alejandro escovedo is one of my favorite singer/songwriters. i don't know why but hearing this profoundly depressing song "i was drunk" always makes me happy -- so here it is.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
mental health day
that's right. today (aside from a little housecleaning and washing my hair, neither of which could not be avoided), i did absolutely nothing.
hooray, me!
hooray, me!
Saturday, November 10, 2007
lessons learned from "american gangster"
i went to see american gangster this afternoon with my friend at the magic johnson theater in harlem. where else could i go to hear this uptown story but uptown? i felt so guilty about liking it as much as i did, in part because frank lucas did way more harm than good to my neighborhood. i don't care how many turkeys he gave away every thanksgiving. heroin killed the heart of harlem. he had to know the impact of what he was doing, and he didn't care. justifying it by saying that someone else would have done it anyway is a massive cop-out.
as we walked home afterwards, i thought long and hard about my time in a ground floor apartment on E. 100th street between 3rd and lex. the area so desperately wanted to be yorkville but it was standing on the verge of spanish harlem, with projects and abandoned buildings everywhere. it was dangerous on my block. and scary. i would watch filthy scab-covered junkies crawl into and out of the abandoned building across the street from me at any given hour like mice do in those mgm cartoons when they're eating a hunk of swiss cheese. dealers did their business on the rooftop, lowering the drugs to the ones who handled business on the ground with the actual buying and selling. each drop was one order. the money went here with one person, the drugs went there with another person, while little kids were parked on bikes as lookouts on each corner at either end of the block. it was a well-run money-making organization these young black kids had on their hands. a part of me couldn't help but wonder what they would be able to pull off if they were ever allowed to be a part of the corporate world.
one evening, i distinctly remember seeing a line of people going up the block, waiting, as the drug dealers scrambled to accomodate them. everyone was panicky because the line was so long. but no one left. i remember thinking, how good is this crack, anyway? heck--how good is crack, period? i recall falling into a conversation in a bar downtown with a part-time junkie who was also a full-time wall street exec of some sort. when i told him where i lived, he was suitably impressed. there's really good shit on your block, he murmured approvingly.
why did this cross my mind after seeing that movie? i don't know. maybe what i lived through on E. 100th street was a minature version of what i'd seen on the screen. maybe it was the closest i'd come to seeing the mechanics of how the drug thing worked on the street, firsthand. the business side of it all -- that was the connection.
what's the upshot? what did i learn from all this?
there were other lessons, too. stuff like, don't do the crime if you can't do the time. still and all, it was interesting to see a business model applied to drug dealing. how hollywood was that movie? frank lucas is alive and well in north carolina. nicky barnes is in the witness protection program, working a 9 to 5 like any other lemming. but something tells me that there's way more to the story than what i saw. (thus begins my winter reading list...)
as we walked home afterwards, i thought long and hard about my time in a ground floor apartment on E. 100th street between 3rd and lex. the area so desperately wanted to be yorkville but it was standing on the verge of spanish harlem, with projects and abandoned buildings everywhere. it was dangerous on my block. and scary. i would watch filthy scab-covered junkies crawl into and out of the abandoned building across the street from me at any given hour like mice do in those mgm cartoons when they're eating a hunk of swiss cheese. dealers did their business on the rooftop, lowering the drugs to the ones who handled business on the ground with the actual buying and selling. each drop was one order. the money went here with one person, the drugs went there with another person, while little kids were parked on bikes as lookouts on each corner at either end of the block. it was a well-run money-making organization these young black kids had on their hands. a part of me couldn't help but wonder what they would be able to pull off if they were ever allowed to be a part of the corporate world.
one evening, i distinctly remember seeing a line of people going up the block, waiting, as the drug dealers scrambled to accomodate them. everyone was panicky because the line was so long. but no one left. i remember thinking, how good is this crack, anyway? heck--how good is crack, period? i recall falling into a conversation in a bar downtown with a part-time junkie who was also a full-time wall street exec of some sort. when i told him where i lived, he was suitably impressed. there's really good shit on your block, he murmured approvingly.
why did this cross my mind after seeing that movie? i don't know. maybe what i lived through on E. 100th street was a minature version of what i'd seen on the screen. maybe it was the closest i'd come to seeing the mechanics of how the drug thing worked on the street, firsthand. the business side of it all -- that was the connection.
what's the upshot? what did i learn from all this?
- cut out the middleman. frank lucas went straight to the source in southeast asia for a product that was ultimately better than everyone else's
- undercut the competition. he sold a better product at a cheaper cost
- branding is key. he called his product blue magic. whenever anyone made that point of purchase, they knew what to expect
- word-of-mouth is your best advertising tool. once the word went out on the street, that's all anyone wanted to buy
- they will want you -- and in frank's case, need you -- when you don't need them. frank's competition came calling when they realized he beat them at their own game
there were other lessons, too. stuff like, don't do the crime if you can't do the time. still and all, it was interesting to see a business model applied to drug dealing. how hollywood was that movie? frank lucas is alive and well in north carolina. nicky barnes is in the witness protection program, working a 9 to 5 like any other lemming. but something tells me that there's way more to the story than what i saw. (thus begins my winter reading list...)
