I Don't Have An Act Anymore

Wallace D. Wattles, writes in The Science of Getting Rich,” Wherever there is unexpressed possibility, or function not performed, there is unsatisfied desire.”

Last night I went to Joey’s Comedy Club in Livonia. I need a killer five-minute set for my eventual appearance on the Mo’Nique Show. When the talent coordinator calls to book, I want to be prepared. I’m sleepy as hell. For a few years now, I've been waking up between four and five in the morning. Don’t ask. Menopause maybe? Life? Who knows? I surrendered a long time ago. I’m sleepy but excited. I have an idea of what I want to talk about but there’s nothing written and crafted that I feel confident will bring laughter. It’s all new, fresh, untried and untested. I note I don’t feel scared, just excited. I’m last on a line up of sixteen comics. As I said I don’t have an “act.” Not anymore. Not since my mother passed in 2005. Grief stripped me of that need. Honestly, between you and me, I don’t want an “act.” It’s too stressful. I can’t relax if I have to protect my ego every single second. All I want is to connect with the audience. I love that! It excites me. When that connection happens the space becomes magical, anything can happen. We fly! Oh The Places We'll Go, remember Dr. Seuss?

When I first started doing stand up in 1989, I had no idea that comedians had an “act.” I didn’t know they told the same bit or performed the same routine over and over for different audiences. I thought they just walked out there, told stories and jokes and made people laugh. Wasn’t I surprised to find that wasn’t the case? So I built an “act.” It took me a long time to build it. My act was polished. I was opening for Joan Rivers, headlining and eventually I became bored with my “act.”

“A man’s highest happiness is the bestowal of benefits on those he loves. Love finds it most natural and spontaneous expression in giving.”

Walk onstage without material, a safety net? A risky business, dangerous if one has a fear of bombing all comedians do. Boredom was killing me. I love making people laugh, but I wanted to enjoy it. So I jumped into the unknown and it was exhilarating. When I sit on Mo’Nique’s couch I want her to know I was Made in Detroit at Joey’s with love. 

“It is perfectly right that you should give your best attention to the Science of Getting Rich, for it is the noblest and most necessary of all studies. If you neglect this study, you are derelict in your duty to yourself, to God and humanity; for you can render to God and humanity no greater service than to make the most of yourself.”

Today I want to thank the extreme right crazies; those rich, richy Richies who rub our noses in Wall Street bonuses, yachts and conspicuous consumption and assertions of power. You have shown me your hand. My spirit is fired up. I have the strength of determination to get rich and make others rich as well. I will not allow you to force my heart and desire into positions of stinginess. I will actively seek ways to give. I will remain open to opportunity and they will open to me.

There were two young boys in University Foods who were two dollars shy of their purchase. I watched the woman who stood behind them. She surveyed their small bag of groceries: a package of ground beef, an onion, a loaf of bread, one potato and some cookies. Dinner. The older boy calls their mother and asks what should they do? The woman behind them must have decided the boys need not worry or do anything but enjoy the dinner their mother had sent them to buy. She handed them two dollars and alleviated a concern for a family for the low, low price of two dollars. The boys, cute as a button thank her with surprise and gratitude in their eyes. The older boy says, “Never mind, mama. A lady gave us the money.” Her generosity led me to find the woman I help to sponsor that stands and give her a dollar as she stands on the corner of Howard and the northbound Lodge Expressway.

Thank you Governor Rick Snyder, you have awakened me to political activism. Thank you for exposing my desire to be of service, to give the most of myself while I am in this world. Your greed may ship jobs overseas. You may slash the film incentives in Michigan. Your lack of vision may cut education. You may attempt to impoverish the middle class and eliminate our collective bargaining voices in the service of selfish gains. Send in your emergency financial managers to save Detroit while you foreclose and disenfranchise its citizens. But what you may not and cannot do is make me buy the lie or the notion that I am poor or worthless and without opportunities. I’m on my way to The Mo’Nique Show.

Don't Jump Up and Down on the Bed. You'll Break The Springs

Pawlenty, Bachmann, Palin, Gingrich, Huckabee and whomever else is pretending to run just to increase their tired book sales are in a presidential debate and don't even seem to know it. First, they are running against an incumbent President. There are challenges to our country and the world we've never seen before in the history of mankind.

Obama does make mistakes, missteps and errors, but he admits it and goes on to handling it, whether one agrees with his policies or procedures or not. He does what he says he's going to do and when he can't there is a reason for it. Each of those rotten little minds probably deeply admire the man in private. They must know they couldn't even handle a broken off piece of what President Obama is being so Mr. Cool about.

