Here I Am!

Happy Back to School, friends! Here's a clip from a summer set I did at the People's Improv Theater. Give it a view and forward it widely--preferably to any agents or managers you may know.

The Importance of Being Ernest

There are so many things to adore about this video, but I'll let you decide for yourself: I had no idea who Lana Del Rey was until I saw this video (and was prompted to look up several clips). I think that is a sign of a powerful YouTube clip--it inspired me to ACT. It also reminded me that we could all use an Ernest in our lives.

I may have frostbite--it was just THAT cold

Hey gang,

You have no idea how good it feels to be blogging again. I just got back from the D, which I haven't been to in over a year. As you know, when my mom and I go visit G-Unit, we must grapple with three generations of crazy, all with our own truths. This weekend was no exception and the only silver lining is that it was a mere 56 hours long. But it's amazing how, despite global warming, it's still so, so cold in the D. For those of you who still can't quite wrap your brain around what it is to be in the city that god forgot, let me share this internet vid. Not since T-Baby's magnum opus has the essence of the D been so eloquently captured.

I'm just glad that I don't have this guy's grandma!

The repeated requests for chili cheese, the support for Kwame Kilpatrick, the recollections of shooting various people--it's as spot-on as Stuff White Girls Say to Black Girls.

Some translations:

- "Run on Rose" means rose champagne--Moet. Apparently it's the balls.
- "snatch some carties" = steal some Cartier sunglasses
- Kwame Kilpatrick was the mayor of the D who was having an affair with his chief of staff--this was put out after he'd already been accused of corruption. That's why "he can't be textin bitches."

A Portent?

Y'all, this BHM is starting off WRONG.

I have been on the plantation less than hour and have already received two pieces of news that have shaken my young, gifted, and BLACK world. I can't be alone in this.

1. Don Cornelius, creator of Soul Train, was found dead in his home this morning, of an apparent suicide.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! Don, you created the longest-running show in the history of television! You showed white people how to dance! You provided the basis for countless episodes of sitcoms!

He is, in short, an AfAm Icon. Today of all days, this hurts. And what hurts even more is that it's been buried at the bottom of news and pop-culture websites.

2. While sitting at my desk, my coworker two cubes behind me exclaims. "Holy shit." I need to know the cause, natch. Apparently, "Pfizer just recalled 1 million packets of birth control pills in the US because they may not actually prevent pregnancy." Of the three generic brands, one of them is used by the blacktress!

Y'ALL! THIS IS NOT OKAY. I can't be ringing in BHM Juno style!

Can you imagine a bunch of mini blacktresses and Jewboos running around?! They'd be all kinds of neurotic (cause they're the Jewish spawn of two aspiring comics) and neglected (cause they were accidents). I don't have enough money for dreams, let alone prenatal vitamins! Not to mention the fact that I get weary just watching a Law & Order marathon, so you know late-night feedings would be out. AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I have no one to share this with, as my coworkers find it a bit "inappropriate" that I told them I used one of the brands that have been recalled. Of course, I turn to you, gentle readers. We need each other now more than ever.

In hopes of turning this day--nay, this month--around, I'm going to share what I planned to write about this morning, before all of this earth-shattering news hit my brainhole.

Thank god for JJSiii. Whenever a blacktress is down, he knows exactly what to send from the interwebs to remind me that life's worth living. On Monday, it was an invitation to join his RuPaul Fantasy Drag Race team.

Today, he sent along a music video so amazing, I don't even think I have the words for it. I will let it speak for itself. Please, enjoy. You're welcome.



After writing what I thought were the lyrics, I ran them against JJSiii and found we were on the same page. Clearly, English isn't Andrew Doriane's first language, but bless him for putting his feelings out there. For those who may be having trouble deciphering, here's the breakdown:

“Breath of the ocean / Tranquil emotions / I’m feeling so safe in her arms / One thing is clear / Heaven is here / With her, I can reach for the stars / Looking at us...

CHORUS: Somehow she’s like gay / I’ve always had this feeling / even deep inside / She has been playing gay so real that I believe it / Am I losing my mind?

“No one except her / Keeps me protected / From different storms on my way / Her guessing my wishes / Makes me suspicious / She knows me for (??) what I think / God, she’s like gay

(repeat chorus)

Somehow she’s like gay, because she seems to know men as well as gays do / She must be playing gay with me so I can only be like lesbian too

(repeat chorus)

Gay (echo, echo, echo)”

I think we could all learn a little something from this girl.

She is a young, white, Southern version of me.

The video really started to resonate with me when she started smushing her belly. I enjoy doing that, especially when I'm trying to prove why I'll never be a star of stage or screen.

I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I called someone "honey boo-boo child," I'd be a trillionaire. Nay--a chamillionaire!

Sidebar: I know kids are energetic, but does it kinda seem like Alana might be on meth or some other sort of stimulant?

2012: Ghost Protocol

We did it, guys. We made it through another holiday season. No more cocktails with whole cranberries in them under the guise of “festive.” No more fancy dress parties that require I freeze my butt off. Of course, it always ends with the mother of all over-hyped parties: New Year’s Eve. I’m not tryin’ to front like I haven’t gone out and made a hot mess of myself in years past (see my 2009 mishap in Sydneytown). But my god, I am beyond over it. If we’re going to place great meaning on the end of the year, as we do with an NYE “bash” (the only time in which that word is used to described a gather), then equal meaning must be given to the start of a new one. With that thinking, why would I want to start my next year on earth with a hangover and shame? Nothin’ like being well-rested and eating a good brekkie to say, “Hello world! Blacktress is here!”