Friday, November 09, 2007
i just found her and now she's gone
i found a new favorite comedienne in marilyn martinez, so of course as it turns out, she's been around for years. most recently, she was one of the latina divas of comedy. (what a franchise that turned out to be.) she passed away of colon cancer on november 3rd. i wish i could have seen her perform live.
makes me wonder who else i'm missing out on.
makes me wonder who else i'm missing out on.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Jake Gets Paid -- The final edit
i went to the tisch school of the arts screening room to see the final edit of jake gets paid, the movie i shot with ed durante in april. it was a nine day shoot -- every saturday and sunday that month -- and it was tight. there were moments when it felt like a massive impossibility but we all got through it. the finished product needs work here and there (they haven't fixed the sound, for example) but all in all, it was astonishingly good. especially the new ending, which kind of blew me away.
it's not that i ever doubted ed. it's obvious that he knows what he's doing. it's just that with film, you don't know what you have until you've edited it and it's up on the screen. while you're actually doing it, everything is all over the place. there's just no predicting it. it's pretty clear that ed is ambitious and aggressive with all this. he's going to follow through with the festival circuit and push as hard as he has to, to make something happen. it's his first feature. (and mine.)
with theater, you can read the script and know what you've got. and when all else fails, great acting can save bad direction. not so with film. it's all about the direction -- ed's vision, his ideas, they're all up there.
the fun part is, my nieces leslie and monique came out to see it, and leslie brought her husband ernest. leslie and ernest sat behind my friend and i, and i got to talk to them before the movie started to fill them in on my life and make faces at them and stuff after everything was underway. fun. and ralph was there. and stephen. and john and judtsna. it's like i got this moment to catch every one up on at least some part of what i've been up to this year. quite gratifying.
it's not that i ever doubted ed. it's obvious that he knows what he's doing. it's just that with film, you don't know what you have until you've edited it and it's up on the screen. while you're actually doing it, everything is all over the place. there's just no predicting it. it's pretty clear that ed is ambitious and aggressive with all this. he's going to follow through with the festival circuit and push as hard as he has to, to make something happen. it's his first feature. (and mine.)
with theater, you can read the script and know what you've got. and when all else fails, great acting can save bad direction. not so with film. it's all about the direction -- ed's vision, his ideas, they're all up there.
the fun part is, my nieces leslie and monique came out to see it, and leslie brought her husband ernest. leslie and ernest sat behind my friend and i, and i got to talk to them before the movie started to fill them in on my life and make faces at them and stuff after everything was underway. fun. and ralph was there. and stephen. and john and judtsna. it's like i got this moment to catch every one up on at least some part of what i've been up to this year. quite gratifying.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
what would you do?
my friend and i were walking up 3rd avenue from midtown some time ago, when the weather was warmer than it is now. the sun was waning and everything was on the verge of changing into another season, but not really. everyone was out on the street all over the place with their kids and their dogs and their kids on tricycles and whatnot. like the sidewalk was their backyard. it wasn't particularly crowded, but there were people everywhere.
we were on our way to ej's luncheonette for dinner. they have great chili, texas style.
i can't remember what we were talking about. what i do remember is that this woman sort of materialized out of the crowd and kept a steady pace directly in front of us. she wore her hair in a bun and she was terribly pasty and she looked taller than she actually was, in those strappy silvery sandals. as the gauzy dress swirled around her, my friend and i fell silent. and then we looked at each other with the same thought hovering over our heads in one collective glassy thought-bubble: we could see straight through the dress! we could see her thin flat backside and the flab that twitched with every step. we could see that thong that was so much darker than the dress that for a minute there, i figured she must have wanted everyone to see her backside. we could see everything.
i'm going to say something, i whispered. no, you're not, my friend hissed, grasping my arm. (clearly, this wasn't the first time he'd done that.) what's she gonna do? go home and change?
and i said, well, yeah. so then he countered with, you don't think she knew what she looked like when she left the house? i thought about that one. i mean, who doesn't have a set of flesh colored bra and panties? don't they make slips anymore? didn't all of that gauze come with some sort of filmy underlay, or something?
i felt sorry for her. i thought, that could be me, walking down the street naked. did other people notice? were we the only ones who could see this spectacle? did anyone else care? i would want someone to tell me something. i told that to my friend. he made a face and shook his head, saying no you wouldn't.
so the three of us walked along in grand strides and as we did, my friend explained that in polite society, people wouldn't say or do certain things. like yell in the street. or draw attention to themselves. or be rude to anyone, in any way. that's the behavior of true aristocracy -- but the thing is, they have enough handlers to insulate them from having to interact with people and live in situations that might compell them to raise their voices above a conversational tone. they never have to yell at anybody. that's somebody else's job.
as i told my friend my favorite story about jackie o. that epitomized this way of life, the visibly naked lady took a right turn and disappeared into a movie premiere private party that left us not wondering who she was. and i was left to wonder: what would my life be like if i behaved like an aristocrat?
