i had a gig on saturday night with jc hopkins' biggish band at swing 46. on the first break, chuck mackinnon introduces me to what he called his "two dads" -- they hugged me like they'd known me all my young life. turns out they were scottish tourists, in town for the tartan day parade. it wasn't a "kiss me, i'm irish" moment but it was awfully close. and very funny. ("we're scots," one of them declared, "not scotch. scotch is a whisky-flavored gin.") as it turns out, their two nieces (ages 14 and 16) were leading the parade the next day. they made all of it sound like so much fun, i thought i'd see if my friend wanted to go. after all, he is scottish-american.
i love a parade, the song goes -- and it's true, i do. i love it that everyone has their own parade in this city. we're not supposed to forget our heritage and our cultures and our languages to be "as american as possible" -- whose big idea was that, anyway? there's no such thing as a melting pot. it's actually a gigantic salad. it's our uniqueness that makes us great. i don't understand the push to keep certain people out when that's the way most of us got here. the only real americans are native americans. everyone else is an immigrant -- except, of course, the african slaves who came here against their will.
my friend thought that going to the tartan day parade was a lousy idea.
"first of all," he goes, "it's supposed to rain. you know what that means? lots of mulching woolen kilts." "that's never stopped any parade from happening in the city," i countered. so he checked the website and said, "sixth avenue?! who has a parade on sixth avenue?! everybody gets to parade down fifth avenue. the puerto ricans. the germans. the irish. why to the scots get sixth avenue?! and why do they only get 15 blocks?!" the truth is, he had a really good point. we had just happened onto the greek independence day parade a few weeks before on museum mile when we were on our way to the met to see the last day of the rauschenberg exhibit. interestingly enough, black folks' parades needed their own neighborhood and their own borough, respectively: the african-american day parade happens on malcolm x boulevard (where else?) and the west indian day parade (the biggest parade in the city, by the way) is in brooklyn.
was the city of new york treating the scots like *gasp* red-headed step-children?
i don't know how i did it, but i talked him into going to the tartan day parade. the weather was so cold and rainy as we stepped out of the subway that my friend declared, it's probably cancelled. it certainly looked cancelled, in spite of the steel barricades that were assembled along the route. we got there too early and standing around in the freezing cold was not an option, so we went to MoMA and saw the Edvard Munch exhibit, which was profoundly depressing. so we saw some de Koonings and some "monochromatic abstract art" that really annoyed me. anyone remember the broadway play "art" wherein one friend gave his buddy a painting that was basically white? lots of stuff like that. remarkably, my friend can make sense of it. i can, too, eventually -- but i don't think i should have to work that hard.
we killed a little too much time because when we came out, it looked the same as it had before, pretty much. i didn't even hear any bagpipes faintly in the distance. i felt sad. "don't worry," my friend said brightly, "i'll get you some bagpipe music." (he was totally making fun of me, wasn't he?)
hey, wait a minute. my friend is also part norwegian. i think i'll take him to the norwegian-american day parade in may. i won't tell him where we're going this time, though. i want to see the look of genuine surprise on his face when we show up.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
the bad news and the good news
the bad news is, the callback for the "chase mileage" commercial got cancelled. no one knew why. the short answer is that they 86'ed my part but who knows -- maybe they cast it at the last minute from some other direction. oh, well.
the good news is, i had a great meeting with the HOWL festival organizers at F.E.V.A. this afternoon. they're interested in the jc hopkins biggish band and my songs. neat-o. afterwards, i went to the mud cafe for a chai soy latte and walked across town to get some fresh air and think.
all in a day's work. i'm going for a long run in riverbank state park while the sun is still shining.
the good news is, i had a great meeting with the HOWL festival organizers at F.E.V.A. this afternoon. they're interested in the jc hopkins biggish band and my songs. neat-o. afterwards, i went to the mud cafe for a chai soy latte and walked across town to get some fresh air and think.
all in a day's work. i'm going for a long run in riverbank state park while the sun is still shining.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
i got a callback!
i'm going in tomorrow afternoon for a callback on the "chase mileage" commercial. they called me today with the details. i been on this ride so many times, i can't even get my hopes up. of course i'll wear the same outfit. the rest is in God's hands.
i want to say "gee, i want to do my best" but i can't because with commercials there is no such thing as "doing your best" -- you don't get the gig by doing anything, necessarily. a lot of it is what you look like. there were no lines with this one. i walked around some chairs, i sat down, i smiled faintly (probably because i hadn't eaten anything and i was kind of out of it) and that was it. they liked my "look" -- wigless. (ha!)
getting the gig would be stellar but the fact that i keep getting callbacks for commercials without a wig makes me very, very happy.
i want to say "gee, i want to do my best" but i can't because with commercials there is no such thing as "doing your best" -- you don't get the gig by doing anything, necessarily. a lot of it is what you look like. there were no lines with this one. i walked around some chairs, i sat down, i smiled faintly (probably because i hadn't eaten anything and i was kind of out of it) and that was it. they liked my "look" -- wigless. (ha!)
getting the gig would be stellar but the fact that i keep getting callbacks for commercials without a wig makes me very, very happy.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
i look familiar...
they called me on monday for a commercial audition. something called "chase mileage" -- was i interested? it's all such a two-step for me by now that i took down all of the information and didn't give it a second thought. they wanted me to be a young mom. i didn't know what that meant anymore. renee suggested that i wear a particular wig that she knew i had -- she knows my closet quite well and i know hers, too (it's a blactress thing) -- but i can't do that. i think wigs make me look older. and desperate, somehow. it doesn't have that natural wow-i-didn't-think-that-was-a-wig-at-all look. i look like one of those painfully well-dressed senegalese girls that's trying a little too hard to get over. so i have wigs, just in case i need them but just in case never really happens.
there's a reason for that.
once upon a time, a fellow blactress explained it to me, in technicolor: in commercials, they like black girls with natural hair. that's reality -- the girl that clips coupons, changes the diapers and bakes. she wears practical shoes, says sensible things about over the counter medication and uses pine-sol. in the movies, they like black girls with perms and weaves. that's the fantasy -- the long hair, the knowing look, the fake nails. she wears heels, uses profane language and if she isn't a prostitute, she probably looks like one. television can go either way but usually if it's shot in el-lay, they go the weave route.
i don't straighten my hair. the reasons why are too numerous to mention. but trust me, they're good ones. if you put a gun to my head, i'll certainly do a press and curl if the role demands it but chemicals are not an option. and that's that.
the next morning was cold and rainy. i was on time and drowsy, dressed in a conservative woolen skirt and woolen sweater-jacket. and i was wigless.
there was another black woman there. we came up on the elevator together. she said, you look familiar. i said it would probably hit her later that afternoon, why she thought she knew me. she was darker than me and she had on a lovely burnt mustard-yellow shirt and she had dreads. as we stepped off the elevator, we were whisked into the room without even signing in. there were four of us -- she and i and an older white couple. we were to play musical chairs. the catch was that all of us were able to sit down comfortably. when we sat down, we were to give each other knowing looks. and that was it. we slated, he shot it and the next thing i knew, i had finally signed in. as i left, she remembered me -- from a swing band i used to sing with a few years ago. small world.
as i got on the elevator, a tall good-looking black man got on with me, half-smiled and said, you look familiar...
there's a reason for that.
once upon a time, a fellow blactress explained it to me, in technicolor: in commercials, they like black girls with natural hair. that's reality -- the girl that clips coupons, changes the diapers and bakes. she wears practical shoes, says sensible things about over the counter medication and uses pine-sol. in the movies, they like black girls with perms and weaves. that's the fantasy -- the long hair, the knowing look, the fake nails. she wears heels, uses profane language and if she isn't a prostitute, she probably looks like one. television can go either way but usually if it's shot in el-lay, they go the weave route.
i don't straighten my hair. the reasons why are too numerous to mention. but trust me, they're good ones. if you put a gun to my head, i'll certainly do a press and curl if the role demands it but chemicals are not an option. and that's that.
the next morning was cold and rainy. i was on time and drowsy, dressed in a conservative woolen skirt and woolen sweater-jacket. and i was wigless.
there was another black woman there. we came up on the elevator together. she said, you look familiar. i said it would probably hit her later that afternoon, why she thought she knew me. she was darker than me and she had on a lovely burnt mustard-yellow shirt and she had dreads. as we stepped off the elevator, we were whisked into the room without even signing in. there were four of us -- she and i and an older white couple. we were to play musical chairs. the catch was that all of us were able to sit down comfortably. when we sat down, we were to give each other knowing looks. and that was it. we slated, he shot it and the next thing i knew, i had finally signed in. as i left, she remembered me -- from a swing band i used to sing with a few years ago. small world.
as i got on the elevator, a tall good-looking black man got on with me, half-smiled and said, you look familiar...
Sunday, April 02, 2006
the latest list
some people have everything brought to them. they show up in nyc and in short order, whatever they reach for is in their hands, no matter what it is -- a record deal, a broadway show, the ideal set-up, the perfect job... you name it. me? reaching out doesn't seem to give me much more than lots of flexibility. don't get me wrong. i've accomplished some wonderful things that way. but i've never had an avalanche of success come to me by waiting for the phone to ring. it's all about my own ideas, my own plan of action. this is the hardest way but in the long run, i think i'll be better off.
ultimately, God knows what He's doing. the d.i.y. approach suits my temperament and my personality. i'm much stronger and more confident than i ever would have been if things had happened the other way around. and i actually have something to say.
my not-so-secret weapon is, i have this habit of making lists. they're everywhere: on post-it notes by the phone, in my journal, on half-used deli napkins, a junk mail envelope that i was about to throw away. it's a way of organizing my thoughts, realigning my goals and priorities and making sure that i get certain things done in a timely fashion. i've got it down to a daily/weekly/monthly/yearly situation. i can't tell you what i'll have for lunch next tuesday but i can tell you exactly where i want my life to be in ten years. of course, what i want and what i get are sometimes two completely different things. but wanting something is a great start.
none of it is written in stone. it changes according to my mood, my circumstances, my money flow -- but i keep writing things down anyway. sometimes it feels like a writing excercise. something to do before i go to bed, or right before i get out of bed or as i'm about to leave my place. sometimes it feels like an excercise in futility. (will i really have my very own brownstone in harlem someday, with a nice big backyard filled with flowers, a recording studio in the basement and my record label on the ground floor?) but sometimes there are moments when something takes over my hand as i'm writing and i let go. i think of things that seem impossible -- relocating to nyc on no money to live and work as an artist, for example -- and i find a plan of action to make it happen. and then all of a sudden, i realize that it's time to dream something else because i'm living the dream i thought would never happen. do that enough times with no money in your pockets and nothing in your hands but spit and grit and prayer and determination and after awhile, anything seems possible.
my ex-boyfriend used to say, "if you want to make God laugh, make plans." in his mind, that made it okay to have no plan at all. whenever he would tell me that, i would say, what a cop out. if nothing ever happened, that must have been God's plan all along. but proverbs 16:9 says "in his heart a man plans his course but the Lord determines his steps." it's a two way street.
jiminy cricket was right -- a dream is a wish your heart makes -- and God is there to light the way. i suppose i could learn how to box with one hand tied behind my back -- but why?
here's my latest list.
i woke up today and realized that even though it's snowing right now in big heavy chunks and i was wearing snowpants, it was only an optical illusion. spring has sprung officially. the next thing i knew, it would be august. i had to ignore the visuals. what did i want to accomplish before the end of the summer? there's a lot of lists going on but here's a little from each of them. these are ten things that i absolutely have to do by the end of the summer, no matter what:
ultimately, God knows what He's doing. the d.i.y. approach suits my temperament and my personality. i'm much stronger and more confident than i ever would have been if things had happened the other way around. and i actually have something to say.
my not-so-secret weapon is, i have this habit of making lists. they're everywhere: on post-it notes by the phone, in my journal, on half-used deli napkins, a junk mail envelope that i was about to throw away. it's a way of organizing my thoughts, realigning my goals and priorities and making sure that i get certain things done in a timely fashion. i've got it down to a daily/weekly/monthly/yearly situation. i can't tell you what i'll have for lunch next tuesday but i can tell you exactly where i want my life to be in ten years. of course, what i want and what i get are sometimes two completely different things. but wanting something is a great start.
none of it is written in stone. it changes according to my mood, my circumstances, my money flow -- but i keep writing things down anyway. sometimes it feels like a writing excercise. something to do before i go to bed, or right before i get out of bed or as i'm about to leave my place. sometimes it feels like an excercise in futility. (will i really have my very own brownstone in harlem someday, with a nice big backyard filled with flowers, a recording studio in the basement and my record label on the ground floor?) but sometimes there are moments when something takes over my hand as i'm writing and i let go. i think of things that seem impossible -- relocating to nyc on no money to live and work as an artist, for example -- and i find a plan of action to make it happen. and then all of a sudden, i realize that it's time to dream something else because i'm living the dream i thought would never happen. do that enough times with no money in your pockets and nothing in your hands but spit and grit and prayer and determination and after awhile, anything seems possible.
my ex-boyfriend used to say, "if you want to make God laugh, make plans." in his mind, that made it okay to have no plan at all. whenever he would tell me that, i would say, what a cop out. if nothing ever happened, that must have been God's plan all along. but proverbs 16:9 says "in his heart a man plans his course but the Lord determines his steps." it's a two way street.
jiminy cricket was right -- a dream is a wish your heart makes -- and God is there to light the way. i suppose i could learn how to box with one hand tied behind my back -- but why?
here's my latest list.
i woke up today and realized that even though it's snowing right now in big heavy chunks and i was wearing snowpants, it was only an optical illusion. spring has sprung officially. the next thing i knew, it would be august. i had to ignore the visuals. what did i want to accomplish before the end of the summer? there's a lot of lists going on but here's a little from each of them. these are ten things that i absolutely have to do by the end of the summer, no matter what:
- record/mix/master the follow up black americana cd
- record/mix/master the jazz cd
- record/mix/master the folk/country cd
- of course, i'm going down south for a spell to see my family -- but hey, how about a real vacation? (i can't remember the last time i had one.) i want to leave the country for a week or so with my friend.
