Hey Gang, What do you think of the redesign? I was getting sick and tired of the blah background, so I decided to change it up--thoughts?
Monday night I met with a publicist to discuss ways to take the blacktress to the next level. She was a very Earth Mother, actualize-your-potential Jewess, and I kinda have a friend crush (and not just because she met with me free of charge). She said a lot of things that were good, but mostly it was about experimenting and tracking changes. She advised that I try different things, but don't just disregard the results--really look at them and write them down. Like, if I do a show in BK, how many referrals do I get? What's kind of response do I get when I host versus doing a short set? How does blogging drive traffic to www.YouTube.com/BlacktressComedy? Only by looking at the results will I get a game plan, be able to set realistic goals, and measure success.
It may sound obvious, but when it takes all my strength to make myself wash the damn dishes, there's no suggestion that's too small. So, in the spirit of experimenting and tracking changes, I'm setting up a blogging schedule--even when I don't feel funny, or feel too busy, or don't want to risk losing my job because I'm being inappropriate, I am going to put up a post every other day. So it begins...
Luckily, I've got something to work with. Yesterday I went to my old high school to meet with an admin about becoming a tutor (blacktress needs to get a well-paying side hustle, and nothing says 'cash-in-hand' like Upper East Side private school tutoring). I don't know if I've already mentioned it, but my private schooling on the UES began when I was a mere 10 years old, and began what would become a lifetime of studies INSIDE CAUCASIA. It wasn't just hard being bigger and blacker than everyone else, but I didn't have a nanny or a kate spade bag AND I wore a size medium (which made me an object of ridicule--I kid you not). Within the first semester I quickly learned that I had to get really funny really fast, and I wouldn't be dating anyone until college, if ever.
I think it could have been when a girl said to me on the first day of music class, "if you don't stop being the little bitch you are, you're never going to make friends here."
If by "bitch" she meant "painfully shy," then I guess she was right.
Needless to say, as I made my way up Park Avenue yesterday, I felt a bit awkward (and really old). By the time I got to the administrator's office, I had an eating disorder. As I walked up the stairs, I could hear Lady Gaga playing--ah, the freedom of private schooling. I saw a poster on the wall advertising the UJIMA* club, which spearheaded the Kenya Project.
Where was UJIMA when I was a lass?! I could have used some inspiration and outreach!
My memories are quieted by a sudden stampede of children flooded into the stairwell, and I started to making my scared noise (which sounds a lot like this:
They were just so full of energy and life--I couldn't take it.
Our meeting was brief, but I'm hopeful that something will come of it--even though it might not happen until the fall.
I went upstairs to visit a teacher (the one whose son has been deeply influenced by a blacktress), and the next thing I know, she's playing my YouTube for everyone in the history department. Students desperately trying to learn couldn't help but listen in.
"Does this have profanity in it?" one boy asked.
"Dude, I'm dropping F-bombs like Hiroshima and Nagasaki!"
I think it was the term "wintercourse" that made him leave the room.
It was kind of surreal to sit in a room where I used to have nervous breakdowns about Robespierre and have people watching my stand-up. It was even more surreal when one of the teaching fellows (a young black woman who went to Dartmouth and can handle Sojourner's Truths) asked me if I'd be interested in being a mentor to a current student.
There is nothing I want more to help another young, gifted, and black mind traverse the treacherous land of CAUCASIA. I told her to give me someone who was really cool, and who needed to be empowered. I'm already getting together a reading list, which so far includes Audre Lorde, bell hooks, and June Jordan.
Just think of it, guys--we'll sit around, braiding each other's hair and talking about boys. I'll rent The Women of Brewster Place and show her our history. It'll be, like, the ultimate safe space!
In other news: Anybody got a job for me that'll pay real money AND give me the flexibility to live my dreams?
*Every time I type "Ujima", both Microsoft Word and Blogger suggest I change it to JEMIMA. Is the Microsoft Office Suite racist???
Showing posts with label private school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label private school. Show all posts
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
When Sinus Pressure Hits....I don't know what to do.
Guys, I'm feeling a bit low after last night's commercial class. I thought I'd be great, and was told the casting directors would "just eat you up; they'd love a blacktress on their roster." Instead, I was directed to "not be so stiff," and after three tries was directed to sit down with a "better. that's better."
Like my mom says, "better isn't good enough."
She also says, "I didn't work so hard for this to be your life," and then it gets awkward.
Anyhoozle, the class was just two hours, and there were 12 people--all white as the freshly driven snow, and even the boys were as thin as Justin Bieber's left thigh (they lacked Biebs' swoopy bangs, though). I went in with energy, but just couldn't shake the nerves and discomfort. We were on camera, but couldn't see our own face. Instead, two HUGE flat-screen tvs faced outward, giving all of the class access to every pore. "Dont' think about yourself here," one of the teachers said, voguing around her head to indicate a television screen. "We don't show you your tape because the point is to not think about how you look."