we were on our way to ej's luncheonette for dinner. they have great chili, texas style.
i can't remember what we were talking about. what i do remember is that this woman sort of materialized out of the crowd and kept a steady pace directly in front of us. she wore her hair in a bun and she was terribly pasty and she looked taller than she actually was, in those strappy silvery sandals. as the gauzy dress swirled around her, my friend and i fell silent. and then we looked at each other with the same thought hovering over our heads in one collective glassy thought-bubble: we could see straight through the dress! we could see her thin flat backside and the flab that twitched with every step. we could see that thong that was so much darker than the dress that for a minute there, i figured she must have wanted everyone to see her backside. we could see everything.
i'm going to say something, i whispered. no, you're not, my friend hissed, grasping my arm. (clearly, this wasn't the first time he'd done that.) what's she gonna do? go home and change?
and i said, well, yeah. so then he countered with, you don't think she knew what she looked like when she left the house? i thought about that one. i mean, who doesn't have a set of flesh colored bra and panties? don't they make slips anymore? didn't all of that gauze come with some sort of filmy underlay, or something?
i felt sorry for her. i thought, that could be me, walking down the street naked. did other people notice? were we the only ones who could see this spectacle? did anyone else care? i would want someone to tell me something. i told that to my friend. he made a face and shook his head, saying no you wouldn't.
so the three of us walked along in grand strides and as we did, my friend explained that in polite society, people wouldn't say or do certain things. like yell in the street. or draw attention to themselves. or be rude to anyone, in any way. that's the behavior of true aristocracy -- but the thing is, they have enough handlers to insulate them from having to interact with people and live in situations that might compell them to raise their voices above a conversational tone. they never have to yell at anybody. that's somebody else's job.
as i told my friend my favorite story about jackie o. that epitomized this way of life, the visibly naked lady took a right turn and disappeared into a movie premiere private party that left us not wondering who she was. and i was left to wonder: what would my life be like if i behaved like an aristocrat?
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
sunday was not the day
they didn't have the camera in the store, but they had it in stock. interestingly enough, they're phasing out the exilim Z75 to make way for the newer model that's coming in time for christmas. they change up on those point and click cameras quicker than iAnything. i ordered it because i knew b&h prices were hard to beat. they were something like 20% less than anybody else i found.
what a low blow, to have to wait. but because they shipped in the city, i got it yesterday. now it's taking forever for the battery to charge. (i left it in overnight and it's still not ready.)
i wonder what my first shot will be?
what a low blow, to have to wait. but because they shipped in the city, i got it yesterday. now it's taking forever for the battery to charge. (i left it in overnight and it's still not ready.)
i wonder what my first shot will be?
Monday, November 05, 2007
A story about "Tim Gunn: A Guide to Quality, Taste and Style"
by Tim Gunn
i lovelovelove this book. why?
he’s got this conversational tone, like he’s at your elbow walking you through it all—whether it’s a sample sale or your own closets or a seasonal sale at loehman’s. he’s high brow but he’s accessible and so effortlessly self-deprecating that you find yourself wanting to like him even if you really didn’t think you would. he’s smart and he’s cool and he uses what are commonly considered to be complicated things (like kierkegaard, for example) to explain something very simple (how you present yourself is a reflection of who you are—be your authentic self at all times. accept who you are and be that person when you get dressed.) and makes it all easy to digest.
i saw my closets (and myself) so differently after reading this book. the dresses i was holding on to, out of sentiment; the pants i was hoping to fit into but couldn’t (but would, someday, believe me); that blouse i never wore. no wonder i swung the closet door open time and time again, only to say “i have nothing to wear.” and i didn’t—that is, nothing that reflects who i am NOW.
i’m an artist, so this is how i dress anyway. i pride myself on not dressing up like anyone else. but it had me thinking in another direction about clothes and presentation. and for me, that’s always a good thing.
very simple. makes sense. we should all do it. especially if we live in nyc.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
today's the day
a few years ago, i made a wish out loud when i was hanging out at tracey moffatt's place one day: words weren't enough -- i wanted to take pictures of my world. tracey and franco mondini-ruiz promptly gave me enough cash to buy a casio exilim Z50, as a birthday present. and with that everything changed. my whole life exploded creatively in this whole other direction. i found myself wanting to tell stories with pictures. the little movies and photos i took compelled me to think visually. every click made me strangely happy.
and then the camera got stolen when my friend and i took a day trip to jersey one weekend.
i felt badly about it because that camera was from tracey and franco. but then again, they didn't give me the camera, per se -- what they really gave me is a visual life, a different way of looking at things. out of sentiment, i wanted the same camera but they don't make it anymore. so today's the day: i'm going to b&h this afternoon after church to get an upgrade.
i had a casio exilim, so i think i'm going to stick with that brand. i want to be able to take action shots and take better pictures in low light. and i don't want to pay more than $200 for it.