- do a 14 day fast -- and finish it off with some hardcore hydrocolonic therapy
- read that ridiculously heady three volumed kierkegaard nightmare
- take my annual "on the beach in my black bikini" photo
- (...look absolutely spectacular in that black bikini, by the way...)
- open an IRA account
- live alone
Saturday, April 01, 2006
squirrel...it's what's for dinner!
this is my uncle hiram, the great southern outdoorsman, showing me how to skin a squirrel last christmas.
part one
part two
and finally, part three
(and no, squirrel does not taste just like chicken.)
part one
part two
and finally, part three
(and no, squirrel does not taste just like chicken.)
Friday, March 31, 2006
the war of attrition
i went to the equity building early yesterday afternoon to audition for an industrial showcase for state farm. renee called me and told me about it and it made sense to go and at least toss my hat in the ring because it would start rehearsing right after i did the show i've already got upstate. the pay would be great. and they're going to chicago and las vegas, at the end of the summer and later in the fall, respectively. i couldn't make it for the female singers call that morning. would they see me during the male singers call? why not try to be seen? what's the worst that could happen?
here's the way it works for a chorus call: they post the audition information and if you're equity, you get to sign your name onto a list on a big board on the 2nd floor of the equity building. when the audition time comes up, that list comes down and they call the names on the list. when your name is called, you step forward and take a numbered card and fill it out. you give that card to the monitor, along with your headshot, right before you go in to audition. a lot of people sign up but they don't show up, which is great for walk-ins like me. they separate males and females. and if you're non union, you get seen at the end of the day after they've seen everyone that's union if they're not too worn out to bother. (big if, folks. big if.) many's the day i sat there outside of that lounge all day (you can only go in the lounge area if you're equity), only to be told that they're too exhausted to hear me sing 16 bars. but i digress.
they had three auditions going at once. it was a real zoo. i showed up when the powers that be were having lunch, so things were strangely quiet. and then all of a sudden, there was bedlam -- everyone was walking around with their books open, their shoes off, hot rollers in their hair, catching up with friends and everything else. i was the only black girl there for a minute -- and with good reason: audition 1 was for an equity workshop of "little house on the prairie" (someone wants to turn it into a musical); audition 2 was for an upcoming season of straight classic plays for a theater company in utah (they wanted monologues and i wasn't prepared); and audition 3 was for the industrial. i had missed the female singers call that morning because i had a doctor's appointment and i wanted to be seen but they were seeing male singers in the afternoon. and after sifting through a list of 257 names to see who was there, they came up with 130 guys. each of them would walk in and hit 8 bars. pow, that's it. that meant that they weren't seeing any women. no time. no room. oh, well. that didn't phase me. if God wanted me to get the part, i'd get it -- and nothing that i could do to screw it up would keep it from me.
i thought, i'm here so i may as well be seen for something. so i went in for "the little house" gig. why shouldn't they consider me? we were out there on the prairie, too -- as cowboys and frontierswomen and railroad workers and everything else, quiet as it's kept.
stacy was there. she'd showed up earlier and showed her ass when they wouldn't let her into the female singers call that morning so she was back to see if she could get in at all. and tamara was there, too -- she took the numbered card right before mine for the prairie gig and she had a monologue ready for utah. we went into the women's dressing room and did a severe amount of catching up. when i went in there before to put on a light beat and change shoes, everyone was exchanging stories. the room was full but i remember specific ones: there was a redhead in a flowery gypsy skirt, trying hard to affect a prairie look; a blonde in hot rollers and a cute pink strapless number that she confided was her bridesmaid's dress, which brought gasps and appreciative murmurs from everyone; and a brownskinned black woman with beautiful pumps that i couldn't stop staring at.
this is the two cents that i pitched in.
i told them that when i was a little kid, i thought that i'd make it because i had talent and talent was all that anyone needed. but i was wrong. there are plenty of talented people who aren't working or who are barely getting by, while people with hardly any talent at all work constantly and have enviable careers. so what do you really need to make it? after a moment, everyone pitched in their thoughts -- "connections," someone said. "luck," said someone else. i let all of them finish and then i said, really now, you only need one thing. one little thing. all you need is to never, ever, ever give up.
and with that, the redhead stopped readjusting her hair and turned around and said, it's the war of attrition.
everyone chimed in with their opinions. everyone agreed. what a perfect way to say it. i threw my head back and laughed. that's it. the war of attrition. that's what i'm doing: i'm wearing them down. that does it, i said. i was thinking about leaving and now, i've decided not to go. the room cheered me on. and with that, i went outside and filled out my numbered card and waited my turn. they wanted my best 16 bars. i think i gave it to them.
as i was headed home, i checked my messages. my commercial agent called with an audition. could i come in on tuesday to be seen for an industrial showcase for state farm?
here's the way it works for a chorus call: they post the audition information and if you're equity, you get to sign your name onto a list on a big board on the 2nd floor of the equity building. when the audition time comes up, that list comes down and they call the names on the list. when your name is called, you step forward and take a numbered card and fill it out. you give that card to the monitor, along with your headshot, right before you go in to audition. a lot of people sign up but they don't show up, which is great for walk-ins like me. they separate males and females. and if you're non union, you get seen at the end of the day after they've seen everyone that's union if they're not too worn out to bother. (big if, folks. big if.) many's the day i sat there outside of that lounge all day (you can only go in the lounge area if you're equity), only to be told that they're too exhausted to hear me sing 16 bars. but i digress.
they had three auditions going at once. it was a real zoo. i showed up when the powers that be were having lunch, so things were strangely quiet. and then all of a sudden, there was bedlam -- everyone was walking around with their books open, their shoes off, hot rollers in their hair, catching up with friends and everything else. i was the only black girl there for a minute -- and with good reason: audition 1 was for an equity workshop of "little house on the prairie" (someone wants to turn it into a musical); audition 2 was for an upcoming season of straight classic plays for a theater company in utah (they wanted monologues and i wasn't prepared); and audition 3 was for the industrial. i had missed the female singers call that morning because i had a doctor's appointment and i wanted to be seen but they were seeing male singers in the afternoon. and after sifting through a list of 257 names to see who was there, they came up with 130 guys. each of them would walk in and hit 8 bars. pow, that's it. that meant that they weren't seeing any women. no time. no room. oh, well. that didn't phase me. if God wanted me to get the part, i'd get it -- and nothing that i could do to screw it up would keep it from me.
i thought, i'm here so i may as well be seen for something. so i went in for "the little house" gig. why shouldn't they consider me? we were out there on the prairie, too -- as cowboys and frontierswomen and railroad workers and everything else, quiet as it's kept.
stacy was there. she'd showed up earlier and showed her ass when they wouldn't let her into the female singers call that morning so she was back to see if she could get in at all. and tamara was there, too -- she took the numbered card right before mine for the prairie gig and she had a monologue ready for utah. we went into the women's dressing room and did a severe amount of catching up. when i went in there before to put on a light beat and change shoes, everyone was exchanging stories. the room was full but i remember specific ones: there was a redhead in a flowery gypsy skirt, trying hard to affect a prairie look; a blonde in hot rollers and a cute pink strapless number that she confided was her bridesmaid's dress, which brought gasps and appreciative murmurs from everyone; and a brownskinned black woman with beautiful pumps that i couldn't stop staring at.
this is the two cents that i pitched in.
i told them that when i was a little kid, i thought that i'd make it because i had talent and talent was all that anyone needed. but i was wrong. there are plenty of talented people who aren't working or who are barely getting by, while people with hardly any talent at all work constantly and have enviable careers. so what do you really need to make it? after a moment, everyone pitched in their thoughts -- "connections," someone said. "luck," said someone else. i let all of them finish and then i said, really now, you only need one thing. one little thing. all you need is to never, ever, ever give up.
and with that, the redhead stopped readjusting her hair and turned around and said, it's the war of attrition.
everyone chimed in with their opinions. everyone agreed. what a perfect way to say it. i threw my head back and laughed. that's it. the war of attrition. that's what i'm doing: i'm wearing them down. that does it, i said. i was thinking about leaving and now, i've decided not to go. the room cheered me on. and with that, i went outside and filled out my numbered card and waited my turn. they wanted my best 16 bars. i think i gave it to them.
as i was headed home, i checked my messages. my commercial agent called with an audition. could i come in on tuesday to be seen for an industrial showcase for state farm?
Saturday, March 25, 2006
running, running, running
i've been running on the 1/4 mile track in riverbank state park late at night for the past week or so -- around 9pm until they close at 11pm -- and now i'm starting to do it first thing in the morning, too. the weather is changing and i have to catch up and knock the winter chunk off of me or i won't be able to get into my spring/summer clothes. i'm convinced that the reason why i'm a size 4/6 is because i'm too cheap to buy new outfits every season. i have basics and i accessorize but basically it's the same pencil skirt and blouse i had when i showed up in this town.
and i'm not one of those "i can eat anything i want and be thin" people, either. it's a constant battle, it's an everyday situation and it's hard, hard, hard. losing weight and getting in shape is one thing but maintaining and keeping it all in check requires a whole other level of discipline. i don't enjoy the gym and i don't like running. it's work. sometimes its agonizing. most of the time, it feels like hard labor because i'm always pushing myself. but it's worth it, when realage.com says i'm almost 15 years younger than i actually am. or when i go get a check up and my cholesterol level is so low, my doctor gives me a double take and a smile, and then gives my hand a little squeeze. or when i toss out my clothes because i've worn them out or because they're out of style, not because i'm shopping at lane bryant these days. or when i go home to ATL and i'm with my brother damon and his three teenage daughters and we run into someone that knew us in high school and they think that i'm one of his kids. (that was priceless, folks. just priceless.)
none of this is vanity, you know. they won't let me in already because they don't think i'm pretty enough -- whatever that means. my logic is, i don't need to give them any more reasons.
last year i decided that as a birthday present to myself, i would have a picture taken of me in a bikini on the beach annually. i got a black string bikini and set the bar pretty high. it was worth all the running i had to do to get there, to look that good. so now i'm looking at myself naked and i'm thinking about my birthday -- june 30th -- and i'm counting backwards. if i keep running everyday and if i lift weights the way that i should and if i stick to my body for life regimen, i think i can get it all back in 6 weeks, even though it's a 12 week program. (and yeah, body for life really works.)
hm. maybe i'll enter their body for life challenge...
and i'm not one of those "i can eat anything i want and be thin" people, either. it's a constant battle, it's an everyday situation and it's hard, hard, hard. losing weight and getting in shape is one thing but maintaining and keeping it all in check requires a whole other level of discipline. i don't enjoy the gym and i don't like running. it's work. sometimes its agonizing. most of the time, it feels like hard labor because i'm always pushing myself. but it's worth it, when realage.com says i'm almost 15 years younger than i actually am. or when i go get a check up and my cholesterol level is so low, my doctor gives me a double take and a smile, and then gives my hand a little squeeze. or when i toss out my clothes because i've worn them out or because they're out of style, not because i'm shopping at lane bryant these days. or when i go home to ATL and i'm with my brother damon and his three teenage daughters and we run into someone that knew us in high school and they think that i'm one of his kids. (that was priceless, folks. just priceless.)
none of this is vanity, you know. they won't let me in already because they don't think i'm pretty enough -- whatever that means. my logic is, i don't need to give them any more reasons.
last year i decided that as a birthday present to myself, i would have a picture taken of me in a bikini on the beach annually. i got a black string bikini and set the bar pretty high. it was worth all the running i had to do to get there, to look that good. so now i'm looking at myself naked and i'm thinking about my birthday -- june 30th -- and i'm counting backwards. if i keep running everyday and if i lift weights the way that i should and if i stick to my body for life regimen, i think i can get it all back in 6 weeks, even though it's a 12 week program. (and yeah, body for life really works.)
hm. maybe i'll enter their body for life challenge...
Monday, March 20, 2006
super 8 fantasy
i'll be living alone soon enough, so i'm going through all of my things and throwing away as much as i possibly can. i want to toss out whatever i can and clean everything so that all of it will be easy to rearrange when the spare room is empty and it's time to shift things around. earlier today my friend and i walked my dinette set over to a place that accepts donations for a program called "furnish the future" for homeless people who are getting their lives together. it felt good to not just leave it on the sidewalk. i hope its a blessing to someone.
i know that spring cleaning is traditionally the thing to do right about now, but i'm such a packrat that i need this kind of motivation every month. strangely, i've found all kinds of things. so far, the most interesting is the super 8 cameras and projector that i'd acquired some time ago, after reading a book about super 8 films. i'd completely forgotten about them. they aren't rusted over, either. they work and they are beautiful. it's got me thinking about super 8 filmmaking all over again. and i haven't given any of that serious thought since carrie passed away. me, the one that was so insistent on learning how to write movies, i finished college as a screenwriting major. and carrie fanned those flames into a bonfire -- with long talks into the night about our ideas and how we could realistically make them happen. she started her production company and got everything off the ground with one short film after another and she was starting to delve into music videos. if it weren't for the lung cancer, i'm sure that she would have pulled it off.
so now i'm looking at all this equipment and i'm thinking about carrie and i'm restless again. i'm remembering our conversations, the treatments i'd written, the partially written screenplay that i showed her. she was so encouraging, so positive, so sure that i'd do something wonderful. there was an idea i had for a documentary about my surname, which is german. i've never met any white people with this name. i thought it would be interesting to go to germany and meet my relatives, by way of a plantation in south georgia that's supposedly named after all of us, and trace a part of my family history. it wouldn't be a two hour saga. more like 30 minutes, maybe. when i mentioned it to a german filmmaker friend of mine, he thought it was a great idea. he even thought that i could get funding from germany. it seemed so farfetched at the time -- the kind of thing we'd sit around and talk about, after a big meal and some introspective conversation -- but totally do-able. and then the world rushed in, carrie went away and i went off to do other things. but that idea wouldn't leave me alone. and now it's back.
the more i dig, the more cameras i find.
well. i can't sit around with a good idea in my hands for long. i have to do something. and all of a sudden, it's not so impossible. actually, it sounds like a lot of fun.