Not that I did that, mind you. Yesterday was the first workday of 2012 and I got to the office at 10:37am. Work starts at 9. (#depression:1,success:0) So far, I’ve been preoccupied with the Weight Watchers point values of foods and trying to figure out what side hustles I can take on to make a little extra dough.

It seems I’m right where we left off, friends. Then, I get a posting on my fb wall of this video with the line: "This is great, but I wish it was Sojourner." Yet again, there's another blacktress out there who's actually out there making things happen.

Add to that the “new looks” of Gmail and Facebook—which make everything far more confusing and create the same visual effect as a pile of vomit on my computer screen, and I’m already weary. Seriously, though: I am scared of Facebook "Timeline." I have a visceral reaction when I see a Timeline profile and fear mine may be next. I’m not even trying, y’all. I’m initiating Ghost Protocol on 2012. Disavowing the whole year, the country, all of it.

How’s TWENTYTWELVE starting for you? This could be our last year on earth, so let’s party like it’s 1999—you know, that other time it was gonna be our last year on earth.

I Want to Be a 5-Year-Old White Girl When I Grow Up

I know I'm a week behind, but I gotta share this YouTube:



This chick knows what's up! Did mom play Ani Difranco next to her belly when this precocious gem was in the womb?
I remember being this bold and brash. Did I ever tell you guys about the time I stabbed a boy with a spork in pre-K because he tried to kiss me?

Well, yeah. That's basically it.

And I was the one who got sent to time out! I still remember it like it was yesterday.

The year was 1988. We'd just woken up from nap time and were getting our snacks--a fruit cup, I believe (hence the spork). This boy--whose name I can't remember, but I think it was something lame--came and sat right next to me, and I immediately got annoyed. He then leaned in and tried to kiss me, and I used the only weapon at my disposal--the plastic genetically modified utensil hybrid found in cafeterias and KFCs everywhere (is it still given out at KFC? I stopped going there once I decided I didn't want to die young). I weakly stabbed at him through his shirt, and didn't even leave a mark, but he yelled for one of the nuns and told them what I did. I tried to explain that I was being assaulted, but at the age of 4, I didn't have such a vocabulary. My teacher instantly put me in the time-out corner. I was 4 years old, and I was trying to Take Back the Afternoon and I was denied!

So, basically, if I had this girl in my class back then, I might have had some support--you know, a Susan B. Anthony to my Sojourner.

The NEW Alabama Slamma!!

Hey y'all.
One of my soul sisters and fellow freedom writers just brought a late-breaking news item to my attention, and I must share it with you all.

Have y'all heard about Antoine Dodson, the Huntsville Alabama native who saved his sister from an intruder who attempted to rape her in her house?!

Um, I am kind of obsessed with him:



He is for serious!! HIDE YOUR HUSBANDS, CAUSE THEY RAPIN' EVERYBODY!!!

I think my favorite part is when he says to the camera, neck in full swing, "you are so DUMB." It's just, like, the most real, true, honest emotion I have ever seen on screen.

Not to mention Kelly's tone--she's like, "some idiot tried to rape me," as if someone just, you know, ruined her day. Some dumb neighborhood kid left a bag of poo on her doorstep or bashed her mailbox with a bat--you know, just an idiot!

Antoine's bringing a strong message, and the world has to know. So, to make it even clearer--and something no one can ever forget--a remixed version has been created. You'll be tapping your feet as you remember there's a rapist on your street (see, he's even got me rhymin' in bloggery!!!):



Antoine, I love you. I already sent this to my buddy who works at FUSE network--we're gonna take this to the top!

Happy Halloween Y'ALL!

I'll be spending Halloween night in the house, trying to avoid the crazy Carnevale that is NYC on a night of masks and mayhem. However, this doesn't mean I'm without spirit! Check out this oddly shaped man doing his best dance moves in a unitard. It's scarier than anything you'll see on All Hallows Eve:



You know there must be nothing going on in Nebraska when the news can devote over a minute of precious airtime to this dancing queen. They were like, "This just in: A calf was born on Knotts Farm! ... er, now for the pumpkin dance!"

Saving Private Ryan--the rap.

For the impatient, just head to minute 1:11.



Who knew WW2 could lend itself to rhyme to so well?

This might be better than Vanilla Ice's Ninja Rap at the end of "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze."
No, wait, nothing's better than that.
In the words of MJ, do you remember the time? Here ya go:

Harry Potter-- the Musical!!!!

This is the greatest thing I have ever seen. Many thanks to JJSiii.

I think my obsession is rekindled.

I Cannot Watch This Without Cracking Up

The rhymes aren't the cleverest, but the hook just has me rolling.

Clearly I spend way too much time on youtube.

Oh, and these last few posts are my way of stalling since I don't know how to begin to write about the fact that I am totes crushing on my very own real-life Weasley twin. Like, for serious. This is an even bigger crush than the one I have on my podiatrist.

And, in line with the tragedy of my life, he is leaving Sydney in about 10 days to spend the next TWO YEARS in Canada!

Fucking Canada.