Greetings from Dafur!
Well...I'm not in Dafur, but I am on Chicago's Southside where mothafuckas like to shoot. Genocide is alive and well...and it's supported by the government, ya dig?
I'm staying in my beloved Washington Park neighborhood, where I have to remind myself that there is no compost, no gluten flaming free hot Cheetos, recycling means rinsing off your plastic forks, and sustainability is a dirty four letter word only mentioned by those fags on the NPR. NO stopping for coffee and the NY Times while walking to the train. No scones---but the fucking liquor store is open. You can have Night Train and Pork Skins al fresco with the other n-words. That's inner city thinking people.
On the way to the L train this am, I had to hypnotize myself. It was humid, in the upper 80s. I was determined to ignore the humidity and inevitable fuckery that comes with heat. No, I refuse to give in. I was not going to hide. I was going to be my normal wanna be fab self. I was not going to be taken hostage by ghetto antics. So I went commando: I had on my cute little Helmut Lang jumpsuit, Dries Van Noten jewelery, gladiator sandals, messy curly drama school teacher hair--imagine Bernadette Peters with bed head...all the makings of being a target. As I passed by two younger women (walking waaaaay too slow for me--this is what I over heard:
"Shid...it's hot as hell out here."
"Bitch everytime you say it, I feel it...shuddup. Ughl. What she got on?" (referring to me of course.)
I suppose in the land of purple weaved hair with white highlights and yeasty tight jeans, I did look like a black Russel Crowe. You see, when I come to Chicago (and I'm not driving) I think and dress like a gladiator. I'm always willing and ready to slay any fucking lion or nword that comes my way.
But these two moo cows were harmless.
It's okay Nic, they're young and don't yet understand high fashion. Stankn assed fat fuckers---nononono. Don't attack them Nic. They are young. Younger than you. Forgive them father...they don't know shit about being FAB. They don't yet know that loud colors and a lazy tongue will get you no where fast. I'm an uppity negro and I embrace it. But I can still whup they asses."
Now, I was probably on edge because I didn't have my am coffee. See, I use to think am coffee was an urban legend. I thought it was propaganda that white people used because they didn't want to deal. Now that I'm older, I see that shit is real! I cannot deal with any bullshit--without coffee. So don't you ever worry about me going into the villages of Iraq to save people with the magic of theatre. Cuz I'm sure they don't sell coffee in Abu Ghraib to buppies like me.
I saw a pair of jeans on the ground while walking to the train. The jeans were bloody. At first it was a scary sight. Then I chuckled and thought "well either some chick was on the rag and couldn't control herself, or some mf got shot...and managed to take their jeans off so that the paramedics would not cut them off. Smartly done. " This is why I call Washington Park little Chechnya. I swear if BBC or NPR came to this neighborhood, they'd get a fucking Peabody Award for coverage.
Back to the girls. I don't mind ridicule. I have pretty thick skin. I'm "rejected" on a daily basis in Los Angeles. A friend recently gave me the nickname "Angry Little Pygmy." He's right. I do have a chip on my shoulder, but I can take a punch. However, I cannot deal with slow walking 19 year old low Iowa Test score having lazy heifers. When "ridicule" comes from fat fucker Precious rejects, ion't play that shit. I was ready to wail on them heifers like Monique, ya dig? Alas, I have assimilated to higher grounds. Yes, I have assimilated into another class. I am no longer a south side fooly wang princess. I, am a theatre fairy. (reaches for sage)
"Ughl, what she got on?"
I'm back in Chi City for the 2010 TCG-Theatre Communications Group National Conference. TCG a wonderful organization, was founded in 1961 to support not for profit theatres and individual artists. I myself have a soft spot in my heart, because months ago I was blessed with the prestigious TCG Fox Fellowship Award for Actors with Extraordinary Potential. Yeah...that means, a few smart people think I'm pretty fucking fly.
So the conference is held every year, and brings together some of the best of the best theatre directors, playwrights, actors, designers, administrators, trustees and other theatre fairies. The first day was busy, but awesome. TCG is like theater camp. Check my "I SPY" List:
Cheryl Lynn Bruce
and Lydia Diamond...to name a few.
I'm having the time of my life people. But I have to find a way to merge my ying and yang: The Ghetto & The Theatre.
I'm only here until the weekend...and I'm going to do my very best to embrace tolerance and fight for social justice. I often joke about my hatred of n-words, and laud my buppie ways---I'm sure you know I'm just being a cheeky fucker. But there is always truth in jest. I love my hood...I just want to see it flourish. I really am hoping for gentrification...because it would finally bring theatre to this neighborhood. Yeah yeah, I know you're thinking "you can have theatre in the hood without gentrification"...well to you I say Fuck Off. You know good and fucking well, that you cannot.
If we get a coffee shop in Washington Park, I will consider it. Until then...Precious better stay her big ass out of my way. I'm a surly uppity Negro, who won't suffer fools gladly---(reaches for free trade coffee). Like all parasites, we must find a way to eat away at the system. Because it's broken--and the shit cannot stay this way for ever. We must must all find a way to eat away at the bullshit from the inside until it brings about change.
Theatre is an ancient language, and I'm proud to be an interpreter. I want to do it with honor and dignity.
Plus I wanna wear my high fashion and not be ridiculed by asshole teenagers who think Ntozake Shange is an African nation. Therefore, this neighborhood must change. I too must change.
I too sing America.
Ciao for now--
Or "مرحبا" from Abu Grhaib- Washington Park.
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