow. She says the local chapter will sponsor a campus-wide program on diversity appreciation."
What will a program on "diversity appreciation" do? I don't think these six girls lack an appreciation of black people--after all, where would they get such excellent costuming ideas? I think they lack a moral compass that directs them toward respecting people of color and remembering the history of racism, oppression, and segregation that is still alive and well in some parts of the very state in which they study.
Of course, I had to get some more info--you know how I like to go inside Caucasia and get answers from the root. A visit to the Phi Mu website led me to their creed, which I'd like to share with you:
THE CREED OF PHI MU FRATERNITY
To lend to those less fortunate a helping hand.
To think of God as a protector and guide of us all.
To keep forever sacred the memory of those we have loved and lost.
To be to others what we would they would be to us.
To keep our lives gentle, merciful and just,
Thus being true to the womanhood of love.
To walk in the way of honor, guarding the purity of our thoughts and deeds.
Being steadfast in every duty small or large.
Believing that our given word is binding.
Striving to esteem the inner man above culture, wealth or pedigree.
Being honorable, courteous, tender,
Thus being true to the womanhood of honor.
To serve in the light of truth avoiding egotism, narrowness and scorn.
To give freely of our sympathies.
To reverence God as our Maker, striving to serve Him in all things.
To minister to the needy and unfortunate.
To practice day by day love, honor, truth.
Thus keeping true to the meaning, spirit and reality of Phi Mu.
Okay, well in some ways these three girls did stay true to the creed.
"To lend to those less fortunate a helping hand."
You certainly gave black folks a leg up with this stunt, ladies--thanks!
"To be to others what we would they would be to us."
Grammar aside, I think they've certainly secured my disrespect and wrath, so consider the mission accomplished, girls!
"To walk in the way of honor..."
I'm assuming that in this sense, to walk in the way of means to obstruct. If so, give yourselves a check in that column, girls!
"Being steadfast in every duty, small or large"
I would definitely say so--these six gals didn't just get excited about a 1980s-themed party. They took the theme of an 80s party to an extreme degree, honoring both the 1980s and the 1880s! Talk about steadfast!
They weren't exactly honorable, courteous, or tender, but then again, I wasn't there. Perhaps the one dressed as Clair imparted a few life lessons in between jello shots and making out with the president of the young Republicans club.
A couple quick Qs:
- What's "the womanhood of love?"
- What does is mean to "believe that our given world is binding"?
- To minister to the needy and unfortunate? Are they missionaries?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
News From the Belly of the Beast
Y’all, I just got some serious intel from the heart of Caucasia and I need to spread the word. Remember how I gave my friend a cheat sheet in preparation for her trip to Sweden? Well, she’s been there a few weeks now and it seems that even I couldn’t prepare her for the madness inside CauCRAYsia. I have to share because, living in a buzzing multi-culti metropolis or being able to handle Sojo’s troofs, it’s so easy to forget that white folks still be trippin’—even the ones with universal healthcare! Here’s the latest from inside:
Apparently, organizers of a “slave auction” at Lund University in April will not be held responsible for their actions because it was “a costume party.”
WHAT IS WRONG WITH WHITE PEOPLE?????????!?!?!?!?!?!
White friends, I’m talkin’ to you—get me some answers! I know someone's letting something slip at the monthly mixers!
In the article “Lund Slave Auction Fallout”—I’m really hoping this was an error in translation, because “fallout” is just the understatement of the century—we learn that:
While Lund University in May announced that it would launch a new programme to educate students and staff about the university's core values, the university's disciplinary committee later elected to take no action after reviewing the incident.
Now, the district prosecutor has chosen not to file charges against the student organization for the staged auction.
”We can't prove that the people who dressed up did so with the intention to show contempt for a people. It was a costume party really, and that has to be considered in this case,” said district prosecutor and hate crimes specialist Mattias Larsson to local paper Sydsvenskan.
I don’t know what kind of specialist this fool is—I’m gonna need Stabler and Benson to get over there, because clearly Sweden's too busy letting the right one in to deal with the real issues.
Sweden WAS PART OF THE TRANSATLANTIC SLAVE TRADE, Y’ALL!!! Lund University students, if you don’t know, you better ask somebody! I suggest you start with one of your faculty members, Professor Dick Harrison, who lectures on the topic! In an interview on radiosweden.org back in 2007, he explained that:
Sweden's involvement in the slave trade was relatively small, but a new phase began in the late 18th century when the Swedish King Gustav III bought the West Indian island, Saint Barthelémy, from the French. He soon decided to turn it into a Swedish slave colony.
Dick Harrison says neither of the two waves were important for the economy on a national scale, but trafficking slaves across the Atlantic was a matter of national pride in Sweden. And even the church had no problem with it.