PS: here's the kicker -- a photo i took of harriet tubman's home for the aged in auburn, new york is to be published in a children's book about her, in the spring. (me, a published photographer? who knew? i didn't.)
how did they find me? someone googled me on flickr, of course.
and then the camera got stolen when my friend and i took a day trip to jersey one weekend.
i felt badly about it because that camera was from tracey and franco. but then again, they didn't give me the camera, per se -- what they really gave me is a visual life, a different way of looking at things. out of sentiment, i wanted the same camera but they don't make it anymore. so today's the day: i'm going to b&h this afternoon after church to get an upgrade.
i had a casio exilim, so i think i'm going to stick with that brand. i want to be able to take action shots and take better pictures in low light. and i don't want to pay more than $200 for it.
PS: here's the kicker -- a photo i took of harriet tubman's home for the aged in auburn, new york is to be published in a children's book about her, in the spring. (me, a published photographer? who knew? i didn't.)
how did they find me? someone googled me on flickr, of course.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
on point
the other night, i saw the last commercial that gave me two callbacks. you've probably seen it, too: Tylenol PM, the one with different shots of everyone calling hogs in this wierd, cobalt blue montage of snoring, one after another, in their respective beds. it was bizarre and quirky and funny. i didn't full on see it from beginning to end, so i don't know which black girl got hired -- or if they picked one of us at all.
it dawned on me that i had one eye on every commercial that blipped across the tv screen. what was i looking for? in a word, everything: people i knew; black people i knew; black women i knew or even vaguely recognized. i'm looking for what can only be described as "a look"-- the question i constantly ask is, how many brown-skinned black women in my age range with my look are getting work? which products are using them? why her and not me? the more i see, the better my chances are.
all of these questions come and go in a flash. some commercial comes on and i think, wow, it's a young black mom that doesn't pass the paper bag test. slim and pretty with natural hair and great teeth. ah, well -- it's target. yeah, they're pretty inclusive racially but strong on the eye candy and they use lots of dancers and models. that's the way i think when i watch tv nowadays. and i can't turn it off. when i meet someone that tells me that they're an actor, i look at them and i think, you're an attractive white guy -- there's plenty of work for you, why are you non-union, why aren't you working? or i think, if you don't get your teeth fixed, you'll never get on-camera work or i think, i hope you like the chorus, because that's where you're going to be until you retire if you don't transition into film or tv. it's a voice in my head that only talks serious showbiz schlock. and i can't turn the volume down.
without even realizing it, i've made reaching and maintaining that visual mark a high priority in my world. my day isn't complete unless i've had a good hard workout -- and afterwards, the steam room. (steam/sauna is such a luxury when it's cold in the city.) i see my eyebrowist every two weeks. i get my hands and feet done every other week. i get a facial once a month. i moisturize constantly, with great products. i even got a mac pro card so i can give my makeup case an overhaul and have a finished look when i really need it. and they offer classes and workshops so i can get better at applying makeup.
i schedule all this stuff like i schedule appointments with my periodontist. everything is on automatic. the point is, maintainence and upkeep for on-camera talent is a full-time job. it's in my job description/requirement that i do all this crap, which is why i can write most of it off on my taxes. in 20 lbs, i'll be back to normal. and i'll be able to fit into all the clothes in my closet, not just the ones that i'm wearing when i'm having an especially "thick" month.
i want to give myself that 20 lb weight loss as a christmas present.
it dawned on me that i had one eye on every commercial that blipped across the tv screen. what was i looking for? in a word, everything: people i knew; black people i knew; black women i knew or even vaguely recognized. i'm looking for what can only be described as "a look"-- the question i constantly ask is, how many brown-skinned black women in my age range with my look are getting work? which products are using them? why her and not me? the more i see, the better my chances are.
all of these questions come and go in a flash. some commercial comes on and i think, wow, it's a young black mom that doesn't pass the paper bag test. slim and pretty with natural hair and great teeth. ah, well -- it's target. yeah, they're pretty inclusive racially but strong on the eye candy and they use lots of dancers and models. that's the way i think when i watch tv nowadays. and i can't turn it off. when i meet someone that tells me that they're an actor, i look at them and i think, you're an attractive white guy -- there's plenty of work for you, why are you non-union, why aren't you working? or i think, if you don't get your teeth fixed, you'll never get on-camera work or i think, i hope you like the chorus, because that's where you're going to be until you retire if you don't transition into film or tv. it's a voice in my head that only talks serious showbiz schlock. and i can't turn the volume down.
without even realizing it, i've made reaching and maintaining that visual mark a high priority in my world. my day isn't complete unless i've had a good hard workout -- and afterwards, the steam room. (steam/sauna is such a luxury when it's cold in the city.) i see my eyebrowist every two weeks. i get my hands and feet done every other week. i get a facial once a month. i moisturize constantly, with great products. i even got a mac pro card so i can give my makeup case an overhaul and have a finished look when i really need it. and they offer classes and workshops so i can get better at applying makeup.