i know that spring cleaning is traditionally the thing to do right about now, but i'm such a packrat that i need this kind of motivation every month. strangely, i've found all kinds of things. so far, the most interesting is the super 8 cameras and projector that i'd acquired some time ago, after reading a book about super 8 films. i'd completely forgotten about them. they aren't rusted over, either. they work and they are beautiful. it's got me thinking about super 8 filmmaking all over again. and i haven't given any of that serious thought since carrie passed away. me, the one that was so insistent on learning how to write movies, i finished college as a screenwriting major. and carrie fanned those flames into a bonfire -- with long talks into the night about our ideas and how we could realistically make them happen. she started her production company and got everything off the ground with one short film after another and she was starting to delve into music videos. if it weren't for the lung cancer, i'm sure that she would have pulled it off.
so now i'm looking at all this equipment and i'm thinking about carrie and i'm restless again. i'm remembering our conversations, the treatments i'd written, the partially written screenplay that i showed her. she was so encouraging, so positive, so sure that i'd do something wonderful. there was an idea i had for a documentary about my surname, which is german. i've never met any white people with this name. i thought it would be interesting to go to germany and meet my relatives, by way of a plantation in south georgia that's supposedly named after all of us, and trace a part of my family history. it wouldn't be a two hour saga. more like 30 minutes, maybe. when i mentioned it to a german filmmaker friend of mine, he thought it was a great idea. he even thought that i could get funding from germany. it seemed so farfetched at the time -- the kind of thing we'd sit around and talk about, after a big meal and some introspective conversation -- but totally do-able. and then the world rushed in, carrie went away and i went off to do other things. but that idea wouldn't leave me alone. and now it's back.
the more i dig, the more cameras i find.
well. i can't sit around with a good idea in my hands for long. i have to do something. and all of a sudden, it's not so impossible. actually, it sounds like a lot of fun.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
there, that's better...
someone wrote to me earlier and said that they couldn't really see what my baby brother looked like, so here he is again with my friend little debbie in ATL a few months ago. enjoy!
i want my saturdays back!
i remember when saturdays meant something: sitting around in my pajamas eating fruit loops and watching bugs bunny all day, then running around in the woods until eveningtime came along and my mother would call us in because it was too dark to play anymore. now saturday means housecleaning usually, oversleep if i'm lucky, a pot of lapsang souchong if i can get it and a mandatory afternoon workout in the gym -- no excuses. and no cartoons. they all suck now, anyway.
so i've decided to give my saturdays an overhaul, in three easy steps:
so i've decided to give my saturdays an overhaul, in three easy steps:
- CARTOONS! i found a bunch of bugs bunny dvds online that were so exhaustive, i had to call my brother ramon in ATL and tell him about it. i have to get them all. that'll start my saturday off right, no matter where i am in the world.
- skip breakfast. all that sugary fun day glo cereal is out -- and it has been for quite some time. for some wierd reason, i'm happiest if i don't eat anything until noon.
- shut yerself in. it's really got to be worth my while to leave my apartment on a saturday because going anywhere in NYC on the weekends is a nightmare. i should stay in and practice, practice, practice. and watch netflix at night.
i think he's in kuwait...
this is my baby brother, somewhere in the middle east. isn't he handsome? the world calls him john. we call him moniah.
he comes home in april for awhile. i don't know if he'll come home again before the end of the year, so i have to get there while he's stateside. basically, he belongs to the military until late '07, i think.
i don't know how he can wear all those clothes in the desert.
when i was small, he was mine. i changed his diapers. i put him on my back and took him with me when i went wandering through the woods. he was so beautiful. and now he's something like 6'4'' or so -- and so gigantically huge, sometimes i think he ate the kid i used to take care of. he eats everything in sight, too. he loves gordon lightfoot. and bugs bunny. and crunk. he writes poetry. he makes music.
to get the full effect, i suppose you'd have to see a snapshot of what he looked like when he was three.
he's over there right this minute, eight hours ahead of me all the time, shooting at things and getting shot at, probably. i don't really like to think about any of it very much. it makes me sick to my stomach to think that anything bad could ever happen to him.
Friday, March 17, 2006
...and that's how it went.
i called renee to see if she got called in for the IPod commercial. when she said she didn't, i insisted that she come with me. why? simply put, because i'm tired of being the only black girl in the room.
i got her in on the last IPod commercial and she did an interview with the agency after the smoke cleared, so now we freelance with the same folks. they didn't mind her crashing the party. the set-up was loose and she is a dancer, after all. we got there a little late. the sweet receptionist remembered me as always. i changed my clothes and then i changed them again when i saw how casually dressed everyone else was. it wasn't as crazy as it was before -- maybe because we showed up before noon. and they had everyone sign releases right off the bat. before, they whipped out the paperwork at the callback. if you didn't sign, you couldn't be seen.
renee went in before me. and then i was in there, flailing my arms and legs around to the strains of the red hot chili peppers' californication. it was a guy this time. really even-keel about it all. there he stood on the other side of a little camera, staring at a wide screen monitor with a remote control in his hand, warmly encouraging me to "let myself go and just have fun" -- whatever that means. i was very punk/post-modern/spazz about it, but with feeling. it was all i could think to do, to truly be myself and not look like anybody else. and it was fun, actually. i left there on a high, feeling good about the fact that i wasn't sitting around whining and complaining about how i'd like to get a commercial someday -- i was actually doing something about it.
i skipped off to the duane reade, where i got nilla wafers, ritz crackers, cold medicine (my friend gave me his small slight headcold) and the most amazing lotion -- new stuff by the vaseline people that's so good, i'm giving up kiehl's (seriously!) -- and then i went home, had lunch and ran lines for the law and order audition.
somewhere around 5pm, i freshened up my make-up (which was a basic beat) and impulsively put on a wig. very short and not too "finished" -- because the scene required that i look like i just got out of bed. my knots seemed so stationary, so static. they'd seen me so many times before. i thought, why not, i'll try something different. why not. i take the local to chelsea and then the crosstown bus to the pier, with that de kooning bio to keep me company all the way there and back. what a great read. i'm lost in it, thinking about his life and his art and how melancholy he was. but i digress.
i got there on time but they had technical difficulties. there were two people in front of me and then there were none. and all of a sudden, i was in that room. three men sat across from me, a dish of candy between us and the nice lady that fetched me read with me. was there a camera in the room? i don't think so. but maybe it was in the back somewhere. i don't know. everything went by in a blur. i read through it once and it was over as soon as it began. he seemed to like what i did, but i can't ever get a read on film/tv people when they say things like that. i just have to leave the room and not care anymore. but i cared a little.
i remember calling klingman and telling him everything and he was like, don't think about it. such excellent advice. he knew i'd pick at it like a scab until i was bleeding through the proverbial band-aid. he said, they know you, they've seen you before. if they want you, they'll call. if they don't, that's that.
and with that, i buried myself in my de kooning bio. when i got home, i watched a jimi hendrix bio and practiced guitar until my fingers hurt too much to go on. so of course, i kept going. and somehow, that pretty much summed it all up.
...and that's how it went.
i got her in on the last IPod commercial and she did an interview with the agency after the smoke cleared, so now we freelance with the same folks. they didn't mind her crashing the party. the set-up was loose and she is a dancer, after all. we got there a little late. the sweet receptionist remembered me as always. i changed my clothes and then i changed them again when i saw how casually dressed everyone else was. it wasn't as crazy as it was before -- maybe because we showed up before noon. and they had everyone sign releases right off the bat. before, they whipped out the paperwork at the callback. if you didn't sign, you couldn't be seen.
renee went in before me. and then i was in there, flailing my arms and legs around to the strains of the red hot chili peppers' californication. it was a guy this time. really even-keel about it all. there he stood on the other side of a little camera, staring at a wide screen monitor with a remote control in his hand, warmly encouraging me to "let myself go and just have fun" -- whatever that means. i was very punk/post-modern/spazz about it, but with feeling. it was all i could think to do, to truly be myself and not look like anybody else. and it was fun, actually. i left there on a high, feeling good about the fact that i wasn't sitting around whining and complaining about how i'd like to get a commercial someday -- i was actually doing something about it.
i skipped off to the duane reade, where i got nilla wafers, ritz crackers, cold medicine (my friend gave me his small slight headcold) and the most amazing lotion -- new stuff by the vaseline people that's so good, i'm giving up kiehl's (seriously!) -- and then i went home, had lunch and ran lines for the law and order audition.
somewhere around 5pm, i freshened up my make-up (which was a basic beat) and impulsively put on a wig. very short and not too "finished" -- because the scene required that i look like i just got out of bed. my knots seemed so stationary, so static. they'd seen me so many times before. i thought, why not, i'll try something different. why not. i take the local to chelsea and then the crosstown bus to the pier, with that de kooning bio to keep me company all the way there and back. what a great read. i'm lost in it, thinking about his life and his art and how melancholy he was. but i digress.
i got there on time but they had technical difficulties. there were two people in front of me and then there were none. and all of a sudden, i was in that room. three men sat across from me, a dish of candy between us and the nice lady that fetched me read with me. was there a camera in the room? i don't think so. but maybe it was in the back somewhere. i don't know. everything went by in a blur. i read through it once and it was over as soon as it began. he seemed to like what i did, but i can't ever get a read on film/tv people when they say things like that. i just have to leave the room and not care anymore. but i cared a little.
i remember calling klingman and telling him everything and he was like, don't think about it. such excellent advice. he knew i'd pick at it like a scab until i was bleeding through the proverbial band-aid. he said, they know you, they've seen you before. if they want you, they'll call. if they don't, that's that.
and with that, i buried myself in my de kooning bio. when i got home, i watched a jimi hendrix bio and practiced guitar until my fingers hurt too much to go on. so of course, i kept going. and somehow, that pretty much summed it all up.
...and that's how it went.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
but wait! there's more!
my manager for the acting stuff just called. i'm going in for law and order tomorrow evening. i don't know which franchise -- criminal intent, sexual victim's unit or the standard issue original. i'm going to skip out and pick up my sides right now. guess what the part is? "black woman" -- and probably an angry one, too. (is there any other kind?) i made klingman give me the lowdown. evidently, they're looking for my boyfriend so they bust my door down while i'm in bed with someone else. *sigh* hey, it is what it is.
on the one hand, i'm excited but on the other hand, i'm like, oh, fer cryin' out loud! ever since i joined SAG, i've been in there a million times or more. me and a million other black girls. it's like a wierd revolving door for theater actors that need to build their reel. they keep calling you in until you land something and then you can't do it anymore.
boy, am i sick of seeing everyone i know but me doing their bit part on that show or what. who knows? maybe it's my turn...
on the one hand, i'm excited but on the other hand, i'm like, oh, fer cryin' out loud! ever since i joined SAG, i've been in there a million times or more. me and a million other black girls. it's like a wierd revolving door for theater actors that need to build their reel. they keep calling you in until you land something and then you can't do it anymore.
boy, am i sick of seeing everyone i know but me doing their bit part on that show or what. who knows? maybe it's my turn...
another IPod audition?!?!
yeah, that's right -- believe it or not, i've got an audition for another IPod commercial tomorrow morning. (again with the IPod commercial audition. again!!!) they remembered me from the last one and requested me -- which is nice, i suppose. but frustrating.
i'm going to the same production company i went to the last time, all the way on the west side. it's more present-day rock and roll this time -- rage against the machine. the casting agent has people downloading their music to get a feel for what they want. thankfully, i'm already a fan. my hair is in knots, so there's no getting around that. i don't think my afro would be appropriate, anyway. but how do i move to it? and more importantly -- what do i wear?
gee. i wonder if renee is going?
i'm going to the same production company i went to the last time, all the way on the west side. it's more present-day rock and roll this time -- rage against the machine. the casting agent has people downloading their music to get a feel for what they want. thankfully, i'm already a fan. my hair is in knots, so there's no getting around that. i don't think my afro would be appropriate, anyway. but how do i move to it? and more importantly -- what do i wear?
gee. i wonder if renee is going?
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
newsflash #2!
i didn't get the part in the nanny diaries. they said that they loved me as an actress but they wanted someone that was more "corporate."
my friend said that he wasn't surprised that i didn't get the part. (he's the one that ran lines with me.) in the description of the character, it asked for "perky" -- and according to him, that just isn't me. "but i can act perky," i countered. "i'm an actor, remember?"
"movies don't have anything to do with acting," he said flatly.
"but i can act," i said weakly.
"it doesn't really matter," he said, "unless you're doing theater." and then he went on. "they'll get some character actor to do it. you'll see."
"i see your point," i began, "but i don't necessarily think that's it. if i had dressed more corporate or straightened my hair or something..."
"given them the visual effect..."
"yeah," i said.
"what does that have to do with acting?"
and on and on we went. i love talking to him. strangely, he doesn't ever bully me -- verbally or otherwise. we just think out loud together and bounce ideas off of each other. it's dreamy.
my friend said that he wasn't surprised that i didn't get the part. (he's the one that ran lines with me.) in the description of the character, it asked for "perky" -- and according to him, that just isn't me. "but i can act perky," i countered. "i'm an actor, remember?"
"movies don't have anything to do with acting," he said flatly.
"but i can act," i said weakly.
"it doesn't really matter," he said, "unless you're doing theater." and then he went on. "they'll get some character actor to do it. you'll see."
"i see your point," i began, "but i don't necessarily think that's it. if i had dressed more corporate or straightened my hair or something..."
"given them the visual effect..."
"yeah," i said.
"what does that have to do with acting?"
and on and on we went. i love talking to him. strangely, he doesn't ever bully me -- verbally or otherwise. we just think out loud together and bounce ideas off of each other. it's dreamy.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Scotty The Blue Bunny, serving it up at The Slipper Room
here he is in all his bunny glory, handing someone in the front row their head last saturday night at the slipper room. doesn't he look spectacular? you can't tell from this shot, but he's lost 60 pounds the hard way -- cut the junk, cut the sugar, cut the fat and excercised/worked out every day. there's no easy way around it. especially in your thirty-something years.
i really admire scotty the blue bunny a lot. even though i've known him forever, i'm such a fan.
what a fun night that was. i took stacy with me. she'd never seen burlesque before and she was totally blown away. it's nice to know that no matter how crummy my week has been, i can always show up there on friday or saturday night and have a hoot time.