[more info—and sound clip—available here]
Post-racial, my ass.
Now, if this isn’t hubris, I don’t know what is:
After the incident, posters depicting [chairman of the National Afro-Swedish Association] Jallow Momodou in chains started appearing in several public places in Lund and at the Malmö University College.
Controversial artist Dan Park was later apprehended by police when found plastering his posters over central Lund. He was charged on Thursday with both hate speech and defamation.
Park told The Local on Friday that he thinks prosecutors are overreacting.
The posters appeared on the bulletin board of the university library and the text underneath read: “Our negro slave has run away.”
Momodou said, "For me it's proof that racism really exists in Sweden and is on a level comparable to the southern United States in the 1970s.” Y’all, he’s not even American and he knows this shit is straight-up Jim Crow. Don't get it twisted, y'all. We've gotta face the TRUTH that this shit is STILL GOING ON.
Apparently, organizers of a “slave auction” at Lund University in April will not be held responsible for their actions because it was “a costume party.”
WHAT IS WRONG WITH WHITE PEOPLE?????????!?!?!?!?!?!
White friends, I’m talkin’ to you—get me some answers! I know someone's letting something slip at the monthly mixers!
In the article “Lund Slave Auction Fallout”—I’m really hoping this was an error in translation, because “fallout” is just the understatement of the century—we learn that:
While Lund University in May announced that it would launch a new programme to educate students and staff about the university's core values, the university's disciplinary committee later elected to take no action after reviewing the incident.
Now, the district prosecutor has chosen not to file charges against the student organization for the staged auction.
”We can't prove that the people who dressed up did so with the intention to show contempt for a people. It was a costume party really, and that has to be considered in this case,” said district prosecutor and hate crimes specialist Mattias Larsson to local paper Sydsvenskan.
I don’t know what kind of specialist this fool is—I’m gonna need Stabler and Benson to get over there, because clearly Sweden's too busy letting the right one in to deal with the real issues.
Sweden WAS PART OF THE TRANSATLANTIC SLAVE TRADE, Y’ALL!!! Lund University students, if you don’t know, you better ask somebody! I suggest you start with one of your faculty members, Professor Dick Harrison, who lectures on the topic! In an interview on radiosweden.org back in 2007, he explained that:
Sweden's involvement in the slave trade was relatively small, but a new phase began in the late 18th century when the Swedish King Gustav III bought the West Indian island, Saint Barthelémy, from the French. He soon decided to turn it into a Swedish slave colony.
Dick Harrison says neither of the two waves were important for the economy on a national scale, but trafficking slaves across the Atlantic was a matter of national pride in Sweden. And even the church had no problem with it.
[more info—and sound clip—available here]
Post-racial, my ass.
Now, if this isn’t hubris, I don’t know what is:
After the incident, posters depicting [chairman of the National Afro-Swedish Association] Jallow Momodou in chains started appearing in several public places in Lund and at the Malmö University College.
Controversial artist Dan Park was later apprehended by police when found plastering his posters over central Lund. He was charged on Thursday with both hate speech and defamation.
Park told The Local on Friday that he thinks prosecutors are overreacting.
HOW IS THIS OKAY?????? Y’all, this is more limitless than Bradley Cooper. I can’t cope!!!
The posters appeared on the bulletin board of the university library and the text underneath read: “Our negro slave has run away.”
Momodou said, "For me it's proof that racism really exists in Sweden and is on a level comparable to the southern United States in the 1970s.” Y’all, he’s not even American and he knows this shit is straight-up Jim Crow. Don't get it twisted, y'all. We've gotta face the TRUTH that this shit is STILL GOING ON.
Of course, it's not like I was chased by a lynch mobs on the streets of Sverige, and my friend on the inside says she hasn't met anyone like these folks. But, dammit, this is just like T Perry--one bad apple ruins the bunch. Caucasia, if you want (me to say) nice things, get it together!
Monday, March 21, 2011
I Am Not Limitless
Happy Monday, guys!
I’m really trying to blog more regularly, but sometimes I just don’t know where to begin. At the risk of ranting, I must share my latest un-handle-able truth:
We should have been the ones hit by a tsunami. Let me explain.
Reason 1:
On Friday afternoon I got an e-mail from Ticketmaster.com, alerting me to the availability of tickets to Charlie Sheen’s “My Violent Torpedo of Truth” tour. Apparently, for just $575 I can get a seat in the first 10 rows, an autographed photo of the CauCRAYsian, and shake his chapped, cracked, Gollum-like hand (I’m just assuming).
Why on earth would I want to do this? What skill does Sheen have that would warrant a live tour? Is he just going to get on stage and yell at people? Will he be offering to leave angry messages in the voice mailbox of audience members’ exes? Apparently this tour is already sold out.
