Academically Profiling

Hey gang! What's the haps? I've been trying to live my dreams but it's a slow-going process.

My latest plan: getting on the ol' college-performing circuit. Can you imagine me bringing my stand-up and portmanteaus to institutes of higher education?
I'd like to be their Sister Mary Clarence, telling them the sassy truths they don't expect to hear and helping them find their voice.

 I've written a one-sheet to start peddling to various schools but it's crucial that I focus my efforts. As a blacktress with a Jewboo and a penchant for TMI, there are a myriad of ways I could market myself: Part of the diversity initiative? The best show for Women's History Month? What about a simple B(l)ack to School Special? Where do I fit in? It's just like freshman year all over again! Before I start getting cray, I'm picking a fistful of nearby schools and working outward.

As I look through the lists of Northeast colleges and universities, I find myself judging with the swiftness and hastiness of a member of the NYPD. Other than location (will I do well in racist Boston?), I'm looking at cross-section of graduates. Will a school with 47% of students enrolled in the engineering program be able to handle my truths? What about a place where all the campus photos show students wearing sweaters around their necks? I don't want to be the nerd in an 80s movie surrounded by a bunch of Biffs and Steffs!

If you happen to be reading this and are or ever were a college student, let me know where you think I'd be able to work it. Leave a comment or email me at madblacktress[at]gmail[dot]com. Like a hobo or a deluded scamp, I'm willing to work for food....and I will eat like it's my job.

I HEART The 80s

Saturday night I’m doing a set at another one of those burlesque shows—you know the ones. Although they are cray, I’m actually getting paid this time, and I’m not turnin’ down cash in these trying times. The producer/lead performer has requested that I adjust my set to fit with the theme of the show—the 1980s. Although I’m a true fuckin’ artist and I’m sensitive about my shit (a la Erykah Badu circa Call Tyrone), I like a good challenge. I’m thinking of it as more of an assignment—and I’m kinda struggling. So, let’s get a study group going, guys. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

80s-centric Bits/Concepts:

• The 1980s as a time of low standards (tv and commercials):

Mr. Wizard’s World:Who were those neighborhood kids who would help him with his experiments?? If that show was on today, he’d be on To Catch a Predator. Chris Hansen would burst in the damn kitchen and get some answers.

Does that count as inappropriate touching?

Folger’s coffee commercials: That coffee was fucking FAMOUS. Remember the jingle? The best part of waking up is Folger’s in your cup.

Um, I don’t know about you, but if the best part of waking up is a cup of coffee, you might want to go back to bed! Maybe get quiet, assess your goals, take some time for reflection. I know you're dealing with trickle-down economics, but that's no reason to stop having dreams.

• But it was a great time to be black in the late 1980s!!! The Cosby Show and A Different World—those shows made me want to be a blacktress. You had these talented folks, many of whom were darker than a paper bag, just livin' life the way people of all colors do. There was a place for me….til I actually got old enough to start pursuing it. By the mid-90s, my only option was Homeboys in Outer Space.

The title pretty much says it all. Two black men who didn’t have any bargaining chips played astronauts on a stranded spaceship. The computer that ran the ship was a female voice named….Loquatia.

#whyblackpeoplecan’thavenicethings

• It was easy to show your affection in the 80s. If you wanted to show you were into someone, all you needed was: a MIX TAPE. That shit was real. None of this clickin’-and-draggin’ foolery. You had to find the track, sync that shit up, think about the flow from one to the other. And if you were a keeper, you definitely rewound the blank tape to create as seamless a transition as possible from one song to the other.

• Loved shows with absentee dads, though. I felt a lot of connection to the female protagonists:

Out of This World: Dad was a fucking alien!

My Two Dads: I was jealous of that bitch. Her eyebrows were completely unmanageable and she had two dudes willing to raise her. I didn't get the problem--that judge should have left them alone.


Okay, guys, let’s put our heads together. Leave a comment (and don’t steal my bits). What else can we add to the list????

Blast From the Past

No, I'm not referring to the movie starring Brendan Fraser and Alicia Silverstone. I'm talking about my lost youth.

I don’t know what’s up with me, but I cannot get early-90s television off the brain--maybe it's some weird PMS thing.

You know you’re hella bored at work when your first thought is, “I wish I could watch Blossom.”

Seriously. This has been nagging me since 10:42am.

Where is Mayim Bialik? Or, more important--where can a blacktress get one of those sweet hats with a flower on the front?



I cannot tell you how many times I sat in my room with my camcorder and recorded my dance moves for posterity. Blossom gets right to the heart of the matter.