Monday, March 13, 2006
newsflash!
i got the part in "buddy: the buddy holly story." they made me an offer this afternoon. neat-o!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
three in a row, tick-tac-toe!
what a day, sports fans. what a day.
the first one was "buddy: the buddy holly story" at nola studios for 1pm, right next to studio 54 on the west side. i took the n/r from union square because i had a noon appointment with my eyebrowist and got there a little early. this time, the waiting area was filled with asians: they were having callbacks for the king and i and everyone was pacing, running lines, readying sheet music. eventually, a blonde wandered in. no doubt she was being seen for the role of anna.
the monitor was chatty and sweet. at one point, he blurted "congratulations on your audelco nomination for harlem song" -- and i told him, when i saw that i was up against leslie uggams, i knew i wouldn't get it. i absolutely loved her in thunder knockin' at the door. but that's another story...
there were five people ahead of me. just enough to relax and not get worked up until the very last minute. how would i handle this one? when i finally went in, i announced to the room that i didn't know the song they'd sent, that i'd only gotten it the day before and could we please bang it out around the piano. lo and behold, that's exactly what we did: i heard it only once and then sang it back to him, nailing it. one of them, an older gentleman who couldn't stop beaming at me, said "you look beautiful and you sound beautiful" -- i had to give him a hug and a kiss, he was so heartfelt about it. there was sunshine streaming through the windows in such a strangely idyllic way. it was a really lovely moment. we held onto it for a fraction of a second. and then with a "you'll hear from us soon" i was off to the next appointment.
this one was "rockstar" at 3pm. i jumped on the n/r to prince st. and got there a little early. there was something profoundly depressing about the whole ordeal. first of all, it was a downstairs/basement club that left me feeling like i was like stepping into an elegant cave. (hm. maybe that was the idea.) everyone was sitting around, wearing filthy looking clothing and filling out paperwork haphazardly and tuning up their expensive gear. you could smell the desperation. and it didn't smell like victory.
some people were strumming acoustic guitars and singing to themselves. everyone looked a little too happy to be there. a little too eager, a little too "on"-- a little too ready. something about it was straight out of central casting. and yes, i was the only black person there.
they had everyone in a long hallway until they'd signed everything that they had to, and then as a certain number of people left, a certain number would be asked into the other section of the set-up through some glass doors to the back bar, where they had a table and assistants scurrying around and cameras and so on. everyone's belongings moved with them, so the back bar area was a mass of everyone's coats and equipment bags and stuff. someone gave me a big brown envelope with a number on it. i was told to stick my paperwork it there -- the application and the release form, which i'd dutifully downloaded online and filled out at home. sample question: what rock star is most like you and why? i was going to say big mama thornton, but jack sprat was like, don't be obscure or arty -- you'll scare them right out of the box. and i'm thinking, even if it's the truth? evidently so. but whatever.
before i sang a note, i had to hold up that envelope and slate my name and where i'm from and all that rot. as my accompanist, jack had to sign one, too. but he didn't have to tell anyone how old he was. i did -- which infuriated me. when the assistant behind the table saw that i'd written the word "irrelevant" under the year for my date of birth, she insisted on it. when i told her, her face fell off. the point is, dino ("rah-rah-rah-rah-rah!") promised me that it wouldn't be an issue. the bottom line: tell her and be seen or don't tell her and walk out. jack was like, we can walk out now -- whatever you want to do. how cool was he at that moment? but in the end, yeah, i told her. and yeah, i stayed. i wanted to go through the process just so i could look myself in the eye later without wondering about what could have happened.
actually, what i had to sit through was much more revealing than i thought it would be.
i heard more than a dozen people and i saw almost as many do their thing onstage, whether i was peeking through the curtain at the back bar or sitting in the main room trying not to stare. strangely, no one could really sing. lots of pitch problems and sustaining notes problems and breath support problems. one girl went outside right before she was to sing so she could take a drag off of her friend's cigarette, to help her vocals. (!!!???) mostly, they all came out sounding affected and overly-wrought to the point where i felt genuine embarassment, especially when the songs they wrote veered towards more personal subject matter. like the last guy that dumped you or how much you hate yourself. everyone had pricey acoustic guitars. the guys overplayed. the girls could hardly play. and like i said, no negroes -- at least, not while i was there. maybe the other one showed up yesterday.
i sang "taster's choice" and steve miller band's "jet airliner" -- and i know how to sing and i know how to perform, so i'll leave it up to you and your imagination to figure out how i did. if they don't pick me, it won't be because i sucked. it'll be because i'm not 25 anymore -- even if i do look it.
the last audition was for "the nanny diaries" -- all the way west off of hudson st. i had to sit in this little production office with these well-dressed WASPy-looking old women and wait for almost an hour and there was a craft services looking table within eyeshot loaded with yummy things to eat and i was absolutely starving and yes, i was not the only black girl in the room. the other two were working for the company and no, they didn't speak to me.
i went into a tiny room and sat with four people. one operated the camera, one read with me, and the other two were very chatty cathy with me which put me at ease. we carried on a bit. it was like a cocktail party without the cocktails. i remember thinking, gosh these people are awfully nice for film people. but as it turns out, they're not from el-lay, so go figure.
the scene was a page long, only five lines from me. it was over as soon as it started. the next thing i knew, i was on the train home, wondering what happened...
the first one was "buddy: the buddy holly story" at nola studios for 1pm, right next to studio 54 on the west side. i took the n/r from union square because i had a noon appointment with my eyebrowist and got there a little early. this time, the waiting area was filled with asians: they were having callbacks for the king and i and everyone was pacing, running lines, readying sheet music. eventually, a blonde wandered in. no doubt she was being seen for the role of anna.
the monitor was chatty and sweet. at one point, he blurted "congratulations on your audelco nomination for harlem song" -- and i told him, when i saw that i was up against leslie uggams, i knew i wouldn't get it. i absolutely loved her in thunder knockin' at the door. but that's another story...
there were five people ahead of me. just enough to relax and not get worked up until the very last minute. how would i handle this one? when i finally went in, i announced to the room that i didn't know the song they'd sent, that i'd only gotten it the day before and could we please bang it out around the piano. lo and behold, that's exactly what we did: i heard it only once and then sang it back to him, nailing it. one of them, an older gentleman who couldn't stop beaming at me, said "you look beautiful and you sound beautiful" -- i had to give him a hug and a kiss, he was so heartfelt about it. there was sunshine streaming through the windows in such a strangely idyllic way. it was a really lovely moment. we held onto it for a fraction of a second. and then with a "you'll hear from us soon" i was off to the next appointment.
this one was "rockstar" at 3pm. i jumped on the n/r to prince st. and got there a little early. there was something profoundly depressing about the whole ordeal. first of all, it was a downstairs/basement club that left me feeling like i was like stepping into an elegant cave. (hm. maybe that was the idea.) everyone was sitting around, wearing filthy looking clothing and filling out paperwork haphazardly and tuning up their expensive gear. you could smell the desperation. and it didn't smell like victory.
some people were strumming acoustic guitars and singing to themselves. everyone looked a little too happy to be there. a little too eager, a little too "on"-- a little too ready. something about it was straight out of central casting. and yes, i was the only black person there.
they had everyone in a long hallway until they'd signed everything that they had to, and then as a certain number of people left, a certain number would be asked into the other section of the set-up through some glass doors to the back bar, where they had a table and assistants scurrying around and cameras and so on. everyone's belongings moved with them, so the back bar area was a mass of everyone's coats and equipment bags and stuff. someone gave me a big brown envelope with a number on it. i was told to stick my paperwork it there -- the application and the release form, which i'd dutifully downloaded online and filled out at home. sample question: what rock star is most like you and why? i was going to say big mama thornton, but jack sprat was like, don't be obscure or arty -- you'll scare them right out of the box. and i'm thinking, even if it's the truth? evidently so. but whatever.
before i sang a note, i had to hold up that envelope and slate my name and where i'm from and all that rot. as my accompanist, jack had to sign one, too. but he didn't have to tell anyone how old he was. i did -- which infuriated me. when the assistant behind the table saw that i'd written the word "irrelevant" under the year for my date of birth, she insisted on it. when i told her, her face fell off. the point is, dino ("rah-rah-rah-rah-rah!") promised me that it wouldn't be an issue. the bottom line: tell her and be seen or don't tell her and walk out. jack was like, we can walk out now -- whatever you want to do. how cool was he at that moment? but in the end, yeah, i told her. and yeah, i stayed. i wanted to go through the process just so i could look myself in the eye later without wondering about what could have happened.
actually, what i had to sit through was much more revealing than i thought it would be.
i heard more than a dozen people and i saw almost as many do their thing onstage, whether i was peeking through the curtain at the back bar or sitting in the main room trying not to stare. strangely, no one could really sing. lots of pitch problems and sustaining notes problems and breath support problems. one girl went outside right before she was to sing so she could take a drag off of her friend's cigarette, to help her vocals. (!!!???) mostly, they all came out sounding affected and overly-wrought to the point where i felt genuine embarassment, especially when the songs they wrote veered towards more personal subject matter. like the last guy that dumped you or how much you hate yourself. everyone had pricey acoustic guitars. the guys overplayed. the girls could hardly play. and like i said, no negroes -- at least, not while i was there. maybe the other one showed up yesterday.
i sang "taster's choice" and steve miller band's "jet airliner" -- and i know how to sing and i know how to perform, so i'll leave it up to you and your imagination to figure out how i did. if they don't pick me, it won't be because i sucked. it'll be because i'm not 25 anymore -- even if i do look it.
the last audition was for "the nanny diaries" -- all the way west off of hudson st. i had to sit in this little production office with these well-dressed WASPy-looking old women and wait for almost an hour and there was a craft services looking table within eyeshot loaded with yummy things to eat and i was absolutely starving and yes, i was not the only black girl in the room. the other two were working for the company and no, they didn't speak to me.
i went into a tiny room and sat with four people. one operated the camera, one read with me, and the other two were very chatty cathy with me which put me at ease. we carried on a bit. it was like a cocktail party without the cocktails. i remember thinking, gosh these people are awfully nice for film people. but as it turns out, they're not from el-lay, so go figure.
the scene was a page long, only five lines from me. it was over as soon as it started. the next thing i knew, i was on the train home, wondering what happened...
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
prep, prep, prep
surprise! (but it's no suprise really, if you've been paying attention and keeping score at home.) i've got a callback and two auditions tomorrow: the (maybe) broadway-bound musical "the buddy holly story" at 1pm is the callback; the 2nd season of "rockstar: the series" at 3pm and the major motion picture "the nanny diaries" (starring scarlet johanssen) at 5pm are the auditions. am i going to have an action-packed day or what?
i didn't think everything would pile up on me like that, but these things are impossible to predict. i'm at home this afternoon/early evening running lines and learning music. the callback gave me sheet music that has me plunking away on my piano to learn the melody. surprisingly, i've learned enough piano and music theory to pull it off. i've been studying for a little while and there's a lot that i knew before i ever sat down with a teacher but i never know what i know until i need to use it, if that makes any sense. the other day when i was rehearsing with jack, i sat at my kitchen table and transposed a song effortlessly. that's not where i was 6 months ago and, as my english pal june would say, i'm pretty well chuffed about it. or rather, to quote "the brain" of "pinky and the brain" -- sometimes i even amaze myself.
i'm not even nervous or wound up or anything. i'm just going to have as much fun as possible and that's about it. i don't fret over this stuff, folks. they're not rejecting me when they say no. actually, the real reason why i'm so blase is because i've got my own thing going on. to tell you the truth, the only thing i'm really concerned about is getting my eyebrows done at jeniette before my first appointment.
i didn't think everything would pile up on me like that, but these things are impossible to predict. i'm at home this afternoon/early evening running lines and learning music. the callback gave me sheet music that has me plunking away on my piano to learn the melody. surprisingly, i've learned enough piano and music theory to pull it off. i've been studying for a little while and there's a lot that i knew before i ever sat down with a teacher but i never know what i know until i need to use it, if that makes any sense. the other day when i was rehearsing with jack, i sat at my kitchen table and transposed a song effortlessly. that's not where i was 6 months ago and, as my english pal june would say, i'm pretty well chuffed about it. or rather, to quote "the brain" of "pinky and the brain" -- sometimes i even amaze myself.
i'm not even nervous or wound up or anything. i'm just going to have as much fun as possible and that's about it. i don't fret over this stuff, folks. they're not rejecting me when they say no. actually, the real reason why i'm so blase is because i've got my own thing going on. to tell you the truth, the only thing i'm really concerned about is getting my eyebrows done at jeniette before my first appointment.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Another Audition: "Fame Becomes Me"
As I left for the audition, it was freezing cold. I packed everything that I would need and got there early so I could get ready upon arrival. This audition wasn’t problematic but I’d hit a few snags to get there. The biggest one? My manager gave me the wrong sides, which sent me careening in the wrong direction, memorizing material that I didn’t need to know. Oh, well. My persistence turned things around quickly. I made my friend run lines with me and he ended up learning them, too -- which made for some interesting non-sequitors. His first line to prompt me was “You promised me an evening of full-frontal nudity.” Everytime he said it, it made me smile. It’s nice that whenever I have to memorize something, he helps me. He’s really kind of good at it.
So there I was in Bernie Telsey’s waiting room, signing in. there I was, putting my clothes on in the bathroom as fast as I could because the door handle was busted and I was afraid that someone would walk in on me. There I was, giving myself a basic beat in the hallway’s big mirror. There I was, perched in my favorite heels, an Afro puff on my head, a song in my heart. But which song?
All of the other black girls in the waiting room that were being seen for the part I was up for were heavy-set. No surprise there. Production folk seem to think that when it’s time for comedy, fat people are funnier than the rest of us. The woman that plays the role on his show Jiminy Glick is heavy-set. hmmm...
In short order, I was in that room. The creative end of the entire production staff must have been sitting at that table. The one at the very end – Mark, if I remember correctly -- jumped up and threw his arms around me. We’d done Marci X together. That was my first movie role, my first big line. I pointed at Lisa Kudrow and said, “Get that bitch off the stage!”
It was so great, to walk in the room and be loved.
I sang Stormy Weather which seemed to amuse them. When I was done, they collectively burst into applause, like they were at a cabaret or a piano bar or something. Martin Short tilted his head at a funny angle, made a face and said, in this high squeaky voice, “You’re spiffy.” And I tilted my head in the same way and made the same face and said, “I am.” And he made another face. We totally picked up on each other’s vibe. Cute. He’s a live one, that Marty. And then I did the scene they gave me, and I nailed it because my friend drilled me on it and I knew it. It’s nice to do a great job but I know that the reason why anyone gets cast doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with talent.