Obama has the opportunity to go for a landslide victory in 2012 and he knows it. Difficult yes with the opposition dead set against him. Listening to his speech on Libya last night I thought of Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek, Captain Kirk and the Intergalactic Council. There were the bone headed people, The Vulcans, the Lizard looking folks and every other sort of being at the table. They were there representing their own interests, together in intergalactic community. Together, to keep peace and harmony and their way of life humming along. There were rogue planet inhabitants and creatures to deal with but we always understood the mission of the Enterprise and its crew.

Obama is a good manager. I believe he has proven that in his two years in office. My guess, he's a good bet for another term in 2012, but then again I voted for Obama. I'm down for the whole eight years. It has become a late night, talk show joke to watch those freak shows toe dip into the impossibility of becoming president. These would-be candidates are in a debate and they are losing in front of the world. These pretend, wannabes jump out there with what they would do if they were President. But they are disadvantaged by needing to appeal to their extreme right constituencies.

The Repugs strategy appears to be piled on criticism even if they agree. Obama must be made wrong and bad for America. Why else would they run? It's almost laughable that anyone would consider Michelle Bachmann handling Libya or budget cuts and Palin, please. The others would most likely big foot their way across the Arab world and compromise the international relationship building Obama is working hard to create. Destroyed in one fell swoop by these Godzillas. They demonstrate little access to nuance. Just big, fat cats who've never had to think past how much it will cost and who they have to crush to get what they want. What I recommend is they look at what's happening in Wisconsin and what Wisconsin has caused and inspired in the working class throughout this nation. The Repugs need to know and be warned that there will be no crushing without a serious fight. "We The People" will not roll over or be mowed down by lies and destructive policies. Egypt started a domino effect and Egypt is in Africa, the motherland, lest we forget where humanity began.

These knuckleheads are losing the debate everyday they wake up and there's another earth shattering issue on the table. Obama has changed the conversation. The theatre has moved to the world stage and America and it's little budget deficit spending problems don't seem as important in that venue.

The Repugs using spoiled brat, school-yard tactics to bring a great man down are passe and when we leave the world stage we will not buy it any longer. Obama stood up last night and whether one agreed with his policies or not, he said and did what he said he was going to do. He did what he promised in his presidential campaign. It seems Obama has a pattern of doing what he says he's going to do. Obama is not his birth certificate. President Obama has established himself as the possibility of integrity. Integrity makes small people cringe. It makes them hate and look even smaller.

Where are the tall Republicans? Why are they hiding? Where are the ones with real integrity? I'm not talking about the big foot Chris Christie or the demure Mitch Daniels who give a ideological performance of integrity. Real integrity stands up and takes the punches. Real integrity always has a leg to stand on. Please Repugs, you would be candidates, stop jumping up and down on the bed. You'll break the springs, then mommy and daddy will have to pay for it.

It's The Econony Stupid...

This afternoon I took my Granddaughters to Jeepers in Northland, a mall that borders on Southfield and  Detroit. A ghost town of wig shops, hair and nail salons and ghetto fabulous clothing stores. Northland has become a shocking shadow of its former self, a used-to-be vibrant place where the incredible Anita Baker on her way to the top met her ex-husband. The Target store rules the miles and miles of parking and mall space now. Macy's gives it that step above a strip mall credibility.

Jeepers is a decent, downsized Chuckie Cheese knockoff, an affordable indoor amusement park, a Las Vegas for kids where no one loses. As soon as we enter it's understood this is a children's world with decibel busting noise. Kids zip, skip and run through the place on dirty carpets; a place of games, rides, Pepsi products and other uppers, where the pizza is so bad my granddaughter looks up at me, shakes her head as she begs me with her eyes to "please let us eat in the less bad food court." The thrill of fun is promising as I purchase wristbands to unlimited rides and game tokens for the girls. Happily, I sit down to watch the grins spread across their faces as they load into the kiddie roller coaster.

Amid the noise, it's surprisingly peaceful inside. Mostly mothers, grandmothers, aunts and the occasional dad or uncle. Young mothers, African American and Arab alike with a sprinkled mix of other people of color. Arab women wrapped from head to toe gossip joyfully switching between Arabic and English. I'm drawn to gaze at their painted faces, heavy mascara and the sedated glitter embedded in their head wraps, it's hard not to notice how beautiful, how glamorous they are in the middle of the afternoon. I wish...

Jeepers is deceiving at first glance. It has the appearance and functionality of an amusement park, but if you stay long enough and look deeper it's really a fence operation for the getaway it provides to these mothers and their kids. An astonishing place to relax and read and not worry where the kids are or whether they're happy, safe and having fun. It's an urban picnic, where adults and kids intersect in a much needed vacation from the harsh reality of shrinking budgets to public schools.