I cannot tell you how many times, after a nice Brazilian wax, that I tapped dance on a piano while my dad looked on creepily. (something was going on there, I’m telling you)



Below are a list of other jams I miss--some of it may seem strange to you, gentle readers. I mean, the Cosby Show goes without saying, as does Save By the Bell, not only because everyone misses them but also because they can still be seen on Nick at Nite and TBS.
Oh god--television shows from my youth are now on Nick at Nite. I feel like I'm 72 years old. Here are some dark horses:

My Two Dads (obviously, my mention of it in the last post is what started this trip down memory lane.)
Flash Forward Hello--the old one, not that new ABC crap.
Out of This World (Because I, too, often imagined my absentee father was on a far-off planet, which is why he couldn’t take care of me)


And, of course, A Different World. Oh, how I hoped one day to go to Hillman……

I don't know what this is all about today, but I just really miss the early 90s. It was a simpler time--when Bill Clinton could get beejers whenever he wanted, and a B.A. could actually lead to employment. When , and creepy aliens could live amongst us--it was the kind of change I could believe in, you know?

Sidebar: OMG, New Massa just brought in his BF to introduce to the office. He is soooo hot multi-culti. They're like a silver-fox Benetton ad. SWOON CITY.

I want to spend my nights watching them sleep.
Is that creepy?

Indestructible

So, I'm here in Darwin where it's already 90 degrees and humid at 9am. Claire, the love of my life and new best friend, has already left for a trip to Kakadu, and I'm left to fend for myself. I'm now finding I miss the Outback crew and the bonding that comes from near-death experiences.

I'm also missing the random '80s tunes we listened to on our 6 to 10-hour car rides. For example, "Gold," by Spandau Ballet, featured heavily in the rotation. It's the most amazing song ever. I embed it for your listening/viewing pleasure.



Nothing boosts the spirits like hearing that gorgeous baritone singing "you're indestructible....." after a 3.5-hour hike in the height of the desert sun.

Okay, off to the museum and more exploring. Tomorrow morning I head off to a one-day tour of Litchfield National Park, where there are apparently giant termite mounds and waterfalls for swimming.

I don't even know myself anymore.

Apparently You CAN Silence Sojo....

I'm pissed, y'all.

I went in to work today and during a total lull I went to put up a post about my shenanigans the previous night. Much to my dismay and horror, I saw that the IT bitches have BLOCKED ACCESS TO MY BLOG!

The blacktress has been blacklisted. Hell to the no!

This ship is no longer cruisey--not cruisey at all. Thank god this is only a two-week gig.

If I'd had access to my diary earlier today, I would have recorded the following:

1. I am currently drinking hot chocolate out of a green mug with a picture of a sheep on it that says "Thinking of Ew." I remember why I hate office life.

2. One of my main tasks is to input names into the ships' security systems, so deliveries can be made and people can hop off and on. On today's list was 'McCarthy, Andrew." Is the Pretty in Pink hottie working for cruise ships now?! I wondered as I plugged him into the database. I then spent a large portion of the morning wondering what Andrew McCarthy would do on a cruise ship. Does he perform scenes from the film on the Lido Deck after bocce tourneys?

Oh my god, I heart him.

3. Today at work, I got a call from drag queen Portia Turbo, who I worked for during Fair Day. The call went something like this:
"Sojourner, gorgeous, it's Portia Turbo, how are you?"
"Great, how are you?"
"Good. Look, sweetheart, we love you, and we want you to work as a Gaydar Girl at the Mardi Gras Harbour Party next Sunday. Can you do it?"
"Will Verushka Darling be there?"
"Of course, gorgeous!"
"I'm there!"

Guys, I have been requested to act as a Gaydar Girl for the Harbour Party. Am I on my way to becoming a gay icon? This is everything I've ever wanted! What if I become a famous blacktress, but I'm only famous in Australia--then I can come home to NYC when I want to 'get away from it all.' Can you imagine?!

See, these are the things I would have shared in real time if only the massa of the ship had let me. What really pisses me off is that someone sitting near me listens to the radio all day. And we're not talking smooth Mozart sounds. Before 11am I heard MGMT's 'Electric Feel' and 'Don't Stop the Music' by Ri-Ri. I may as well have been in the club with such distracting grooves! How is it okay to listen to fun pop hits that could distract other colleagues but not okay to check email and update blogs during ridiculously long stretches of boredom?! Shit, I wrote most of this on a series of post-its on my desk--they can't make me work. You don't own me!

Sidenote: The best part about the pop music is that it can only be coming from one of two people: Jessica, a young girl who has yet to say hello to me; or Paul, who is known as 'Boots' (as in "Puss in")--a middle-aged man who regularly leaves at 3pm and doesn't say much.

I think it's him.

On an up-note, me and the boss-lady actually chit-chatted today. Turns out my kewpie doll is only 22 years young and has never left her home country. She also revealed that she "doesn't know what she's doing," which makes a lot of sense, since she can't quite delegate. When I complete basic tasks quickly and efficiently, she tries to bolster my self esteem with such phrases as "You're doing a good job!" and "Well done for thinking ahead!"

Um, sweetie, I've been reading on my own since I was 4. Don't get it twisted.

She's nice, though, and as far as "bosses" go, she causes no stress. If only I could get some fucking internet access! Don't they know I'm a future gay icon?!