That one loving gesture from Mark when I entered the room set the tone for the entire audition. It was one of the best I’ve ever done. I left there feeling satisfied.
Here's a nice slice of wierdness: as I left the building, it began to hail violently.
So there I was in Bernie Telsey’s waiting room, signing in. there I was, putting my clothes on in the bathroom as fast as I could because the door handle was busted and I was afraid that someone would walk in on me. There I was, giving myself a basic beat in the hallway’s big mirror. There I was, perched in my favorite heels, an Afro puff on my head, a song in my heart. But which song?
All of the other black girls in the waiting room that were being seen for the part I was up for were heavy-set. No surprise there. Production folk seem to think that when it’s time for comedy, fat people are funnier than the rest of us. The woman that plays the role on his show Jiminy Glick is heavy-set. hmmm...
In short order, I was in that room. The creative end of the entire production staff must have been sitting at that table. The one at the very end – Mark, if I remember correctly -- jumped up and threw his arms around me. We’d done Marci X together. That was my first movie role, my first big line. I pointed at Lisa Kudrow and said, “Get that bitch off the stage!”
It was so great, to walk in the room and be loved.
I sang Stormy Weather which seemed to amuse them. When I was done, they collectively burst into applause, like they were at a cabaret or a piano bar or something. Martin Short tilted his head at a funny angle, made a face and said, in this high squeaky voice, “You’re spiffy.” And I tilted my head in the same way and made the same face and said, “I am.” And he made another face. We totally picked up on each other’s vibe. Cute. He’s a live one, that Marty. And then I did the scene they gave me, and I nailed it because my friend drilled me on it and I knew it. It’s nice to do a great job but I know that the reason why anyone gets cast doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with talent.
That one loving gesture from Mark when I entered the room set the tone for the entire audition. It was one of the best I’ve ever done. I left there feeling satisfied.
Here's a nice slice of wierdness: as I left the building, it began to hail violently.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
let the prepwork begin!
i'm spending the weekend working on audition material. there's kind of a lot of it. i'm really throwing myself into it with the hopes of digesting most of it down by monday. it's important to me, to get consistently good at auditioning, so if i don't get the job, it won't necessarily be my fault. besides -- what a colossal waste of everyone's time, to go into an audition and not be prepared. and it's tacky, too. it's like, why bother going in at all, if you're not going to learn the material and do your best?
i've got an audition for a martin short play called "fame becomes me" which sounds hilarious. it's broadway bound this fall. they're looking for an understudy for a lead role, any ethnicity. they want someone that's funny and that can improvise -- and God knows, that'll weed 'em out fast. they want me to come into the audition with the sides (which i'm memorizing) and a funny song. my first thought was, i don't know any funny songs but then again, of course i do -- "i'm tired" the song mel brooks wrote from the drop dead funny blazing saddles, as sung by madeline kahn. is that my favorite movie ever or what. and it's the funniest song i know.
wouldn't it be funny if i wore garters and stockings and heels and opened my wrap dress like a robe and dragged a chair around the room like dietrich as i sang it? with a huge angela davis afro on my head, 'cause that's what i'm rockin' these days. nice.
i also have to do impressions. i can't do any famous people. i just can't. who am i, rich little? i'll probably go in there and do my various and sundry family members, which is way, way funnier than it sounds. my father chewing me out long distance about where his grandchildren are that i'm supposed to have given him by now never fails to decimate the crowd.
and then of course there's rockstar: the series. this one is kind of a cakewalk because i already know a slew of rock songs. i just have to pick something that's appropriate and not freak out too much when it's time to get dressed and do something with my hair. they want me to show up with three songs, at least one of which should be a cover. needless to say, i'm leaning towards '70s blues rock that'll really let me sing but that's popular enough to recognize. that bad company song "can't get enough" comes to mind. we'll see. i'm also supposed to download the application from their site and bring it with me when i come in. it asks a lot of pesky questions and yeah, there's legalese to ingest and sign, probably before they'll see me. because isn't that the best way to make sure that i sign everything that i'm supposed to?
i'm going to talk to brad the programmer at Aaron Davis Hall about my one person show on reparations and maybe developing it there. there's an idea that i've been bouncing around with ken roberson about a performance art piece on blues music and a singular migration back down south. and my friend renee is choreographing something interesting that she wants me to be in, so i have to learn a song for that, too. but that's a little further down the pike next month.
so there's a lot of stuff going on. a lot to think about, a lot to organize. my friend is working until tuesday and my roommate went AWOL about a week ago, which has been dreamy, having the place to myself. perfect for walking around the living room in my underwear while i memorize stuff by repeating things like i'm insane and playing songs over and over and over. and yeah, messing with my baby taylor.
i've got an audition for a martin short play called "fame becomes me" which sounds hilarious. it's broadway bound this fall. they're looking for an understudy for a lead role, any ethnicity. they want someone that's funny and that can improvise -- and God knows, that'll weed 'em out fast. they want me to come into the audition with the sides (which i'm memorizing) and a funny song. my first thought was, i don't know any funny songs but then again, of course i do -- "i'm tired" the song mel brooks wrote from the drop dead funny blazing saddles, as sung by madeline kahn. is that my favorite movie ever or what. and it's the funniest song i know.
wouldn't it be funny if i wore garters and stockings and heels and opened my wrap dress like a robe and dragged a chair around the room like dietrich as i sang it? with a huge angela davis afro on my head, 'cause that's what i'm rockin' these days. nice.
i also have to do impressions. i can't do any famous people. i just can't. who am i, rich little? i'll probably go in there and do my various and sundry family members, which is way, way funnier than it sounds. my father chewing me out long distance about where his grandchildren are that i'm supposed to have given him by now never fails to decimate the crowd.
and then of course there's rockstar: the series. this one is kind of a cakewalk because i already know a slew of rock songs. i just have to pick something that's appropriate and not freak out too much when it's time to get dressed and do something with my hair. they want me to show up with three songs, at least one of which should be a cover. needless to say, i'm leaning towards '70s blues rock that'll really let me sing but that's popular enough to recognize. that bad company song "can't get enough" comes to mind. we'll see. i'm also supposed to download the application from their site and bring it with me when i come in. it asks a lot of pesky questions and yeah, there's legalese to ingest and sign, probably before they'll see me. because isn't that the best way to make sure that i sign everything that i'm supposed to?
i'm going to talk to brad the programmer at Aaron Davis Hall about my one person show on reparations and maybe developing it there. there's an idea that i've been bouncing around with ken roberson about a performance art piece on blues music and a singular migration back down south. and my friend renee is choreographing something interesting that she wants me to be in, so i have to learn a song for that, too. but that's a little further down the pike next month.
so there's a lot of stuff going on. a lot to think about, a lot to organize. my friend is working until tuesday and my roommate went AWOL about a week ago, which has been dreamy, having the place to myself. perfect for walking around the living room in my underwear while i memorize stuff by repeating things like i'm insane and playing songs over and over and over. and yeah, messing with my baby taylor.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
hey, guess what?
believe it or not, i'm auditioning for rockstar: the series. (yeah, i know.) but i didn't go looking for this one, y'all. they called me. read all about it here.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
kate's tamale party
i spent most of the day of the gig with the mammals recovering from kate's tamale party in williamsburg on friday night and the late night hang that inevitably ensued elsewhere in the bowels of downtown nyc. this meant drinking a lot of water to hydrate my throat and sleeping well past noon -- a habit i can't seem to break because my life and my art won't let me. thank God i don't drink or do drugs. i never got into it. i'm way too cheap. and vain. not that i think i'm the most beautiful woman in the world -- i just want to take good care of whatever i've got for as long as i can. besides, how much fun can i have if i'm not healthy? a late night hang in my world revolves around long conversations into the night with interesting people while i put my feet up and sip tea. strangely, most bars i frequent know this and are glad to accomodate me.
kate's from houston. her grandma in tejas sent her seven dozen tamales, so she sent out invitations and everyone pretty much came running, including quite a few texans, which is always a surprise. i forget that we are legion here, probably because, although i'm happy to meet another southerner in this neck of the woods, i don't look for it the way i used to. i've circled the wagons together, so to speak. i've got enough ammo and provisions to hold out until spring. but that tamale party was something else. lots of fixings to go with, like sour cream and beans and what not. copious amounts of foreign beer and tequila. and somewhere in there, kate pulls four half-gallon containers of blue bell ice cream out of her freezer -- the best ice cream in the world, and you can only get it in texas. she ordered it online. they shipped it next day air but only if she would order as much as she did, as the minimum. she had ice cream cones and everything. and then there were dueling iPods, wherein folks kept whipping out their playlists and foisting them upon the home stereo speakers. so one minute we'd be listening to iggy pop ripping into "i snub you" and the next it was the hollies "long cool woman" wow. it was like being in south austin at a backyard party -- except we were in billyburg. nice way to crank into the weekend.
if you want to know how the gig went, click here.
kate's from houston. her grandma in tejas sent her seven dozen tamales, so she sent out invitations and everyone pretty much came running, including quite a few texans, which is always a surprise. i forget that we are legion here, probably because, although i'm happy to meet another southerner in this neck of the woods, i don't look for it the way i used to. i've circled the wagons together, so to speak. i've got enough ammo and provisions to hold out until spring. but that tamale party was something else. lots of fixings to go with, like sour cream and beans and what not. copious amounts of foreign beer and tequila. and somewhere in there, kate pulls four half-gallon containers of blue bell ice cream out of her freezer -- the best ice cream in the world, and you can only get it in texas. she ordered it online. they shipped it next day air but only if she would order as much as she did, as the minimum. she had ice cream cones and everything. and then there were dueling iPods, wherein folks kept whipping out their playlists and foisting them upon the home stereo speakers. so one minute we'd be listening to iggy pop ripping into "i snub you" and the next it was the hollies "long cool woman" wow. it was like being in south austin at a backyard party -- except we were in billyburg. nice way to crank into the weekend.
if you want to know how the gig went, click here.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
the first day
last night, i made it to the gym a few hours before it closed. i ran into my neighbor chad. he and i have an interesting history. i actually met him when i was waiting tables and his boyfriend paul recognized me from a reality tv show that i did called "the it factor" on bravo. we chatted. they were looking for a place to live. i wished them luck. the end -- or so i thought. a few days later, they're both coming out of my building as i'm coming in. turns out, there's a vacancy down the hall from me -- and they took it! i guess we were meant to be friends.
that was a few years ago. i must admit, it's been fun having them around. they invite me over when they throw dinner parties. i housesit for them occasionally when they're out of town, which is great because they've got a huge apartment and a huge tv with a huge dvd collection. and i can always come over to hang out or whatever. somehow, they always know how many more white people have moved into the building and whether they're gay or not -- and they're the first ones to complain about it. two gay white guys whining about the the gay/white people in the mostly dominican/black west harlem neighborhood. ironic, right? hilarious, definitely. whatever.
chad had just come in to the gym, too. we both commiserated about how out of shape we were and how badly we'd been eating and all the other things you say when you're at the gym and you run into someone you know and you stand around talking when you're supposed to be working out. somewhere in there, a lightbulb goes off over chad's head and he asks me if i'd like to be his workout partner. we discuss it a little. the upshot of it all is, he's got somewhere to be from 9 to 5 so the only way that we can pull it off is if we go at 6:30am. the gym opens at 6am. can we pull it off? i say i'll do it if he will. and he says he will if i will. so we handshake -- and then, incredibly, we leave.
well, miracle of miracles. he called me at 6:20am and five minutes later, i step out into the hall and he's standing there, waiting. and we do it, we really do it: we go to the gym. i actually pushed myself somewhere in there and had a thorough little workout. we left by 7:30am and ran into donette, who was on her way there. what are you doing here, she squawked, you can't get anything done this early!
and she's right. but my commitment to myself is bigger than my inability to wake up before noon. and the end result -- a body that's even stronger and leaner and healthier than it is now -- will be even bigger than that.
we're giving ourselves until the first day of spring to get it together. that's only about five weeks away...
that was a few years ago. i must admit, it's been fun having them around. they invite me over when they throw dinner parties. i housesit for them occasionally when they're out of town, which is great because they've got a huge apartment and a huge tv with a huge dvd collection. and i can always come over to hang out or whatever. somehow, they always know how many more white people have moved into the building and whether they're gay or not -- and they're the first ones to complain about it. two gay white guys whining about the the gay/white people in the mostly dominican/black west harlem neighborhood. ironic, right? hilarious, definitely. whatever.
chad had just come in to the gym, too. we both commiserated about how out of shape we were and how badly we'd been eating and all the other things you say when you're at the gym and you run into someone you know and you stand around talking when you're supposed to be working out. somewhere in there, a lightbulb goes off over chad's head and he asks me if i'd like to be his workout partner. we discuss it a little. the upshot of it all is, he's got somewhere to be from 9 to 5 so the only way that we can pull it off is if we go at 6:30am. the gym opens at 6am. can we pull it off? i say i'll do it if he will. and he says he will if i will. so we handshake -- and then, incredibly, we leave.
well, miracle of miracles. he called me at 6:20am and five minutes later, i step out into the hall and he's standing there, waiting. and we do it, we really do it: we go to the gym. i actually pushed myself somewhere in there and had a thorough little workout. we left by 7:30am and ran into donette, who was on her way there. what are you doing here, she squawked, you can't get anything done this early!
and she's right. but my commitment to myself is bigger than my inability to wake up before noon. and the end result -- a body that's even stronger and leaner and healthier than it is now -- will be even bigger than that.
we're giving ourselves until the first day of spring to get it together. that's only about five weeks away...
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
yes, the answer is no
i didn't get the iPod commercial. doesn't that suck? when my agent called me and told me, i saw a winged sack of money with a dollar bill sign on it flying away into the horizon, just like on the bugs bunny cartoons. but i did have a go-see today for a sunglasses ad campaign. so who freakin' knows?
i totally have to say this: i am really sick of watching tv and seeing someone else doing the plum part in the commercials that i almost got. this iPod thing is going to be really bad because the ad will probably be everywhere.
oh, yeah. happy valentine's day.
i totally have to say this: i am really sick of watching tv and seeing someone else doing the plum part in the commercials that i almost got. this iPod thing is going to be really bad because the ad will probably be everywhere.
oh, yeah. happy valentine's day.