Emergency Financial Managers Needed! What...?

 I can't resist the air hockey game. I'm competitive, but alas the girls collapse in giggles when they beat me. Between the puck and the air that shapes the destiny of game, it was a whole lot of FUN! When my two angels grab my hands we skip like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz over to the big game section, where we feed tokens into the slots of even more games and scream even louder as the machine spits our winnings; a mile of green tickets to be redeemed for the cheapest, tiniest toys you've ever seen and made in places I've never heard of.  

"We're hungry, Grandma Satori," they look up at me, all arms and legs and rub their non-existent bellies. There are “Cash Only” signs on nearly every greasy spoon vendor in the Food Court. The Comerica ATM machine charges three dollars to withdraw money. I could buy almost a gallon of gas with the $3.00 fee. Shit. I return the smile of a woman who has been smiling at me since we sat down. Who says Detroit is bankrupt when it comes to smiles and friendliness? Who says it's no longer a neighborly place?

Suddenly, the woman asks if I have any change? My Granddaughters look at me. I look back at them. My change had already been spent on food and tokens and everything else in this "cash only" hell. I have to tell the woman "sorry, no." Odd, she didn't appear homeless, just friendly. Wait a minute... I look around the food court and notice other friendly looking people. They seem at first to blend into the mainstream food court traffic of the under and unemployed. Unemployed like me or as I like to think of myself, between acting jobs. The only thing that appears to separate us is a certain dinginess of spirit.  

Spirit!

I remind myself I'm in a game called, "I Wanna Be on the Mo'Nique Show." A game that makes me feel rich with the currency of possibility, the prescription for an uplifted spirit. I'm committed to this adventure where every single person and experience is part of and sharing in, though at times it doesn't always make sense or feel particularly good. I want to share with these homeless in the mall, Detroit and the rest of the world, you're coming with me to the Mo'Nique show! I'm made in Detroit.

Listening to my Granddaughters chatter, I reflect on the homeless woman I help to sponsor when I can with the occasional dollar on my way down the northbound ramp of the Lodge Expressway. She stands on the corner of Howard Street, her backdrop the old MGM Grand Casino turned DTE Energy parking structure. The ching-ching of the fabulous new MGM Grand made its grand opening a few years ago at its Third Avenue location downtown. The woman demonstrates each time I see her that she is a worthy investment. The first time I gave a dollar she was very thin and had an unhealthy look. A few years later, her cheeks are filled out, there is flesh on her bones and the cream colored trench coat she wears is clean. She has successfully blended into mainstream pedestrian traffic, but for the sign and the cry for help scrawled across it, she stands erect both humble and proud. I feel sad looking around the food court... then scared and angry. It will take more than my pocket change to fix the unfairness unfolding in Michigan and other industrial states in America. Shall we march or is that too passe? Maybe "We the People" should just stop paying taxes in a rebel act of civil disobedience?

Nope. No. Can't think those thoughts. But unfortunately, I do as I imagine Detroit guest starring in a new season of True Blood. Where corporate vampires take over the resources of the Motor City and suck the dwindling numbers of is taxpayers dry. Where police, fire, garbage, transit and other services seem to employ a skeleton staff. Where politicians are wined and dined by blood thirsty lobbyists with centuries old money and where big corporations change the rules and laws they don't like. The rich get richer on the bloody backs of the middle class. The richest of the rich get tax breaks they never needed a decade ago. Show me the jobs that have come from corporate tax breaks and the mythical trickle down. Labor and the middle class are having their pockets picked into foreclosures and homelessness. Governor “Swashbuckler” Snyder has unsheathed his pen, mightier than the sword and is cutting funding to public schools. Schools! Really? Food programs for children! Are you kidding me? People have march and died for the right to be educated!

"We have to share the pain of getting our economy back on track," say Republican Governors all around the land.

I look at my elegant, happy, bright and beautiful Granddaughters and cringe at the Mad Maxing of their futures. Determined, I fix my mind on the "thinking stuff" and remember "I Wanna Be on the Mo'Nique Show." I remember I'm a scientist inside a scientific experiment to "get rich." Rich has become the new middle class. It's a necessary direction if I am to keep giving to my girls. The satisfying experience I once enjoyed of theatre and film opportunities that afforded me the financial comfort to write all went down with the Dow; and now Snyder's pen has nixed incentives for filmmakers to make films in Michigan.

Thinking stuff!
 