Punto Numero Dos:
Half an hour later, I was sent a “music” video of “Friday Night,” by tween sensation Rebecca Black (I’d hyperlink you to it, but I don’t want to give her the press). With such lyrics as “Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday / Today i-is Friday, Friday … / Tomorrow is Saturday / And Sunday comes after ... wards,” I feel as though society is getting dumber, and can no longer tell the difference between talent and delusions of grandeur. Sadly, today’s tweens have very few options, as the covers of “Celebrity” magazines often feature teen moms from the MTV series. We all know I love the 16 and preggos, but since when has being a teenager mother warranted several magazine spreads? Do note that these headline-grabbing moms are CauCRAYsian. When one can be equally famous for having rich parents, winning an Oscar, or getting knocked up by a 16-year-old who works at StopNShop, I think it’s time to reassess our priorities as a nation.
Point the 3rd:
I left work on Friday to meet up with my girl Scribe to see Brad Cooper's latest flick Limitless. I hadn’t been to a movie in ages and was ready to be entertained--even though I do find Cooper to be a bit slimy (doesn't he seem like, before he was famous, he was the guy who'd corner you in a bar, going on and on about his "eye-opening experience" helping Hurricane Katrina victims, and then after bedding you that night, tells you "I've gotta get up really early tomorrow for a life-drawing class, so you might want to get a cab home now"?).
He then gets dumped by his boo, which we don’t even care about because we never see them together. This makes him good and vulnerable when he’s offered a clear little pill that makes everything…. LIMITLESS. Suddenly the slacker can remember everything he’s ever heard, learn languages in a day, and learns the stock market (Move over Shia Leboeuf! I bet the ink's still wet on the script for Wall Street 3: Coop Never Sleeps!)
I won’t go into more detail, but basically he goes from zero to hero in three days, becomes a billionaire, and then starts to feel the side effects of this non-FDA-approved black-market drug. Without it in his system, he doesn’t remember a damn thing, and he’s basically an addict in need of 12 steps within the first 30 minutes of the film. At one point, he’s in such a bind that the only way he can save himself is to drink the blood of a Russian mobster that pools outward from his dead body.
Ew.
As Scribe and I walked to a post-movie dinner, we were so busy chatting we momentarily forgot about traffic laws. We almost stepped out in front of on-coming traffic, but I looked up and put my arm out. “We are not limitless,” I said. “But we do have options.”
And that, folks, is where I’m at today. I am not limitless like Sheen and Rebecca Black and Cooper’s latest character, but I do have options. The world is not owed to me (and oftentimes behaves as though I took out a loan and am in forbearance) but I know on which side my bread’s buttered—the worlds of blackting and blogging.
Was this a rant? I don’t know. My brain feels a bit fuzzy because I just spent 15 minutes on the phone with an elderly reader who mailed in a printed page of her Google search for a book from our online store—she made sure to underline “YOUR SEARCH DID NOT MATCH ANY DOCUMENTS” before writing, “I followed the instructions in the issue with NO SUCCESS. PLEASE HELP!”
It took me 12 minutes to explain to her—and then her husband, who she put on the phone—that she can’t type the URL into a search engine, but must instead type it into the nav bar. The call ended rather oddly:
Do you think he'd been sitting in the dark with his wife for days, wondering what season it was?
I’m really trying to blog more regularly, but sometimes I just don’t know where to begin. At the risk of ranting, I must share my latest un-handle-able truth:
We should have been the ones hit by a tsunami. Let me explain.
Reason 1:
On Friday afternoon I got an e-mail from Ticketmaster.com, alerting me to the availability of tickets to Charlie Sheen’s “My Violent Torpedo of Truth” tour. Apparently, for just $575 I can get a seat in the first 10 rows, an autographed photo of the CauCRAYsian, and shake his chapped, cracked, Gollum-like hand (I’m just assuming).
Why on earth would I want to do this? What skill does Sheen have that would warrant a live tour? Is he just going to get on stage and yell at people? Will he be offering to leave angry messages in the voice mailbox of audience members’ exes? Apparently this tour is already sold out.
Punto Numero Dos:
Half an hour later, I was sent a “music” video of “Friday Night,” by tween sensation Rebecca Black (I’d hyperlink you to it, but I don’t want to give her the press). With such lyrics as “Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday / Today i-is Friday, Friday … / Tomorrow is Saturday / And Sunday comes after ... wards,” I feel as though society is getting dumber, and can no longer tell the difference between talent and delusions of grandeur. Sadly, today’s tweens have very few options, as the covers of “Celebrity” magazines often feature teen moms from the MTV series. We all know I love the 16 and preggos, but since when has being a teenager mother warranted several magazine spreads? Do note that these headline-grabbing moms are CauCRAYsian. When one can be equally famous for having rich parents, winning an Oscar, or getting knocked up by a 16-year-old who works at StopNShop, I think it’s time to reassess our priorities as a nation.