Monday, February 13, 2006
instant callback, instant recall
i had an audition today for "the buddy holly story" at nola studios, a few doors down from studio 54. it's going up at the merry go round, upstate. my manager wanted me to do it because he thinks its broadway bound. that makes sense, especially after the elvis musical "all shook up" -- and wow, i think miramax produced that, too. actually, after the success of "chicago" all the movie production companies opened musical theater divisions to develop their movies into musicals. i've got an audition for a california workshop of "sister act" on wednesday morning. "the buddy holly story" is probably one of those feel-good musicals that's filled with songs that absolutely everyone knows, whether they're crazy about buddy holly or not. it'll be a real sing-along hit parade.
they wanted me for an r&b singer character, a la aretha franklin. of course the last thing i wanted to do was go in there and sing any aretha franklin because i figured that's what everyone else was going to do -- and how many times can you stand to hear "respect" in one day, even if it does sound great? (and let's face it, it probably doesn't.)
making my way up the street in the bright sunlight and the snow and the filthy slush, i had a flashback to a buzzcocks show that i saw there for free a million years ago when i first came to the city. i had a friend who worked for a rock concert promoter and she would give me tickets from time to time. it was a fun night and a good strong memory of my early time in the city. free tickets to rock shows?! how could i not be a happy girl with that in my life?
weird, the way the past can creep up on you out of nowhere.
so i went to the 11th floor and crash landed in musical theater hell. there was four or five studios in a section that shared a small hallway lined with what looked like church pews, and of course the overpriced junk food machines and the water cooler, with offices at the other end of the hall and a blackboard, clearly stating who was on first. the spillage was horrendous. nothing but "the young caucasians" as far as the eye could see -- most of whom were early twentysomething and visually tweaked to perfection, with their pumps and their audition outfits and their "books" of sheet music, arranged and notated just so. it was like i'd walked into the whitest place on earth -- seriously. i looked around and took it all in and i thought, i can remember when i wanted this. it sickened me, to imagine myself going to one epa after another and singing my face off, thinking that it mattered because i was talented. what a lie.
it was painful, watching them throw shade: the blondes, a little too friendly and eyeing each other on the sly. the brunettes with their pantene hairdos, just friendly enough. the chubby redhead, sitting alone, looking sideways at all of them. i was the only black girl there. and none of them were looking at me. nothing that i'm not used to. just a funny thing that keeps happening. and sometimes it gets to me.
i had to change my clothes. i had to do my make-up. i wrapped my hair in cloth because i was straightening it and i didn't want the dampness to undo my hard work. just a little black dress and some black pumps. nothing spectacular. i mean, hey -- i want to look nice when i present myself, but i know better than to think that my outfit will get me the job. it takes a little more than that to make it happen -- at least, that's the way it works in theater. film and tv (and video, too) i suppose, is another ordeal. people get put in movies for the way they look all the time. no one seems to care that they can't act. but i digress.
an older actress sat next to me. pretty and slim, with a short clipped jean seberg salt and pepper look, and a long dramatic black dress and jacket. her book was a nice and tidy zip up three ring binder in black leatherette. and her sheet music, like most of the girls there, was in plastic and color coded, and tagged with plastic labels. i looked at her sideways and leaned away from her, murmuring, you're scary. she laughed. i wasn' t kidding. we chatted for awhile. nice lady. somewhere in there, we talked about auditioning and working and i was like, it's not about getting the job -- it's about getting the audition in the first place. i can't audition for a show that doesn't have any parts for me. and she quietly agreed.
and then i went in.
what a warm sunny room, filled with warm sunny people whose names escape me. all i remember is that they totally loved me, for real. it was like a really great first date. i could do no wrong.they sat at the other end of a huge baby grand and a sullen looking pianist managed a friendly face when i plopped my book on the piano and didn't open it. after introductions were made all around, i impulsively asked the pianist to play a 12 bar blues in d. he actually looked a little confused at first. (wow.) i sang "stormy monday" -- why not? all they needed was to hear that i could sing that gritty old school r&b. i sang through it once, they loved what i did and then one of them said, you've got a callback! neat-o. then another one said, were you in "harlem song" and i was like, yeah and he gushed, i loved you soooo much in that show and i thought, why can' t anyone ever recognize me? why do they have to ask if it was me? i was the lead, for cryin' out loud. but hey, what am i saying. it's nice to be loved. (sigh.)
i went back to my things and the lady said, so how'd it go and i was like, i got a callback and she said, wow, that's great. and i went, well, like i said before -- getting the job isn't the problem. getting the audition is. her friend overheard me and congratulated me and i laughed and said, congratulate me when i get the job. i mean, wow. a callback is nice, but it's not going to pay my rent. all i could think as i left was, if i get this, i have to work 20 weeks for a year of health insurance and 2 weeks to get vested for my aea pension plan.
let's see if i get it.
they wanted me for an r&b singer character, a la aretha franklin. of course the last thing i wanted to do was go in there and sing any aretha franklin because i figured that's what everyone else was going to do -- and how many times can you stand to hear "respect" in one day, even if it does sound great? (and let's face it, it probably doesn't.)
making my way up the street in the bright sunlight and the snow and the filthy slush, i had a flashback to a buzzcocks show that i saw there for free a million years ago when i first came to the city. i had a friend who worked for a rock concert promoter and she would give me tickets from time to time. it was a fun night and a good strong memory of my early time in the city. free tickets to rock shows?! how could i not be a happy girl with that in my life?
weird, the way the past can creep up on you out of nowhere.
so i went to the 11th floor and crash landed in musical theater hell. there was four or five studios in a section that shared a small hallway lined with what looked like church pews, and of course the overpriced junk food machines and the water cooler, with offices at the other end of the hall and a blackboard, clearly stating who was on first. the spillage was horrendous. nothing but "the young caucasians" as far as the eye could see -- most of whom were early twentysomething and visually tweaked to perfection, with their pumps and their audition outfits and their "books" of sheet music, arranged and notated just so. it was like i'd walked into the whitest place on earth -- seriously. i looked around and took it all in and i thought, i can remember when i wanted this. it sickened me, to imagine myself going to one epa after another and singing my face off, thinking that it mattered because i was talented. what a lie.
it was painful, watching them throw shade: the blondes, a little too friendly and eyeing each other on the sly. the brunettes with their pantene hairdos, just friendly enough. the chubby redhead, sitting alone, looking sideways at all of them. i was the only black girl there. and none of them were looking at me. nothing that i'm not used to. just a funny thing that keeps happening. and sometimes it gets to me.
i had to change my clothes. i had to do my make-up. i wrapped my hair in cloth because i was straightening it and i didn't want the dampness to undo my hard work. just a little black dress and some black pumps. nothing spectacular. i mean, hey -- i want to look nice when i present myself, but i know better than to think that my outfit will get me the job. it takes a little more than that to make it happen -- at least, that's the way it works in theater. film and tv (and video, too) i suppose, is another ordeal. people get put in movies for the way they look all the time. no one seems to care that they can't act. but i digress.
an older actress sat next to me. pretty and slim, with a short clipped jean seberg salt and pepper look, and a long dramatic black dress and jacket. her book was a nice and tidy zip up three ring binder in black leatherette. and her sheet music, like most of the girls there, was in plastic and color coded, and tagged with plastic labels. i looked at her sideways and leaned away from her, murmuring, you're scary. she laughed. i wasn' t kidding. we chatted for awhile. nice lady. somewhere in there, we talked about auditioning and working and i was like, it's not about getting the job -- it's about getting the audition in the first place. i can't audition for a show that doesn't have any parts for me. and she quietly agreed.
and then i went in.
what a warm sunny room, filled with warm sunny people whose names escape me. all i remember is that they totally loved me, for real. it was like a really great first date. i could do no wrong.they sat at the other end of a huge baby grand and a sullen looking pianist managed a friendly face when i plopped my book on the piano and didn't open it. after introductions were made all around, i impulsively asked the pianist to play a 12 bar blues in d. he actually looked a little confused at first. (wow.) i sang "stormy monday" -- why not? all they needed was to hear that i could sing that gritty old school r&b. i sang through it once, they loved what i did and then one of them said, you've got a callback! neat-o. then another one said, were you in "harlem song" and i was like, yeah and he gushed, i loved you soooo much in that show and i thought, why can' t anyone ever recognize me? why do they have to ask if it was me? i was the lead, for cryin' out loud. but hey, what am i saying. it's nice to be loved. (sigh.)
i went back to my things and the lady said, so how'd it go and i was like, i got a callback and she said, wow, that's great. and i went, well, like i said before -- getting the job isn't the problem. getting the audition is. her friend overheard me and congratulated me and i laughed and said, congratulate me when i get the job. i mean, wow. a callback is nice, but it's not going to pay my rent. all i could think as i left was, if i get this, i have to work 20 weeks for a year of health insurance and 2 weeks to get vested for my aea pension plan.
let's see if i get it.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
no, i still haven't heard anything.
i'm kind of in the process of forgetting all about my little iPod week. if i was going to get it, they would have called me by now, i guess. especially if they're going to shoot on tuesday. then again, there's a nor'easter in full bloom right now (it's actually snowing sideways, believe it or not) and a lot of airports have shut down. like, most of them along the eastern seaboard. and besides, phil said he'd call me whether i got it or not. so maybe it's still up in the air.
renee is talking to me like it's a done deal. very amusing.
i'm wondering if i'll be able to do the interview/performance for WDVR's Blue Monday tomorrow night. it's in sergeantsville, new jersey -- 90 minutes away in good weather.
renee is talking to me like it's a done deal. very amusing.
i'm wondering if i'll be able to do the interview/performance for WDVR's Blue Monday tomorrow night. it's in sergeantsville, new jersey -- 90 minutes away in good weather.
Friday, February 10, 2006
iPod callback?!
i got a phone call at the end of the day yesterday from phil, my commercial agent. i got a callback for that iPod commercial! i know. (i know.) it's so hard for me to believe because all my life, just about everyone i've ever met has always worked very hard to make me believe that i can't move. so when i try to dance, i'm really self-conscious unless i forget myself -- and that can only happen if i'm having fun. hanging out with kenny roberson and renee and babygirl and the rosas and all the other dancers i know has been really freeing because they're so inclusive and encouraging. they've always told me that there's nothing wrong with the way i move. i think somewhere in there, i started to believe them. now i've got a callback on an iPod audition that'll have me dancing in silhouette if i actually get it. wow. the dancers were right. and to think -- for the initial audition, i went in there with a pretty little dress on and my hair in a gigantic afro, and i danced around like a spaz.
phil actually thanked me for making him look good.
so i went back in: same time, same hair, same boots, same beat, different dress. it was a silk cowgirl number that's truly psychedelic. very bright, very gram parsons. renee didn't get a callback, so i went in alone. i went in early to change clothes and get it together because it was too cold to show up ready. when i came out, there were several auditions happening at once and so there was this really interesting visual mix in the main holding area where everyone converged. as i touched up my afro, a slim handsome asian man in a business suit struck up a conversation with me while he played with a deck of cards. he looked conservative but he really wasn't. quite the charmer, in fact. he was there for an callback for a new chewing gum. he wasn't supposed to tell me the name of the gum, so he told me anyway. and then we both laughed. i wasn't supposed to tell him the name of the band that was in the iPod commercial but by then i hadn't looked over the nondisclosure agreement closely enough to figure out who it was and why i wasn't supposed to blab. i couldn't audition until i signed that contract, though. oh, well. we wished each other luck and waved to each other slowly as he drifted back to his section, and i got back to my paperwork which really wasn't that complicated: if you want to be seen, you have to sign. period.
there was more information on the print-out this time, and it was hand-written:
phil actually thanked me for making him look good.
so i went back in: same time, same hair, same boots, same beat, different dress. it was a silk cowgirl number that's truly psychedelic. very bright, very gram parsons. renee didn't get a callback, so i went in alone. i went in early to change clothes and get it together because it was too cold to show up ready. when i came out, there were several auditions happening at once and so there was this really interesting visual mix in the main holding area where everyone converged. as i touched up my afro, a slim handsome asian man in a business suit struck up a conversation with me while he played with a deck of cards. he looked conservative but he really wasn't. quite the charmer, in fact. he was there for an callback for a new chewing gum. he wasn't supposed to tell me the name of the gum, so he told me anyway. and then we both laughed. i wasn't supposed to tell him the name of the band that was in the iPod commercial but by then i hadn't looked over the nondisclosure agreement closely enough to figure out who it was and why i wasn't supposed to blab. i couldn't audition until i signed that contract, though. oh, well. we wished each other luck and waved to each other slowly as he drifted back to his section, and i got back to my paperwork which really wasn't that complicated: if you want to be seen, you have to sign. period.
there was more information on the print-out this time, and it was hand-written:
Director's note for callbacks: we want energy. It needs to look untrained. Be creative. We want an ever-changing range of ideas and shapes.
immediately i thought, wow. maybe i could actually get this.
according to the girl at the front desk (who loved my hair), they called back about 30 people or so and they certainly need more than one. i saw griffin at the audition and the callback (we did a workshop of stew's travelogues together at the public) and he was like, "whoa -- you said you were going to get this when you came out of that valtrex commercial, remember? you said why am i auditioning for that when i should be seen for this? and now here you are! girl, you're gonna get this..." griffin was there for two callbacks, God bless him -- iPod and The Gum That Can't Be Named. he totally looked like a hippy. he had long dreads down to his elbows and he had let them down with a part in the middle and a band around his head. that was enough right there, as far as i was concerned, to get him the part.
this time, there was a choreographer in the room who emphasized the information on the print-out, which was a little off-putting because he really didn't say anything new or give any real direction. he was perched on a couch near the camera with his legs crossed, looking interested. the blonde was in better spirits and was really nice to me, which was a little off-putting as well. whatever. i said i'd do more of what i did in the first place and then i did it and then it was over. i turned to the camera to slate at the end and realized some snaps came loose and my totally-real-not-fake breasts were exposed. not falling out, mind you -- my lingerie is way too good for that kind of catastrophe -- more like popping out. i was genuinely embarassed. as i left, the choreographer goes, very nice. and i'm thinking is he talking about my cleavage or my movements? or both?
i called phil to let him know how i did. and he reminded me that if i got the commercial, i'd have to go to el-lay from 2/14 to 2/18 -- and i've got two gigs that fall on those dates! everyone will just have to understand when i cancel. i can't say no to a national commercial...
according to the girl at the front desk (who loved my hair), they called back about 30 people or so and they certainly need more than one. i saw griffin at the audition and the callback (we did a workshop of stew's travelogues together at the public) and he was like, "whoa -- you said you were going to get this when you came out of that valtrex commercial, remember? you said why am i auditioning for that when i should be seen for this? and now here you are! girl, you're gonna get this..." griffin was there for two callbacks, God bless him -- iPod and The Gum That Can't Be Named. he totally looked like a hippy. he had long dreads down to his elbows and he had let them down with a part in the middle and a band around his head. that was enough right there, as far as i was concerned, to get him the part.
this time, there was a choreographer in the room who emphasized the information on the print-out, which was a little off-putting because he really didn't say anything new or give any real direction. he was perched on a couch near the camera with his legs crossed, looking interested. the blonde was in better spirits and was really nice to me, which was a little off-putting as well. whatever. i said i'd do more of what i did in the first place and then i did it and then it was over. i turned to the camera to slate at the end and realized some snaps came loose and my totally-real-not-fake breasts were exposed. not falling out, mind you -- my lingerie is way too good for that kind of catastrophe -- more like popping out. i was genuinely embarassed. as i left, the choreographer goes, very nice. and i'm thinking is he talking about my cleavage or my movements? or both?
i called phil to let him know how i did. and he reminded me that if i got the commercial, i'd have to go to el-lay from 2/14 to 2/18 -- and i've got two gigs that fall on those dates! everyone will just have to understand when i cancel. i can't say no to a national commercial...