I just couldn't help it, though! I'm much more at home on a stage, with an audience I can't see because I'm blinded by bright lights--not a handful of folks that are looking at my face at 10x its normal size. I know that we were all there to learn, but there were some students who just "nailed it. great read." They had moved to NYC just for a moment like this, and knew how to bring the right amount of confidence and relief to a discussion about sinus pain and pressure. I will always be a type-A brown-noser (as evidenced by the immediate unearthing of a pen and notepad once we sat down), and blackting is what I love--I simply must be perfect!
I feel just like Bette Davis in Now, Voyager.
I know, I know--I need to stop worrying about what the gossip girls are doing and handle my own scandal. I just wish I hadn't had all that Upper East Side private schooling--I might have high self-esteem in situations like this. We're told not to practice, but I think I may have to have someone point a camera at me long enough that I cease to be nervous. We'll see what happens.
Like my mom says, "better isn't good enough."
She also says, "I didn't work so hard for this to be your life," and then it gets awkward.
Anyhoozle, the class was just two hours, and there were 12 people--all white as the freshly driven snow, and even the boys were as thin as Justin Bieber's left thigh (they lacked Biebs' swoopy bangs, though). I went in with energy, but just couldn't shake the nerves and discomfort. We were on camera, but couldn't see our own face. Instead, two HUGE flat-screen tvs faced outward, giving all of the class access to every pore. "Dont' think about yourself here," one of the teachers said, voguing around her head to indicate a television screen. "We don't show you your tape because the point is to not think about how you look."
I just couldn't help it, though! I'm much more at home on a stage, with an audience I can't see because I'm blinded by bright lights--not a handful of folks that are looking at my face at 10x its normal size. I know that we were all there to learn, but there were some students who just "nailed it. great read." They had moved to NYC just for a moment like this, and knew how to bring the right amount of confidence and relief to a discussion about sinus pain and pressure. I will always be a type-A brown-noser (as evidenced by the immediate unearthing of a pen and notepad once we sat down), and blackting is what I love--I simply must be perfect!
I feel just like Bette Davis in Now, Voyager.
I know, I know--I need to stop worrying about what the gossip girls are doing and handle my own scandal. I just wish I hadn't had all that Upper East Side private schooling--I might have high self-esteem in situations like this. We're told not to practice, but I think I may have to have someone point a camera at me long enough that I cease to be nervous. We'll see what happens.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sojo Goes Solo -- A Solo Show, That Is
So, as you all know, the Sojo has opinions. I’ve been inside Caucasia, got hos in different country codes, and love to share my business. This clearly means I need to have a one-blacktress show—first on LOGO, then on Bravo, then on EVERY CHANNEL POSSIBLE.
My first step on the path to world domination is taking a solo-show writing class, taught by a strong black woman in a white woman’s candy coating. I’ve heard great things about her, and although this brain of mine is teeming with ideas, I have no idea how to organize them, or what’s worth expanding upon.
And also I’m lazy and can’t motivate myself. (see any post regarding gchat, which often takes place at work).
So, I started this class on Saturday, and after hosting two shows the night before, was feeling excited to nurture the blacktress within. These feelings quickly disappeared when I walked into the classroom and found myself, yet again, in the heart of Caucasia.
And not just any Caucasia, but smiley, excited, creative types who, despite being able to tap into their emotions, seem to lack self-awareness.
The class was 11 girls and 1 guy, which actually could have been pleasant, given my last improv class experience, which consisted of 14 white boys and one blacktress (such a circle jerk!). But I walk in, and I suddenly felt like it was the first day of Dalton (NYC private school that blacktress attended in her youth. The school’s motto should have been, “Dalton: it’s where self-esteem goes to die.”) All the girls know each other from previous classes and shows, and are giggling and gabbing in their high-pitched tones, and everyone has taken a class with the teacher already—and is her BFF—except for myself. I swear, if there had been a stool in a corner, I would have sat in it.
To make matters worse, the first person I see when I walk in is this girl from my college who I could not stand. Although I’m open to her surprising me, I find her to be overly confident and she gets under my skin. Whatever, I need to let it go and let it flow, right?
So, I try to shake it off, take opposite action and engage in class, not make myself the last person to present as we go through exercises, and generally remind myself that I’m here to work on me, and I don’t need to be besties with anyone.
It’s not really working, though, and the last 30 minutes of the class are spent playing "questions," where one person gets in the circle and everyone else fires questions at them. This exercise is meant to get us closer, remove that awkward feeling, and foster a sense of comaraderie. Here are some highlights:
When asked her favorite book, one girl answers, "The one I wrote."
WHO DOES THAT?
Really? The one you wrote? She seems like a nice girl, but I’m sorry, that is a first-impression FAIL.