Point the 3rd:
I left work on Friday to meet up with my girl Scribe to see Brad Cooper's latest flick Limitless. I hadn’t been to a movie in ages and was ready to be entertained--even though I do find Cooper to be a bit slimy (doesn't he seem like, before he was famous, he was the guy who'd corner you in a bar, going on and on about his "eye-opening experience" helping Hurricane Katrina victims, and then after bedding you that night, tells you "I've gotta get up really early tomorrow for a life-drawing class, so you might want to get a cab home now"?).
Alas, I found myself uncomfortable and confused much of the time. (SPOILER ALERT!)
The movie starts off with Bradley Cooper (or, as I like to call him, Coop) playing a struggling writer—not struggling because he can’t catch a break or because his work was plagiarized on Wikipedia, but because he just can’t seem to get anything written!!! AAAHHHH, SO HARD BEING A CAUCASIAN MALE!!! What to do with my book advance? Writer’s block is sooooooooooo hard to overcome! Maybe I’ll use it to buy pizza and grow my hair out really gross and scraggly.
He then gets dumped by his boo, which we don’t even care about because we never see them together. This makes him good and vulnerable when he’s offered a clear little pill that makes everything…. LIMITLESS. Suddenly the slacker can remember everything he’s ever heard, learn languages in a day, and learns the stock market (Move over Shia Leboeuf! I bet the ink's still wet on the script for Wall Street 3: Coop Never Sleeps!)
I won’t go into more detail, but basically he goes from zero to hero in three days, becomes a billionaire, and then starts to feel the side effects of this non-FDA-approved black-market drug. Without it in his system, he doesn’t remember a damn thing, and he’s basically an addict in need of 12 steps within the first 30 minutes of the film. At one point, he’s in such a bind that the only way he can save himself is to drink the blood of a Russian mobster that pools outward from his dead body.
Ew.
How does this relate to my rant? Well, quite frankly, Coop’s insistence that he have skills he was too lazy to cultiviate is an example of CauCRAYsian hubris! He’s no better than Charlie “I am the warlock of your destruction” Sheen. Who said you get to be limitless, Bradley? So what if you’ve got baby blues that I could drown in and a devilish smile that’s probably concealing herpes simplex I? If he was down and out at the start of the film and needed the money for, let's say, a liver transplant, or to get his mom in rehab, I might have rooted for him. As it was, when he laid there lapping up the dude’s blood I wondered why it was okay for Bradley Cooper to drink AIDS.
As Scribe and I walked to a post-movie dinner, we were so busy chatting we momentarily forgot about traffic laws. We almost stepped out in front of on-coming traffic, but I looked up and put my arm out. “We are not limitless,” I said. “But we do have options.”
And that, folks, is where I’m at today. I am not limitless like Sheen and Rebecca Black and Cooper’s latest character, but I do have options. The world is not owed to me (and oftentimes behaves as though I took out a loan and am in forbearance) but I know on which side my bread’s buttered—the worlds of blackting and blogging.
Was this a rant? I don’t know. My brain feels a bit fuzzy because I just spent 15 minutes on the phone with an elderly reader who mailed in a printed page of her Google search for a book from our online store—she made sure to underline “YOUR SEARCH DID NOT MATCH ANY DOCUMENTS” before writing, “I followed the instructions in the issue with NO SUCCESS. PLEASE HELP!”
It took me 12 minutes to explain to her—and then her husband, who she put on the phone—that she can’t type the URL into a search engine, but must instead type it into the nav bar. The call ended rather oddly:
Husband: What's your name?
Me: Sojourner
[I have to say it three times before he gets it, spells it back to me, and tells me to go on. I have nothing left to add.]
Husband: And this is about the flowers?
Me: I believe so, that's what your wife said.
Husband: And today's date is?
Me [silent. I'm not sure if he's testing me or what]
Husband: Hello? Today's date is?????
Me: March 21.
Husband: And the time is now????
Me: 3pm.
Husband: Okay, thank you, bye-bye!
Do you think he'd been sitting in the dark with his wife for days, wondering what season it was?
******TIME LAPSE******
AAAHHH, sorry to be so all over the place, but I just got a call from the agent, sending me in for an audition tomorrow!!! EEEPPPSSS.
I better go get my hair did. Blacktress out!
AAAHHH, sorry to be so all over the place, but I just got a call from the agent, sending me in for an audition tomorrow!!! EEEPPPSSS.
I better go get my hair did. Blacktress out!
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