Thursday, February 09, 2006
iPod audition
the description of what they wanted was right next to the sign-in sheet. i took it when i was in for the valtrex commercial the day before, so i could look it over and ingest it. here's the gist of it:
of course i thought about renee and asked her to come to the audition with me. i told her to call dana who agreed to come in, too. i figured i could sneak them in before or after me and they could just put my agent's name on their photos, no problem. but then my agent called back and said that if i knew of anyone else, i could bring them in. i gave them their names and they gave me their appointment times.
all of it came together so beautifully, it was a little weird.
i had no idea what to wear but i knew that my hair had to be in a gigantic afro. the bigger, the better -- and that was going to take a lot of work. i had a psychedelic looking dress but no boots. and then -- no lie -- the doorbell rang and my favorite ups guy presented me with a box -- boots that i'd ordered weeks before and forgotten about that matched the outfit perfectly. how creepy is that? i did a natural matte finish on my face with a red mouth and set out to meet renee at columbus circle but we didn't connect until we got to the audition. it was packed again and everyone was the same as they were before. even renee was like, why all the shade? it was fun, though.
before renee got there, i walked around the corner to the bathroom and almost walked into this tall dark lanky good-looking gay white broadway chorus boy doing pirouettes in front of a big mirror. i gasped and then i made him stop. "i didn't see the write up," he said after i explained his huge wrong turn -- grateful but somewhat defensive. "aren't you glad i did?" i replied. and we laughed.
it was the end of the day. the blonde that took me into the room had pretty much had it. as soon as it started, it was over. i don't even know what i did, but i'm pretty sure i looked like a spaz. but i had fun, so i'm sure i did well. i always dance great when i'm having fun.
We want people who look like 70's Hipsters, Neo-Hippies, who dance 70's style -- not polished -- lots of energy!!! Listen to the music, feel the music. These are cool kids with their own style and are great movers.
We're doing one minute or so of 70's dance. There will be a bongo drum in the studio, but only do something with it if it feels natural. Otherwise, it's a prop or something to ignore.
WARNING
If we start seeing Pirouettes, Broadway or Hip-Hop, we will start throwing sharp objects at you. To be direct, no Ballet, Broadway or Hip-Hop.
It's 70's 70's 70's.
We're doing one minute or so of 70's dance. There will be a bongo drum in the studio, but only do something with it if it feels natural. Otherwise, it's a prop or something to ignore.
WARNING
If we start seeing Pirouettes, Broadway or Hip-Hop, we will start throwing sharp objects at you. To be direct, no Ballet, Broadway or Hip-Hop.
It's 70's 70's 70's.
of course i thought about renee and asked her to come to the audition with me. i told her to call dana who agreed to come in, too. i figured i could sneak them in before or after me and they could just put my agent's name on their photos, no problem. but then my agent called back and said that if i knew of anyone else, i could bring them in. i gave them their names and they gave me their appointment times.
all of it came together so beautifully, it was a little weird.
i had no idea what to wear but i knew that my hair had to be in a gigantic afro. the bigger, the better -- and that was going to take a lot of work. i had a psychedelic looking dress but no boots. and then -- no lie -- the doorbell rang and my favorite ups guy presented me with a box -- boots that i'd ordered weeks before and forgotten about that matched the outfit perfectly. how creepy is that? i did a natural matte finish on my face with a red mouth and set out to meet renee at columbus circle but we didn't connect until we got to the audition. it was packed again and everyone was the same as they were before. even renee was like, why all the shade? it was fun, though.
before renee got there, i walked around the corner to the bathroom and almost walked into this tall dark lanky good-looking gay white broadway chorus boy doing pirouettes in front of a big mirror. i gasped and then i made him stop. "i didn't see the write up," he said after i explained his huge wrong turn -- grateful but somewhat defensive. "aren't you glad i did?" i replied. and we laughed.
it was the end of the day. the blonde that took me into the room had pretty much had it. as soon as it started, it was over. i don't even know what i did, but i'm pretty sure i looked like a spaz. but i had fun, so i'm sure i did well. i always dance great when i'm having fun.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
from Valtrex to iPod
i got called in by phil my commercial agent to do an audition for valtrex. you know -- the herpes medication. everyone's seen those commercials: young, attractive people relaxing in the sun and chatting in this intimate confidential tone about what they didn't know about their STD. i'm thinking, whatever. it's a national commercial. getting one would be like winning the lotto. i'm not imagining what i'd do with the money anymore. i'm just trying to get good at auditioning on-camera.
that goodness starts with how i look. i stood in the bright shining daylight of my bedroom window like a soldier and put on enough make-up to make it look like i didn't have on any make-up (which is a special skill, especially for someone that's as heavy-handed as i am -- thanks to all the theater i've done over the years) and then i skipped down to 10th Ave. when i got there, the place was packed with young urban hipsters. by that, i mean those attractive, trendy, mostly twenty-something city dwellers that always look slightly distracted as a rule yet somehow never fail to throw shade. i'm thinking, whatever. this hasn't even started and it's over because you ain't got what i got and i don't want what you have. it's so wrong to be done with the room when you walk in. wrong. but necessary.
the valtrex commercial was a breeze. i came out in no time and whaddya know? the hoarde was still there, milling about and struggling to not look at me. what in the world are they auditioning for? i thought. brylcreem? as it turns out, it was all about iPod. i was running late to meet simone and her little girl in midtown, so i called my agent to make me an appointment for the next day. why not? i'm as hip as anyone in that room. and i'm not just telling myself that so i can get hyped up to do the audition. i really am.
(really.)
that goodness starts with how i look. i stood in the bright shining daylight of my bedroom window like a soldier and put on enough make-up to make it look like i didn't have on any make-up (which is a special skill, especially for someone that's as heavy-handed as i am -- thanks to all the theater i've done over the years) and then i skipped down to 10th Ave. when i got there, the place was packed with young urban hipsters. by that, i mean those attractive, trendy, mostly twenty-something city dwellers that always look slightly distracted as a rule yet somehow never fail to throw shade. i'm thinking, whatever. this hasn't even started and it's over because you ain't got what i got and i don't want what you have. it's so wrong to be done with the room when you walk in. wrong. but necessary.
the valtrex commercial was a breeze. i came out in no time and whaddya know? the hoarde was still there, milling about and struggling to not look at me. what in the world are they auditioning for? i thought. brylcreem? as it turns out, it was all about iPod. i was running late to meet simone and her little girl in midtown, so i called my agent to make me an appointment for the next day. why not? i'm as hip as anyone in that room. and i'm not just telling myself that so i can get hyped up to do the audition. i really am.
(really.)
Monday, January 30, 2006
chip robinson and me
this is chip and me, running around downtown nyc the other saturday night. i can't remember exactly what he said that made me want to grab him like that but he definitely deserved it. we went to see demolition string band at rodeo bar, which was a lot of fun -- and way too packed. i have never seen so many yankee cowboys in my life. it was really strange. i guess if you get the hat and the boots, that makes it official -- you're a redneck.
chip is my little hick-a-billy. i hadn't seen him since the middle of december. hard to get him to leave brooklyn for anything -- but he's writing songs again and so am i, so maybe we'll play out soon. i definitely want him to sing with me. i'll even go to brooklyn to make that happen. i am in love with his beautiful voice.
Monday, January 23, 2006
"Martin Luther King Jr. Day" and me
i don't know how i feel about celebrating martin luther king, jr's birthday anymore.
at first, there was some victory in having a black holiday because they didn't want to give it to us. when it was finally official, there were so many states that ignored it, it was laughable. (and no, it wasn't just arizona.) actually, i thought it was a massive step forward that they were all so honest about how they really felt. but everyone from the media to public enemy pummeled those states into politically correct submissiveness, and after awhile that was that. well. not exactly. i can remember being on a bus and overhearing a couple of white girls talking about how "black people's day" was this huge inconvenience because the post office would be closed -- and what good was it anyway. my black nationalist buddies think that public soundbite is a microcosm of how a lot of white people feel but i'd go a step further and say that it's how a lot of people feel in general -- black, white and otherwise.
in a way, a part of me agrees with those white girls.
i'm from atlanta. i grew up surrounded by images of dr. king and became well versed in his accomplishments and what he did for the civil rights movement from a very early age. i watched his center for non-violent social change grow from an idea to a federal institution -- and steps were taken to preserve "sweet auburn" avenue for the black cultural mecca that it always had been. i remember when his mother was assassinated. she was alone in ebenezer baptist church, playing the organ and singing to herself when someone walked up out of nowhere and shot her. i remember when his father passed away and what a big deal that was in our community. like i said. these things were a part of my childhood.
because i had a mother that taught me how to read as a three year old, i fell into the habit of "doing research" when i was a very small child -- going to a library and reading up about whatever i was interested in. one day, i happened upon some speeches and letters by dr. king that i hadn't heard before. he was a different man: indignant, fearless -- and interestingly enough -- angry. the dr. king everyone spoke of was eulogized as a man of peace that was on par with ghandi, the epitome of change through non-violence. this other king wanted something else that was equally important: justice.
have you ever read dr. king's letter from a birmingham jail? here's an exerpt:
"We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God-given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we stiff creep at horse-and-buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging dark of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross-county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you know forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness" then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait."
riveting stuff. the question that flashed through my little kid head was: why hadn't i ever met this man before? why didn't everyone know who he was? who was the real mlk?
now this is where the rubber hits the road.
i think they (the federal government, the powers-that-be, "the man" -- come on people, you know what i mean) picked martin luther king, jr. to be everyone's all-american civil rights hero because his non-violent stance made him less of a threat than shirley chisolm or malcolm x or angela davis. they sanitized him for public consumption. they neutered him. think about it: it's much safer for black people to pay attention to this peaceful negro than robert f. williams, a highly intelligent, politically active, gun-toting southern black man who played an active role in the civil rights movement and who fought long and hard in north carolina and beyond. what about bayard rustin? he's the one who organized the march on washington. he's also the one who brought gandhi's protest techiques to the civil rights movement. everyone shut him out because he was openly gay. can you imagine that? a vital member of the movement that's as gay as an all-white liberace picnic. he died quite recently, in 1987. it's a shame that he isn't celebrated.
i'm sick of them telling me who my black heroes are. i'm sick of them telling my stories. actually, i'm sick of them, period. but i digress.
i'm glad that we have a day to come together collectively, as a community and as a people. it's a lovely start. but if we accept the sanitized, media driven version of martin luther king, jr. instead of the man i came to know through those impassioned speeches and letters, his holiday won't mean anything more than what those white girls said: yet another day that the post office is closed. we have to educate ourselves as black people about our history and our culture -- because the schools definitely aren't going to do it. and neither is the government. it's simply not in their best interest.
at first, there was some victory in having a black holiday because they didn't want to give it to us. when it was finally official, there were so many states that ignored it, it was laughable. (and no, it wasn't just arizona.) actually, i thought it was a massive step forward that they were all so honest about how they really felt. but everyone from the media to public enemy pummeled those states into politically correct submissiveness, and after awhile that was that. well. not exactly. i can remember being on a bus and overhearing a couple of white girls talking about how "black people's day" was this huge inconvenience because the post office would be closed -- and what good was it anyway. my black nationalist buddies think that public soundbite is a microcosm of how a lot of white people feel but i'd go a step further and say that it's how a lot of people feel in general -- black, white and otherwise.
in a way, a part of me agrees with those white girls.
i'm from atlanta. i grew up surrounded by images of dr. king and became well versed in his accomplishments and what he did for the civil rights movement from a very early age. i watched his center for non-violent social change grow from an idea to a federal institution -- and steps were taken to preserve "sweet auburn" avenue for the black cultural mecca that it always had been. i remember when his mother was assassinated. she was alone in ebenezer baptist church, playing the organ and singing to herself when someone walked up out of nowhere and shot her. i remember when his father passed away and what a big deal that was in our community. like i said. these things were a part of my childhood.
because i had a mother that taught me how to read as a three year old, i fell into the habit of "doing research" when i was a very small child -- going to a library and reading up about whatever i was interested in. one day, i happened upon some speeches and letters by dr. king that i hadn't heard before. he was a different man: indignant, fearless -- and interestingly enough -- angry. the dr. king everyone spoke of was eulogized as a man of peace that was on par with ghandi, the epitome of change through non-violence. this other king wanted something else that was equally important: justice.
have you ever read dr. king's letter from a birmingham jail? here's an exerpt:
"We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God-given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we stiff creep at horse-and-buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging dark of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross-county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you know forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness" then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait."
riveting stuff. the question that flashed through my little kid head was: why hadn't i ever met this man before? why didn't everyone know who he was? who was the real mlk?
now this is where the rubber hits the road.
i think they (the federal government, the powers-that-be, "the man" -- come on people, you know what i mean) picked martin luther king, jr. to be everyone's all-american civil rights hero because his non-violent stance made him less of a threat than shirley chisolm or malcolm x or angela davis. they sanitized him for public consumption. they neutered him. think about it: it's much safer for black people to pay attention to this peaceful negro than robert f. williams, a highly intelligent, politically active, gun-toting southern black man who played an active role in the civil rights movement and who fought long and hard in north carolina and beyond. what about bayard rustin? he's the one who organized the march on washington. he's also the one who brought gandhi's protest techiques to the civil rights movement. everyone shut him out because he was openly gay. can you imagine that? a vital member of the movement that's as gay as an all-white liberace picnic. he died quite recently, in 1987. it's a shame that he isn't celebrated.
i'm sick of them telling me who my black heroes are. i'm sick of them telling my stories. actually, i'm sick of them, period. but i digress.
i'm glad that we have a day to come together collectively, as a community and as a people. it's a lovely start. but if we accept the sanitized, media driven version of martin luther king, jr. instead of the man i came to know through those impassioned speeches and letters, his holiday won't mean anything more than what those white girls said: yet another day that the post office is closed. we have to educate ourselves as black people about our history and our culture -- because the schools definitely aren't going to do it. and neither is the government. it's simply not in their best interest.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
my top ten guilty pleasures
- the dormitory boys
- fresh, whole, pasteurized ice cold unhomogenized organic milk, in an old-fashioned unmarked high-necked glass bottle
- toblerone
- www.thebachelorblog.com i don't know why, but i really like this guy and i have a lot of respect for him as a man. (seriously.) call me nutty but if we lived in the same city, i think we'd be friends.
