Love/Sad

Happy Monday, guys! I love when "Mondays With Artists" just happens naturally. My boss handed me a letter from a reader, and this post basically writes itself! It's an excellent example of our target audience: handwritten in shaky cursive and and somewhat confrontational while also being self-promoting. As always, the grammar and spelling has been transcribed exactly as it appears in the original.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe 80% or more people you have sent this same letter to will probably die before our prescription expires.

[By "prescription," she means "subscription." This is a common mistake among our audience.]

I am 90 years old. I'm probably the youngest 90 year old person you'll ever know or meet. Still I might die tomorrow, I don't have much time left. or next week or next month or next year. However, I'm a great inspiration to many people. I'm still going strong. If you don't believe me--look me up on inter-net. I'm all over the place!

[This is the most confident/depressing paragraph I've ever read.]

If you are interested I will do a story on myself. It will make good reading. People can find out what makes me "tick."

[Um, what makes her "tick"? Like Ke$ha?]

To be an artist you don't have to be an actor, writer, or musician--just a desire.

[I mean, I guess technically she's not wrong there. You don't have to be a singer to be a painter!]

I've been teaching since 1970--and I still do.

Please don't send me anymore bills until my subscription bill is due.

Sincerely,

[old lady name]

The thing is, guys, her paintings aren't half bad. I kinda want to call her.

I am Free and so is my Time

Whew, what a week, y’all!!

I have done a whole lot of nothing, I tell ya. It’s been hard trying to look busy, yet still find ways to keep me entertained.

The first two days of the week I sat at my desk sneakily grading film exams (you know about my side hustle as a grader for undergrad film at my alma mater, right?), but just felt guilty the whole time, and it stressed me out. Luckily, there was enough ridiculousness in these exams to keep me focused. For instance, take this lovely lad’s analysis of French film theorist Francois Truffaut:
"truffaut wrote an article ragging on the tradition of quality in french cinema post WWI--based on literature, historical, expansive. truffaut says 'BAD!' "

Or this tender lamb’s identification of German filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder:
"he made movies at a rapid pace, due both to his constant circle of collaborators and his high consumption of drugs"
Yep, that’s why, kid. Keep at it.

With very little to do at work, my gchat’s been a-buzz, and Katie Walsh has even managed to get me excited about my college reunion, which is next weekend. Of course, when one’s brain lacks stimulation, it can quickly atrophy. Take, for instance, a question I posed to KWalsh in all seriousness on Wednesday:
Me: is there an electronic facebook? i mean, like, of JUST our class.
i need to go through the archives, see who's hot
KWalsh: electronic facebook-- let me direct you to it
hahahhahahahaha
sorry, that’s the funniest thing.

Yes, I really asked if there was an electronic facebook.

Lord knows I shouldn’t even be thinking about who’s hot anyway, now that I’m all Jewboo’d-up. Sometimes I forget about it, cause I’ve been single so long, and always tried to sabotage every relationship I’ve ever been in. But I’m really trying not to be a hot mess with this one, even though sometimes I backslide. Luckily, I make up for my crazy with food. Food and orgasms. Yup, that’s the key to a man’s heart—through his stomach and his penis.

We’re even collaborating in the form of a humorous internet video. We’re like an interracial Jay-Z and Beyonce—or, more appropriately, JEW-Z (I enjoy Jewish puns as much as I love black puns). I’ve slept my way to the top, y’all, and will be playing the role of Rabbi Blowdart in what is surely to be the most insane, gender-bending 5-minute video that vimeo has ever seen.

I have no idea if it’ll be funny, and Jewboo clearly doesn’t understand the seriousness of being a blacktress. When I asked him what I should wear/bring, he said, “Something cute.”
What on earth does that mean?!
When I searched online for “female rabbis” (I’m a method blacktor), however, I didn’t get much of a hint—but I did find out the greatest piece of news ever:

Alysa Stanton is the first black female rabbi!!


Talk about a Challahback girl!!

Seriously, y’all!! This happened last year—how am I so behind?!
She’s at a temple in North Carolina, and of course, the irony of being black rabbi in an all-white congregation in the south isn’t lost on the rabbi.
“God has a sense of humor,” she said.
Oh my god, I love her. I bet we could sit around and eat latkes and talk about being cross-over sensations.

You know, not having much to do actually allows me to get real ish done, like pay my credit card bill and turn the blog into a legit .com! Holla at a commercial entity, y’all!! Now, you can get rid of the “blogspot,” and just click diaryofamadblacktress.com, and get your dose of Sojourner’s Truth! I don’t know why it took me three years to do this—I was so scared I’d need that $10 at some point, I guess. It’s only when you’ve got nothing better to do but stare at your cuticles that you finally take some BLACKtion.

This free time also allows me to do crazy things, like pass Jewboo’s resume on to my boss for a possible paid internship position. At first, I did it as a joke, sort of just trying to help the boo get something (you know a Jewboo without a job is like a day without sunshine!!), but then when I told him, he was actually interested. I then felt compelled to see this process through, as I know finding employment is important to him.
So, he’s through the pipeline….for now. After a bit more of a think on it (which I had tons of time to do….are you seeing a theme here?), I realized nothing would be more awful than Jewboo in my workplace, where I act a fool with my office wife, am grumpy all day, and often show up looking just a two steps above homeless. This would be the kiss of death for our love affair. Even Jay-Z knows he's gotta collabo with A-Keys sometimes, just to keep it fresh.