i schedule all this stuff like i schedule appointments with my periodontist. everything is on automatic. the point is, maintainence and upkeep for on-camera talent is a full-time job. it's in my job description/requirement that i do all this crap, which is why i can write most of it off on my taxes. in 20 lbs, i'll be back to normal. and i'll be able to fit into all the clothes in my closet, not just the ones that i'm wearing when i'm having an especially "thick" month.
i want to give myself that 20 lb weight loss as a christmas present.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Jake Gets Paid
here's the trailer from my first feature film, Jake Gets Paid. it's my first real role. you know what i mean: more than five lines. not background work. not "extra" work. it's me, in a supporting role that has me saying and doing things all the way through the flick. that's never happened before. i'm filled with sweet relief that it's happening now.
i was antsy about what i'd look like because i'm not as skinny as i was last year and my hair is totally natural and i'm not necessarily a film actor (yet). but when i saw the rough cut, i realized that my hair looks way better than i dared to imagine it would. and when i relaxed, the camera seemed to like me. now i'm very comfortable on camera, thank God -- which is probably why i keep getting called back for almost every commercial that will see me.
what's especially cool is that the director ed durante is using two of my songs, in the very beginning and the very end of the movie.
ed and his editor sen are close to a final edit, so they want some viable feedback. they're going to show it at tisch school of the arts (ed's alma mater) next week. i can't wait to see what it looks like and how it feels. and yes -- when all is said and done, i'm really glad that i did it.
i was antsy about what i'd look like because i'm not as skinny as i was last year and my hair is totally natural and i'm not necessarily a film actor (yet). but when i saw the rough cut, i realized that my hair looks way better than i dared to imagine it would. and when i relaxed, the camera seemed to like me. now i'm very comfortable on camera, thank God -- which is probably why i keep getting called back for almost every commercial that will see me.
what's especially cool is that the director ed durante is using two of my songs, in the very beginning and the very end of the movie.
ed and his editor sen are close to a final edit, so they want some viable feedback. they're going to show it at tisch school of the arts (ed's alma mater) next week. i can't wait to see what it looks like and how it feels. and yes -- when all is said and done, i'm really glad that i did it.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
NaBloPoMo!
yeah, so i figured that if i'm going to write a book in a month, i may as well blog everyday this month, too. i don't know how i tripped up over National Blog Posting Month. what a cute idea. it must have been kismet. what kind of an avalanche of words will come out of my head in 30 days? at this point, i'm going to need a tidal wave. shouldn't be a problem. lately, it feels like i'm always riding one. but where is it taking me?
who knows -- maybe i'll shake some great ideas loose. scribble, scribble, scribble!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
the countdown begins...
i didn’t know what my “new and fulfilling experience” would be for november (not eat myself into a stupor at thanksgiving, for a change?) and i’m still not 100% committed to any one thing but something sparked me today and if i’m still thinking about it tonight at midnight when november 1st offically begins, i may register and go for it.
it’s called national novel writing month (http://www.nanowrimo.com). every year in the month of november, they crank into this “contest”: thirty days to write a 50,000 word novel. that’s something like 1,660 words a day, more or less. i figure, why not? it doesn’t have to be any good. no one is judging it. they just want you to finish it.
what do you get besides bragging rights? your name in their winners circle and a certificate that’s probably suitable for framing. but i don’t care about any of that. the thing is, i’ve always wanted to write a book. maybe this is my chance to get my idea out of my head and onto some paper, in some form of yes-i-finished-it completeness…
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
All Hallows Eve in the Big City
when i moved to new york city, i was as green as spring corn.
to protect me, my brothers would arbitrarily spew weird bits of flotsam about how to conduct myself in the city, for safety's sake. i distinctly recall promising them a thousand times over that i would never leave our harlem apartment on three particular nights -- new year's eve, the fourth of july, and halloween. and although i said it so they'd stop hassling me about it, in time i realized that staying home on those nights was a very smart thing to do. oh, sure -- there were moments when some friend would invite me downtown to some party or something. i almost always regretted it, though. i'd rather be at home watching a marathon of movies or tv shows or documentaries about ghosts or whatever.
when halloween falls on a weekend, it's especially hellish. this year, i got a reprieve. sort of.
on my end of the ghetto, children dress up and stay in the buildings that they live in and roam the hallways, knocking on doors and screaming. they are adorable. one year, i forgot that it was halloween and when i heard a knock, i threw the door open and all these little munchkins were all dressed up and staring at me. hard. i had to tell them that i had a gig and i forgot it was halloween. in spanish. (they probably thought i was a witch. or an idiot. or both.)
and then of course, there was the year that everyone got a kinderegg (my favorite!) because my german friend joe sent a box of them from berlin. i went a little overboard with that one, but after that no candy debacle, i had to redeem myself somehow.