- adult swim (specifically: the boondocks, aqua teen hunger force, robot chicken, sealab 2021, harvey birdman attorney at law and of course, squidbillies)
- celebrity fit club
- the mexican blt on barrio chino's brunch menu
- drawn together (never seen it? here's a video called "black chick's tongue in my mouth" -- very entertaining.)
- hot milk and almond pedicure at bliss
- scotch eggs
Thursday, January 19, 2006
there's an artnet photo?!
someone sent me a little note and a link to let me know that i'm in artnet, thanks to a shutterbug at franco mondini-ruiz' book signing party for "high pink" at bergdorf-goodman. franco was so sweet to invite me to be a hostess. what a lovely party that was! very highbrow/lowbrow. lots of champagne in dainty little teacups. roasted peanuts in the shell in little baskets. franco's ceramic art and little paintings everywhere. and the food was such a hoot -- lots of mini chili dogs and grilled cheese sandwiches and bite sized tacos. dee-lish. and i love it that his mother signed the books, too.
this is me -- "harlem performance diva" (gee, i guess that's about right) -- with collector lesley horowitz, who was a real doll. *sigh* God, i love that dress... of course, ricky recognized it as a dvf original immediately.
there's probably more pictures floating around out there somewhere. i'd love to see them.
this is me -- "harlem performance diva" (gee, i guess that's about right) -- with collector lesley horowitz, who was a real doll. *sigh* God, i love that dress... of course, ricky recognized it as a dvf original immediately.
there's probably more pictures floating around out there somewhere. i'd love to see them.
Monday, January 16, 2006
my ultimate dresses
just look at these beautiful dresses. are they not things of wonder? they are by visual artist yinka shonibare. i think they're brilliant. they really sums it all up for me, in a strange way: cultural assimilationism, colonialism, victorian/edwardian style and all of the restrictiveness -- sexual and otherwise -- that's implied with that. combining the african and the european. there's something subversive and dangerous and weird about them, which excites me in a way that contemporary visual art hardly ever does. this one is on exhibit at MoMA right now, along with the two others below: they stand there, headless, endlessly free-floating in this wide open white space, like they're drifting around at some tea social or something and i just so happened to glimpse them before they put their appendages back on. i loved this one the most for its impossibly gorgeous train. check out that bustle. everything layered and tucked just so. i love it. these dresses are so me, it's dizzying.
that's another thing. i couldn't get over how beautifully tailored these dresses are. really, so detailed and intricate, it's exhaustive. when i first saw them at the studio museum of harlem a few years ago, i felt naked. all i could do was stare and stare and stare. if i had to dress up for the academy awards or the grammys or something, this is what i'd wear. if i could, i would dress in some variation on this theme every single day. only i'd want it in different kinds of denim. maybe that would be the african american combination.
i wonder if i could talk someone into making me a dress like one of these?
that's another thing. i couldn't get over how beautifully tailored these dresses are. really, so detailed and intricate, it's exhaustive. when i first saw them at the studio museum of harlem a few years ago, i felt naked. all i could do was stare and stare and stare. if i had to dress up for the academy awards or the grammys or something, this is what i'd wear. if i could, i would dress in some variation on this theme every single day. only i'd want it in different kinds of denim. maybe that would be the african american combination.
i wonder if i could talk someone into making me a dress like one of these?
Sunday, January 15, 2006
once again, stating the obvious...
| You Belong in New York City |
 You're an energetic, ambitious woman. And only NYC is fast enough for you. Maybe you'll set yourself up with a killer career Or simply take in all the city has to offer. |
| You Are a Normal Girl |
 You are 50% Good and 50% Bad Sure you've pulled some bad girl stunts in your past. But these days, you're (mostly) a good girl. |
| You Are Ani Difranco! |
 Honest, real, and well liked. You're not limited by any boundaries. "And you can call me crazy But I think you're as lazy as white paint on the wall" |
Saturday, January 14, 2006
i love this restaurant!
this is the coolest restaurant in brooklyn and no one knows it. not yet, anyway. it's called "a bistro" and it's almost at the corner of myrtle and carlton in ft. greene. it's cassandra and abdul's place. he cooks the food, she serves it. what a team. after they'd been together for awhile, he told her that he wanted to be a chef -- so they rolled up their sleeves collectively, made a plan of action for attending cooking school and working in quite a few gourmet restaurants inbetween and here they are with their own place. ain't married life great? if it's one thing i love, it's a strong partnership. i'm really proud of them.
what's so cool about it?
whenever i'm there, i feel so at home. it's everything -- the curtains at the window, how small and intimate the space is, all of the attention to detail. it's a very relaxed atmosphere. everyone is enjoying the food and each other, even though they're all strangers. not surprisingly, there are quite a few regulars. the food is absolutely spectactular.
they've only been open for about six months or so but the neighborhood seems to be catching on. i try to go there once a week but eventually i'm sure there'll be a new york times review and i won't be able to get in at all.
garland had his birthday party here a few months ago and everything was so good, i had to come back. i want to support my friends when they do things but this is different. there's no obligation here. it's just me, treating their kitchen like it's an extention of my own. it's just that good.
that's the real reason why i work out: so i can eat with relative abandon.
what's so cool about it?
whenever i'm there, i feel so at home. it's everything -- the curtains at the window, how small and intimate the space is, all of the attention to detail. it's a very relaxed atmosphere. everyone is enjoying the food and each other, even though they're all strangers. not surprisingly, there are quite a few regulars. the food is absolutely spectactular.
they've only been open for about six months or so but the neighborhood seems to be catching on. i try to go there once a week but eventually i'm sure there'll be a new york times review and i won't be able to get in at all.
garland had his birthday party here a few months ago and everything was so good, i had to come back. i want to support my friends when they do things but this is different. there's no obligation here. it's just me, treating their kitchen like it's an extention of my own. it's just that good.
that's the real reason why i work out: so i can eat with relative abandon.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
i don't have any new year's resolutions
someone asked me recently if i had made any new year's resolutions. when i said no, they didn't believe me because, according to them, it's something that everyone does. since when does what "everyone does" have anything to do with me? i heard myself think and then i heard myself saying it. dang! that editing machine in my head is broken again. gotta look into getting that thing fixed...
i took a workshop in college via the ywca at a friend's suggestion that taught me about goals and priorities and how to set them, and how to live a purpose-driven life. i have used the tools that i learned over that six week period every day, ever since -- so much so, in fact, that it's something i do without even thinking about it. my morning isn't complete unless i've done my morning pages and skimmed through those lists, adding notes here, ideas there, a thumbnail sketch where needed, and so on. i am always making lists. while my moment-to-moment world is a huge blank book that's sectioned off by time (daily, weekly , monthly, seasonally, annually) and subject -- and they change all the time, by the way -- i have a blank book in my purse that catches whatever's skimming through my head while i'm on the train or waiting in line at the bank or whatever.
i realize now that i haven't made any new year's resolutions since i took that workshop because i'm already making things happen by being so goal-oriented. i feel pretty fulfilled in general -- not because i've got everything i want but because i'm getting things done but more importantly, i know that i'm on my way there. i don't really feel as though i've accomplished much, probably because i'm not paying too much attention to what i've done. i'm way more focused on the future and what's coming down the pike.
a resolution doesn't mean much if you don't put any action behind it and if it doesn't have an expiration date. it may as well be something you're wishing for, like a flatter midsection. if you really want to get rid of that gut, you can't just say you want to get rid of it -- although acknowledging that you need to is usually a tremendous first step. you know what i mean. lay off the beer swilling and the pork rinds and the fried everything. eat healthy. pop a vitamin after every meal, fer cryin' out loud. get off the couch and work out. like my favorite chinese saying goes, "talk doesn't cook rice."
most people don't even know the difference between goals and priorities.
i think that life needs an owner's manual, so that these things are explained thoroughly and fairly early and no one is left to make wishes and resolutions and live on the hope that someday they'll lose weight or stop smoking or dump that abusive boyfriend. but then again, circumstance has a way of handing us the life manual that we need when we least expect it. we just don't pay attention to the information we're given until it's too late.
it was arthur miller who said, maybe all we can hope to do is end up with the right regrets. i think that's an interesing way to look at it. i have regrets but they're good ones. so far, i don't regret leaving home. new york city hasn't been an easy place to live but i don't regret moving here. i don't regret my refusal to smoke cigarettes. and although i had a moment in college where i tried drugs because i was curious, i didn't lose myself in speed or heroin or whiskey like everyone else did. so my liver and my brain cells and my skin and the rest of my major organs are all doing great. but some of my friends are falling apart. and some of them aren't here anymore. i still miss carrie every day. God help me. i really do.
hey. wanna know something that millionaires have in common? they all take excellent care of their bodies. that makes a lot of sense to me. why work so hard to get all that money, only to keel over from a heart attack right when you've got nothing but time to enjoy the good life?
it's a way of thinking, i suppose. i changed my way of thinking when i took that workshop and i didn't even realize it. that was circumstance, handing me a piece of that life manual that i so needed. thank God i was paying attention.
anyway, it's true. i don't have any new year's resolutions. but i don't think anyone else should have any, either. there. i said it.
i took a workshop in college via the ywca at a friend's suggestion that taught me about goals and priorities and how to set them, and how to live a purpose-driven life. i have used the tools that i learned over that six week period every day, ever since -- so much so, in fact, that it's something i do without even thinking about it. my morning isn't complete unless i've done my morning pages and skimmed through those lists, adding notes here, ideas there, a thumbnail sketch where needed, and so on. i am always making lists. while my moment-to-moment world is a huge blank book that's sectioned off by time (daily, weekly , monthly, seasonally, annually) and subject -- and they change all the time, by the way -- i have a blank book in my purse that catches whatever's skimming through my head while i'm on the train or waiting in line at the bank or whatever.
i realize now that i haven't made any new year's resolutions since i took that workshop because i'm already making things happen by being so goal-oriented. i feel pretty fulfilled in general -- not because i've got everything i want but because i'm getting things done but more importantly, i know that i'm on my way there. i don't really feel as though i've accomplished much, probably because i'm not paying too much attention to what i've done. i'm way more focused on the future and what's coming down the pike.
a resolution doesn't mean much if you don't put any action behind it and if it doesn't have an expiration date. it may as well be something you're wishing for, like a flatter midsection. if you really want to get rid of that gut, you can't just say you want to get rid of it -- although acknowledging that you need to is usually a tremendous first step. you know what i mean. lay off the beer swilling and the pork rinds and the fried everything. eat healthy. pop a vitamin after every meal, fer cryin' out loud. get off the couch and work out. like my favorite chinese saying goes, "talk doesn't cook rice."
most people don't even know the difference between goals and priorities.
i think that life needs an owner's manual, so that these things are explained thoroughly and fairly early and no one is left to make wishes and resolutions and live on the hope that someday they'll lose weight or stop smoking or dump that abusive boyfriend. but then again, circumstance has a way of handing us the life manual that we need when we least expect it. we just don't pay attention to the information we're given until it's too late.
it was arthur miller who said, maybe all we can hope to do is end up with the right regrets. i think that's an interesing way to look at it. i have regrets but they're good ones. so far, i don't regret leaving home. new york city hasn't been an easy place to live but i don't regret moving here. i don't regret my refusal to smoke cigarettes. and although i had a moment in college where i tried drugs because i was curious, i didn't lose myself in speed or heroin or whiskey like everyone else did. so my liver and my brain cells and my skin and the rest of my major organs are all doing great. but some of my friends are falling apart. and some of them aren't here anymore. i still miss carrie every day. God help me. i really do.
hey. wanna know something that millionaires have in common? they all take excellent care of their bodies. that makes a lot of sense to me. why work so hard to get all that money, only to keel over from a heart attack right when you've got nothing but time to enjoy the good life?
it's a way of thinking, i suppose. i changed my way of thinking when i took that workshop and i didn't even realize it. that was circumstance, handing me a piece of that life manual that i so needed. thank God i was paying attention.
anyway, it's true. i don't have any new year's resolutions. but i don't think anyone else should have any, either. there. i said it.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
God bless us, everyone.
Happy New Year, World!
God bless us, everyone.
love and grits
your biggest fan
Queen Esther
"...a timelessly beautiful voice accompanied by a stunningly
gorgeous woman stuck in a world of soulfully seductive sound."
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