I remember the meeting I had earlier with the Executive Director, Director and the writing team of a new sitcom. The pilot is scheduled to shoot in May in Detroit. My second meeting, I'm playing it loose. I wasn't all  in and I wasn't all out. It was time to choose. I chose to put myself all in. It feels right to join this team of creative folk, to give my best writing in collaboration to the production. To lift and be lifted up by an idea to share with a group of good people who all have a get it done, right now energy and approach. Folks with that recognizable gleam of possibility in their eyes. I was drunk with it as we pitched our characters in a creative pow-wow, discussed the edginess and politics of our characters and the associated issues and, of course, product placement. The show has a positive premise and a moral flavor. The works is an honest, heartfelt endeavor. I've thrown in and I'm invested  in a "Made In Detroit" dream.

Creativity is a discipline of mind, of progressive thought. The science of getting rich challenges me to keep my mind focused, my thinking lifted up; if not, I could make the mistake of “thinking” myself right into the "thinking stuff" of homelessness and despair. Nope. Can't go there. According to Wattles, "the thinking stuff" doesn’t judge our dreams. It simply brings them forth, no matter what they are. It's important to stay conscious.

Which brings me to night, night, y’all. It's been quite a day. Sweet dreams! Make them an intention while you slumber. My dream, of course, is to walk my Humbled Diva down those Mo’Nique Show stairs and sit on her couch, to grin from ear-to-ear when she makes the announcement that every child in America has the opportunity and will receive a world class education at no cost. Look under your chairs, ladies and gentlemen, the people have won! Wall Street will foot the bill with all that "too big to fail" money it stole and gambled on those other misplaced "futures."

In the words of a Humbled Diva, "I Wanna Be On The Mo'Nique Show by December 2011. I've got something to say.

The Thinking Substance...

There are too many things going on in the world. I need to focus my thoughts on what Wallace D. Wattles calls, “the stuff from which all things are made.” Wattles swears that if I Xerox my desire to be a guest on The Mo’Nique Show into this “thinking substance,” it will produce the thing I want. 

But alas… I’m distracted by the world of national politics. The radical Republicans, Rick Snyder, Libya, Egypt, Japan and now Syria…? I can’t focus for shit. I’m a political junkie and thank you for the levity in the image of Obama being locked out of the White House was apropo in light of all the buzz around the move he made with Libya. What? Bypassing the big boys!

Apparently Obama has some explaining to do to Congress. Some of the Repubs, Dems and Tea Party people aren't too happy up there on the hill. They're grumbling big time. Can you imagine the thought bubbles above their heads... Wait one uppity minute Mr. Kenyan man, you can’t make deals with NATO without asking us... You can’t kick Gadafi/Khadafi out of bed when we’re still in a love/hate relationship with him... You need to check with somebody before you bomb Khadafi/Gadafi’s compound without our permission... Who do you think you are, Mr. No Birth Certificate?... Look Mr. Obamacare, you job killing sleaze we're not saying we don't like bombs and war and ass backwards, anti-abortion bills... We just want to be clear... We make the big boy decisions around here... yada, yada, yada!

This is the noise in my head that keeps me from focusing. Look, all I'm saying is I bet those crazy Republican bitches paid somebody to blackmail somebody to lock a couple of doors to the White House so Obama couldn't get in. We know it wasn’t Michelle. I suppose I’m feeling cynical today. It''s hard not to look at this as another Titanic moment in history. But I'm not going down.. Which brings me to the point: focus on positive, uplifting thoughts like being on The Mo’Nique Show on the thinking stuff and The Science of Getting Rich. I never really cared about being stanky rich before. But now I see the need, there's no middle ground.

Mo’Nique Show, Mo’Nique Show, Mo…

I applied for two writing jobs on Craigslist earlier this week. One was for a, “Creative Writer with a Clean Style.” I sent this Jeff person two samples of news articles I have published online. He replies with a link to three of their websites. They want original content rewrites and ask me to choose one of the sites and do the rewrite. All three sites were advertisements for connecting medical marijuana dispensers and caregivers with patients. That didn’t bother me. I’m not judging the marketplace. What pissed me off were the two misspelled words in one of the quotes in the article. It actually read, “Everyone kept saying there was a dispensary in Birmingham. I tired but I couldn’t find anyting.” Excuse me is Jeff on drugs? I mean seriously... Does anyone out there have Mo’Nique’s number or a Twitter address for the talent coordinator for the show? 

The other ad I answered was for a “Script Supervisor, Qualifications: good listener, good ear for dialogue, screenwriter/storyteller.” I’ve never been a “script supervisor” before, but I have those skills in spades. But even if I didn't, I remember Marianne Williamson saying at a church service some years ago, “If a woman is over 45 years old and she says she wants to do something, get behind her because it won’t take her long.”