(actually, my favorite chocolates are richart. but i digress.)
this year, my friend and i are going to get all american candy that he likes so he can enjoy munching on whatever we don't give away. fun.
halloween falls on a wednesday this year, so there was a lot of costumed revelry to wade through last weekend. all of it was tacky, racist and stupid. remarkably, i didn't see any children parading around. evidently, the stats say that this has definitely turned into an adult party event all the way across the board, with an anticipated $5 billion in revenue this year ($2.2 billion of that is candy, folks) and right behind the superbowl and new year's eve in popularity. why?
i always thought that the costume was a reflection of the inner self. after this weekend, i think everybody ran through the back end of ricky's when they realized they couldn't get into the party they were invited to without a costume and grabbed whatever wasn't too picked over.
white girls in their street clothes wearing afro wigs with fake gold teeth and talkin' "jive" -- that's like having a sign on your back that says please bitchslap me. and that goes double for the mexican costume that has you on a donkey, like juan valdez. seriously.
this is called "funny mexican costume". too bad they didn't have any drunken white girl/boy outfits. what do you think those look like? then again, my friend says that one year when he was bartending at the slipper room, he dressed up as a preppy drunken frat boy with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, so i guess you can always d.i.y.
if anyone asks me where my costume is, i'm going to point at my clothes and say, this is it. and i'm going to mean it. (you should dress up like a kitty, my friend says. maybe i'll get some ears and surprise him.)
can you imagine running around looking like a "funny mexican" in spanish harlem? they're not that stupid. they save it for the neighborhoods they feel safe in. like chelsea. and times square. and the upper west side. and to be totally honest with you, this reminds me of when i was an undergrad at UT (Austin) and i lived in west campus. i was literally surrounded by greek houses and jillions of well-manicured and priveleged frat boys and sorority girls. it seemed like every weekend, they were having keggers and getting dressed up for some racist theme party or another. many is the day when i would wake up on a saturday and walk through the neighborhood to see frat boys curled up on somebody's lawns, wearing a sombrero or an afro or God knows what all, with those freaking crappy docksiders on, and covered in a moist blanket of their own vomit.
Lord. would someone please tell me what's so great about those stupid boating shoes?
don't get me wrong. i like halloween (when i can remember it). i just don't like being surrounded by white people who dress up and behave like racial stereotypes because they think it's a fun thing to do.
it's so much easier to stay home.
to protect me, my brothers would arbitrarily spew weird bits of flotsam about how to conduct myself in the city, for safety's sake. i distinctly recall promising them a thousand times over that i would never leave our harlem apartment on three particular nights -- new year's eve, the fourth of july, and halloween. and although i said it so they'd stop hassling me about it, in time i realized that staying home on those nights was a very smart thing to do. oh, sure -- there were moments when some friend would invite me downtown to some party or something. i almost always regretted it, though. i'd rather be at home watching a marathon of movies or tv shows or documentaries about ghosts or whatever.
when halloween falls on a weekend, it's especially hellish. this year, i got a reprieve. sort of.
on my end of the ghetto, children dress up and stay in the buildings that they live in and roam the hallways, knocking on doors and screaming. they are adorable. one year, i forgot that it was halloween and when i heard a knock, i threw the door open and all these little munchkins were all dressed up and staring at me. hard. i had to tell them that i had a gig and i forgot it was halloween. in spanish. (they probably thought i was a witch. or an idiot. or both.)
and then of course, there was the year that everyone got a kinderegg (my favorite!) because my german friend joe sent a box of them from berlin. i went a little overboard with that one, but after that no candy debacle, i had to redeem myself somehow.
(actually, my favorite chocolates are richart. but i digress.)
this year, my friend and i are going to get all american candy that he likes so he can enjoy munching on whatever we don't give away. fun.
halloween falls on a wednesday this year, so there was a lot of costumed revelry to wade through last weekend. all of it was tacky, racist and stupid. remarkably, i didn't see any children parading around. evidently, the stats say that this has definitely turned into an adult party event all the way across the board, with an anticipated $5 billion in revenue this year ($2.2 billion of that is candy, folks) and right behind the superbowl and new year's eve in popularity. why?
i always thought that the costume was a reflection of the inner self. after this weekend, i think everybody ran through the back end of ricky's when they realized they couldn't get into the party they were invited to without a costume and grabbed whatever wasn't too picked over.
white girls in their street clothes wearing afro wigs with fake gold teeth and talkin' "jive" -- that's like having a sign on your back that says please bitchslap me. and that goes double for the mexican costume that has you on a donkey, like juan valdez. seriously.
this is called "funny mexican costume". too bad they didn't have any drunken white girl/boy outfits. what do you think those look like? then again, my friend says that one year when he was bartending at the slipper room, he dressed up as a preppy drunken frat boy with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, so i guess you can always d.i.y.
if anyone asks me where my costume is, i'm going to point at my clothes and say, this is it. and i'm going to mean it. (you should dress up like a kitty, my friend says. maybe i'll get some ears and surprise him.)
can you imagine running around looking like a "funny mexican" in spanish harlem? they're not that stupid. they save it for the neighborhoods they feel safe in. like chelsea. and times square. and the upper west side. and to be totally honest with you, this reminds me of when i was an undergrad at UT (Austin) and i lived in west campus. i was literally surrounded by greek houses and jillions of well-manicured and priveleged frat boys and sorority girls. it seemed like every weekend, they were having keggers and getting dressed up for some racist theme party or another. many is the day when i would wake up on a saturday and walk through the neighborhood to see frat boys curled up on somebody's lawns, wearing a sombrero or an afro or God knows what all, with those freaking crappy docksiders on, and covered in a moist blanket of their own vomit.