Anyhoo, I refuse to stress—although I definitely have the time to. I’m cheering myself with the news that I got from the president of the watercolor society this week—I’ve been invited to his home to cover a workshop!

Remember how I told you about my fabulous Friday evening at the watercolor society banquet? Well, it was all I could have hoped for. As the youngest and brownest person in the room, I felt like I’d crashed the AARP yearly social, but everyone was actually quite nice. Drunken geriatrics are hilarious, and the art puns flowed as abundantly as the wine. Some favorites include:
“I thought I got Rose madder, but it was just a pigment of my imagination.”
“Who hasn’t ever just gotten lazy and went for the cheap Hooker’s—Hooker’s green, I mean!!”
These are only funny if you know paints…and if you’re 70.
I sat at the cool kid’s table, with the society president, my boss, and the jurors. As the prez and I talked, he pointed across the table to a man who was cracking jokes. “That’s my partner. He’s a diva.”
Yes, folks. I was at a table with not one, not two, but THREE retirement-aged homosexuals.
BEST. NIGHT. EVER.
Of course, the idea of going to the home of two of these gentlemen and talking paints would be nothing short of magical—and to get paid for it, no less!!

What should I wear? It won’t be until July, so we have time to plan.
Maybe I’ll spend the rest of the day doing that.

The Blacktress Does It Again

Guys, this is getting ridiculous.

I was walking across 12th street during my lunch hour, and I was stopped on the corner of 6th avenue, waiting for the light to change. As I stared off into space, enjoying the taste of summer weather, a voice called to the blacktress.
"Excuse me, miss, could you help me cross the street?"
I look down and to my left and see the tiniest, most precious old White lady.
"Yes, of course," I say.
Then, there's an awkward moment, cause the light doesn't say "WALK" yet, but we've already established a relationship. So, I make some small talk.
"It's such a nice day, isn't it?"
"Yes. I had a hip replacement, and my balance isn't what it used to be."
She says this as my attempt at small talk was actually a probe into her personal health.
The light changed and we crossed.

Dude, how does this keep happening to me? Old ladies see me and just want me to help them get across the street.

And, just like last time, I think this a get-out-of-jail-free card for the next week or so.

I guess I don't need to worry about all that unprotected sex anymore--JK (rowling), guys!!!!

Mondays With Artists....

Okay, I know that technically today is Thursday, but I like the idea of a theme of sorts, so I’ve decided to use the same title as before. For background, see my previous post on the crazies I encounter via telephone at my place of employment. The following conversation was much more brief than Ms. Tembly, but still managed to pack enough discomfort in 3 minutes that I felt the need to share it with you. Read on, gentle reader….

Sojourner: Hello Ms. Sharp, this is Sojourner Truth, returning your call.

Sharp: Oh, yes, hello. I spoke with your advertising office yesterday and got some information. See, I’d been confused about my ad placement. I had been advertising online, thinking it was affiliated with your magazine, but it’s actually another publication.

Sojo: I see, I see. Will you be placing an ad in our directory this year?

Sharp: Yes, I will. I’ve been out of the business for a while. (she then proceeds to tell me the following in a casual, almost offhand manner, as though she reciting her grocery list): My son was living with me for a while, then he got sick and died, and I lost a couple of years of my life, so I’m getting the business side of things in order.

Sojo: I’m sorry.

(I really didn’t know what to say. I was uncomfortable. This was much, much more than I needed to know—and had very little to do with the ad she was placing. )

Sharp: I love your magazine, but I live up in the sticks-- with a Nazi magazine retailer who doesn’t carry any of the publications I like.

(Harsh words—I see ‘Sharp’ isn’t just a clever surname. This woman is fierce.)

Sojo: We can start you on a subscription if you’d like.

(The attempt to see her the magazine is part of my new motto, ABC—Always Be Closing. You’ve gotta be workin’ it 24/7 365)

Sharp: Oh, I can’t do that. You see, Sojourner, on my social security income I can’t afford to subscribe to any magazines.

Uh-oh…I’ve just made things worse and more awkward.

Sharp: I’m living on basically $10- $15 per day, which comes out to roughly $3 per hour. And I’ve been calling my congressman to raise the social security so that it at least matches minimum wage, but it’s a losing battle.

Sojo: Oh, hell to the no, Ms. Sharp—that’s a hot mess!!!

Sharp: It is, Sojourner.

(We share a moment of silence, bonded over our oppression. Though, quite frankly, I made less than that as a slave, and I managed to still add some spice to my food.)

Sharp: Do you still write articles on artists.

(Um, yeah… that’s what we do.)

Sojo: Of course!

Sharp: Well, I’d love to submit my work for your review. I’ve been working on a 2008 calendar that I think shows great pieces.

Sojo: Great! I’ll send you our guidelines, all right?

I take down her e-mail address and mentally promise to donate some money to her life. It’s a hand up, not a hand out.