Another girl’s questions only consist of drug-related experiences. "When was the last time you were really fucked up?" she asked, or "What's the hardest drug you've ever done?" Of course, when placed in the center of the circle, she spent much of her time recounting the time she did 7 hits of liquid acid after several tequila shots.
I’m sorry, but like Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon, I’m getting too old for this shit.
When asked, "When was the last time you stole something?" one girl, whose name I've blocked out, replies, "Oh, god, I stole some lipstick from CVS, some bracelets from H&M, and a sweater from Century 21--and I got caught for that one." This girl is 20-something, started class whining about crashing with her parents in Westchester while the person she's house-sitting for comes back to town for a week, and is a non-working actress. I don’t think she really needs to steal things. No one has oppressed her--why is she engaging in thievery?
These are basically long examples to explain that, as a blacktress working on a personal-story-driven solo show about time inside Caucasia, and my own conflicting feelings about race, class, and both of these things as modes of performance, these students may not be good for me.
So, this is a bit of a rant, but I had to get it out. Should I stay in the class? I think the teacher could be really great, very smart, and she’s kind of a bad-ass lesbian I’d want to hang out with on the weekends. But if I’m not comfortable and trusting of my fellow classmates, how can I really write and express myself freely? Ain’t I, Sojourner, a woman?! Don’t I deserve to be there? Don’t I need to hang up my hang-ups at the same time that I hang up my coat? I need to get it together, cause I am not being a strong black woman!
How are you today, gentle readers?
My first step on the path to world domination is taking a solo-show writing class, taught by a strong black woman in a white woman’s candy coating. I’ve heard great things about her, and although this brain of mine is teeming with ideas, I have no idea how to organize them, or what’s worth expanding upon.
And also I’m lazy and can’t motivate myself. (see any post regarding gchat, which often takes place at work).
So, I started this class on Saturday, and after hosting two shows the night before, was feeling excited to nurture the blacktress within. These feelings quickly disappeared when I walked into the classroom and found myself, yet again, in the heart of Caucasia.
And not just any Caucasia, but smiley, excited, creative types who, despite being able to tap into their emotions, seem to lack self-awareness.
The class was 11 girls and 1 guy, which actually could have been pleasant, given my last improv class experience, which consisted of 14 white boys and one blacktress (such a circle jerk!). But I walk in, and I suddenly felt like it was the first day of Dalton (NYC private school that blacktress attended in her youth. The school’s motto should have been, “Dalton: it’s where self-esteem goes to die.”) All the girls know each other from previous classes and shows, and are giggling and gabbing in their high-pitched tones, and everyone has taken a class with the teacher already—and is her BFF—except for myself. I swear, if there had been a stool in a corner, I would have sat in it.
To make matters worse, the first person I see when I walk in is this girl from my college who I could not stand. Although I’m open to her surprising me, I find her to be overly confident and she gets under my skin. Whatever, I need to let it go and let it flow, right?
So, I try to shake it off, take opposite action and engage in class, not make myself the last person to present as we go through exercises, and generally remind myself that I’m here to work on me, and I don’t need to be besties with anyone.
It’s not really working, though, and the last 30 minutes of the class are spent playing "questions," where one person gets in the circle and everyone else fires questions at them. This exercise is meant to get us closer, remove that awkward feeling, and foster a sense of comaraderie. Here are some highlights:
When asked her favorite book, one girl answers, "The one I wrote."
WHO DOES THAT?
Really? The one you wrote? She seems like a nice girl, but I’m sorry, that is a first-impression FAIL.
Another girl’s questions only consist of drug-related experiences. "When was the last time you were really fucked up?" she asked, or "What's the hardest drug you've ever done?" Of course, when placed in the center of the circle, she spent much of her time recounting the time she did 7 hits of liquid acid after several tequila shots.
I’m sorry, but like Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon, I’m getting too old for this shit.
When asked, "When was the last time you stole something?" one girl, whose name I've blocked out, replies, "Oh, god, I stole some lipstick from CVS, some bracelets from H&M, and a sweater from Century 21--and I got caught for that one." This girl is 20-something, started class whining about crashing with her parents in Westchester while the person she's house-sitting for comes back to town for a week, and is a non-working actress. I don’t think she really needs to steal things. No one has oppressed her--why is she engaging in thievery?
These are basically long examples to explain that, as a blacktress working on a personal-story-driven solo show about time inside Caucasia, and my own conflicting feelings about race, class, and both of these things as modes of performance, these students may not be good for me.
So, this is a bit of a rant, but I had to get it out. Should I stay in the class? I think the teacher could be really great, very smart, and she’s kind of a bad-ass lesbian I’d want to hang out with on the weekends. But if I’m not comfortable and trusting of my fellow classmates, how can I really write and express myself freely? Ain’t I, Sojourner, a woman?! Don’t I deserve to be there? Don’t I need to hang up my hang-ups at the same time that I hang up my coat? I need to get it together, cause I am not being a strong black woman!
How are you today, gentle readers?
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