Lord. would someone please tell me what's so great about those stupid boating shoes?
don't get me wrong. i like halloween (when i can remember it). i just don't like being surrounded by white people who dress up and behave like racial stereotypes because they think it's a fun thing to do.
it's so much easier to stay home.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
if this doesn't sum it up, i don't know what does
this is a spoof of monster.com's "when i grow up, i want to be a..." campaign that was used at the ADDYs last year/some time ago/i don't know when. since then, no one wants anyone to see it, because it's funny and cynical and blisteringly true -- so of course that means it's gone viral and everyone is seeing it online.
i work at an ad agency and it's a little wierd how dead on this stuff is.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
kismet?
i’ve always been able to write. i get an idea and words spill out of me like running water. i wonder what it would be like to have writer’s block?
once upon a time, i used that skill to create one person shows for myself as a solo performer. writing screenplays seemed possible but farfetched, somehow. my friend carrie used to encourage me an awful lot. i’d write things and we’d bat them back and forth and dissect them. but all of it ended up percolating in the back of my mind after she passed away, and time marched on like it always does.
while cleaning out my apartment, i found a script that i wrote for a screenwriting class i took at the new school in the early 90s, to finish my BA degree. it was a treatment and less than 10 pages of dialogue—but the teacher wrote encouraging words all over it, and i remember my initial intent and what i wanted to say and why, and i got excited all over again.
what’s the worst that would happen if i got that extra special fancy screenwriting software and simply finished it?
that’s what my friend carrie would ask me if she were here, by the way. she would say, why don’t you finish it for fun? and my answer would have to be why not? i really don’t have a reason not to – she and i both know that. it’s all about time and effort and that doesn’t cost money.
what a cool way to encourage someone – especially me, the world’s biggest procrastinator.
God, i miss her.
See more progress on: write a screenplay
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
A story about "Elizabeth: The Golden Age"
joined the director’s guild this year. figured i’m in s.a.g. i’m a blackgrrl on a budget. i may as well get as much bang for my buck as i possibly can. i’m doing the math, so i figure with the price of a ticket hovering somewhere around $11.50 or so in the city these days, i’ve got to see every movie they’re showing this year with my friend to make it worth my while. i couldn’t sit through 2 1/2 hours of “into the wild”—i’m sure it’s glorious—but i did see the latest richard gere flick, whose name escapes me.
my friend knows the drill. we show up, we stand in line, we get in, we grab good seats, if we can. no smoking, no food, no drink. seriously, not even water or gum. it’s worth it, to see first run movies before anyone else does.
enter “elizabeth: the golden age” with surprise! everybody’s favorite british manly man clive owen as sir walter raleigh. i got so lost in how lush this movie is, how it told the story visually, how the costumes were so overwhelmingly beautiful at times, how the lighting set the mood at every turn. every frame, so sumptuous and bursting with the feel of it all. just beautiful.
that being said—elizabeth herself is flawed and human and alive, so full of fear and intelligence and beauty that it took my breath away. the first “elizabeth” made blanchett a star. this one will probably get her an Oscar. she gave a great performance and totally commanded the screen in all the right ways.
i can’t say wonderful things for the storyline, which wasn’t meaty enough for me but it told the story that it wanted to tell, so i went with it. it didn’t get into the specifics, just the historical highlights as we glimpsed some personal moments. it was worth it, to see blanchett’s performance, to see those costumes, the whole set up. hey—this is what i do. this is the business i’m in. i have to see these movies.
lovely, lovely turn for samantha morton as the queen of scots. her tenderness in the end at her beheading was sweetness and light.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
i did it!
as i was leaving my building with my 21 speed mountain bike this morning, i stopped to say hello to the lady in the window, this older dominican woman that i’m friendly with. she's there all the time, cooking or chatting on the phone or babysitting or something. i was wearing this bike helmet that makes me look like a ritalin kid and i thought she was going to say something about it but instead, after exchanging social pleasantries, she looked me up and down and, with her hand propping her head up as though she were weary, she smiled a little and said, “you fat.” she said it in a real laconic matter of fact way, in this low dull voice, with this heavy accent and this wierd inflection that happens so often with people who don’t speak english as a first language. they stress all the wrong things, thus illuminating whatever they’re saying in this whole other way.
she sounded like she was telling me that i was made of blubber.
i know that black girls and dominican girls are bigger. i know she’s used to a bigger girl. but she’s known me for years. she knows what i’m supposed to look like. i know i don’t look that bad, i’m not that far off. but if the weight gain is noticeable enough to warrant a statement of the obvious from her, then i definitely need to do whatever i have to do to lose it.
talk about motivation.
we rode from my place on 137th and riverside into the park and headed to the little red lighthouse and then we found our way across the george washington bridge. the view was nothing short of spectacular. once we reached the jersey side, we veered onto river road which was harrowing and dangerous and a total freak-out roller coaster ride straight down, at first. somewhere in there i almost got hit by a bus and my friend flat out pulled us over and suggested that we go back. remembering the downhil ride and thinking of the uphill return, i adamantly refused. we forged ahead to the ferry, which let us out at 39th street on the west side for $7 (plus one buck for the bike). “what a rip-off,” my friend said, half-laughing. he was right. we should have gone down to hoboken and taken the path for $2. but in the midst of the heat and all that traffic, the bottom of the island was a million miles away.
the next thing i knew, we were on our way up the west side highway to the cafe at the 77th St. pier, where we shared a cheeseburger and fries and took in our little trip. we made it home from there in less than a half hour. and just like that, it was over. the lady in the window was right where i left her. was i still fat? well, sure. but at least i did something about it.
by my mapmyrun.com guesstimations, we only did about 15 miles. it felt like 30! if i rode my bike to work, i'd do 12 miles round-trip everyday. wow. that would be 60 miles a week. now that would burn some calories!
okay, maybe this challenge was a little too easy. sure was fun, though. how about i go for that pesky learner’s permit? it’s high time i learned how to drive.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
and so it begins
this isn't the part where i whine about how hard it is to get my body together. i'm tired of whining. this is the part where i tell you that i got so sick of myself, i'm actually doing something about it. the pressure's on: pilot season is coming on strong, i need new headshots and postcards, and the season is changing so there's a whole other set of clothes that i can't fit in. and i'm too cheap to buy larger things. i'd rather lose weight and get right back into what i've got.
oh, sure. i was doing something about it before every so often. now i'm doing something about it every day. i've chucked my gym membership with the place in the nearby park and joined NYSC, which has locations everywhere (even 24 hour gyms), so its way too convenient.
i went out the other night and had a boxing lesson after a fairly severe upper body workout. it had me limping for days. on my way home that night, i felt my body buzzing. i remembered when i lived in that SRO on the upper west side and how once upon a time, my body felt that buzzy way on a regular basis. i was at my physical best when i was a member of that gym. i ate right and i pushed my body a little more everyday and in return, it never betrayed me with illness or major surgery or minor breakdowns, or any of the other things that seemed to plague everyone else. in my time in the city, i've had that buzz for the most part. but now i've lost it for all the usual reasons and i want it back badly enough to work out every morning to get it.
nothing comes without sacrifice and discipline.
the hard part isn't getting there. the hard part is maintaining it. the boxing is hard on me but it's fun, i have to admit. evidently, i'm a pugilist at heart. after the first lesson, i went home and soaked in the tub for as long as i could. the all over ache was relentless. too bad my friend can't come with me. on saturdays, we ride our bikes for 10 or 15 miles or more. tomorrow, we're going to ride across the george washington bridge and explore new jersey.
to tell you the truth, i go through this "get in shape" thing every other season. and so it begins -- deja vu all over again. if i were rich and famous, this wouldn't be any easier. i'd still have to put one foot in front of the other and do the work. it gives me some small comfort to know that gwen stefani struggles with her weight, and every day is a fight to keep it off.
fat: the great equalizer.
oh, sure. i was doing something about it before every so often. now i'm doing something about it every day. i've chucked my gym membership with the place in the nearby park and joined NYSC, which has locations everywhere (even 24 hour gyms), so its way too convenient.
i went out the other night and had a boxing lesson after a fairly severe upper body workout. it had me limping for days. on my way home that night, i felt my body buzzing. i remembered when i lived in that SRO on the upper west side and how once upon a time, my body felt that buzzy way on a regular basis. i was at my physical best when i was a member of that gym. i ate right and i pushed my body a little more everyday and in return, it never betrayed me with illness or major surgery or minor breakdowns, or any of the other things that seemed to plague everyone else. in my time in the city, i've had that buzz for the most part. but now i've lost it for all the usual reasons and i want it back badly enough to work out every morning to get it.
nothing comes without sacrifice and discipline.
the hard part isn't getting there. the hard part is maintaining it. the boxing is hard on me but it's fun, i have to admit. evidently, i'm a pugilist at heart. after the first lesson, i went home and soaked in the tub for as long as i could. the all over ache was relentless. too bad my friend can't come with me. on saturdays, we ride our bikes for 10 or 15 miles or more. tomorrow, we're going to ride across the george washington bridge and explore new jersey.
to tell you the truth, i go through this "get in shape" thing every other season. and so it begins -- deja vu all over again. if i were rich and famous, this wouldn't be any easier. i'd still have to put one foot in front of the other and do the work. it gives me some small comfort to know that gwen stefani struggles with her weight, and every day is a fight to keep it off.
fat: the great equalizer.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
how was the gig?
friday's gig at the upsouth festival at the gatehouse was stellar. there is video and audio, too. it's going to take me a minute to get that together. until then, read all about what happened here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)