I went to meet Jane, but I was wary.

The meeting was in the Buffalo 1 Bar in Keego Harbor on Cass Lake Road. Jane, the director talked too fast. Her perfume was loud and overpowering, especially for someone wearing a jogging suit one size too small. Her nail polish was distractingly red, as she mumbled away a mile a minute, mostly about the men she’d met on set. Jane was proud of the two films she’d made, pointing to the homemade looking DVD covers with images of bleached blond women and maniacal looking men. When she took a breath, I asked where her films were shown. “Film festivals,” she mumbled at warped speed.

Oh.

Jane asked me what I could bring to the table? Table? What table? Humbled Diva that I am, I told her I couldn’t bring anything to the table, really. Unfortunately, I belong to Screen Actors Guild (SAG), her film was non-union and wasn’t she looking for a script supervisor? Jane was back on the mumble talking about she could provide the food, the candy, pizza, subs and chips and one alcoholic beverage in exchange for my “help.” I told her I didn’t eat those things and gas was much more appealing since I could see Windsor from my window and Keego Harbor is 40 miles away.

She was speechless. My chance to talk. I explained I understood she wasn’t paying, that I kept the appointment because I said I would. I told her I’m looking to partner with a filmmaker in making a documentary of my journey to The Mo’Nique Show and you never know whom (or is it who) you'll meet on the way to what you want.

Soft porn film director, Jane and I shook hands. I was polite when I left her soaring scent, blinding nail polish and the Buffalo 1 Bar in Keego Harbor on Cass Lake Road. I left her with Jeremy, the next candidate for the “job” and hoped he wouldn’t drown in the jumble of Jane’s empty words that spelled pure scam.

Needless to say I was a bit depressed on my way back home. The good news is I was able to focus my thoughts on the “thinking stuff from which all things are made.”

The trailer for Jane's film isn't that bad. It's a romantic comedy. Well... sort of. Click here to VIEW. Judge for yourself. It's good publicity for Jane.

And now for a glass of Merlot. This Humbled Diva needs to relax... 

Focus!

Musings of a Humbled Diva...

Let me say right off the bat, I don't know Mo'Nique. We haven't met... yet. However, I'm sure if Mo'Nique knew who I was and where to find me, I would've been a guest on her show a long time ago. It's my fault. I've been irresponsible. My Diva-dom had been humbled by more than a few falls from grace and it drove me underground. Yes, I was hiding out in an inauthentic life, shucking my responsibility as a leader/mentor by pretending to be, how shall I say it? Mediocre. That's when it hit me it was time to resurrect the Humbled Diva. But where would I begin? I mean the 21st century is a bitch, all a twitter with LinkedIn and Facebook. I'm old... der. My cell phone is smaller than a 3x5 card, I don't have a touch screen, I fail to text 24/7. I mean who wants to learn this new gidgety gadgetry mess? Fact is, I must ignore this question. I must learn. I have no choice if I wanna be in the game of being a guest on The Mo'Nique Show.

IPhone4 here I come!

Hello? Who wouldn't want to be on Mo'Nique's show? She has obvious warmth, across the board talent, the feel is family, the crowd is loving every minute, co-host, Rodney Perry is hilarious and the funky music of Big Jim and the Penthouse Players makes me wanna get up and dance, and I do, I do.  Baby, baby, baby...yes! Watch, you'll see...

What moves me most are the profiles in courage of her guests. Miss Mo'Nique gets them sharing and it's awesome! Tommy DeBarge made me weep with his addicted-to-crack story, cheer his comeback and pat my feet to the beat of his new release. Marion Jones, the fastest woman in the world went to jail for steroids, lost her Olympic medals and came out a better mother for it with a big humanitarian message. And oh yes, I was watching the night Mo'Nique looked into the camera and said, "Kobe, bring your ass on my show!" And he did, dammit! Shout out to human technology and social media! Esperanza Spalding is nothing short of incredible and thank you Mo'Nique for having her on. A lot of people never heard of her or missed her performance at the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize in Norway and at the White House Poetry Jam. Miss Esperanza, you are pure inspiration and deserved every bit of that Grammy... and while I'm on the subject of female bassists, a big shout out to the great Marion Hayden from Detroit. You rock!

When I'm a guest on Mo'Nique, the journey will have been worth it. I wanna say to the world, to everyone watching. we need more African American female comediennes standing up all around America. We need more women of color on those stages in your hometown. Just one female voice on the lineup makes women in the audience sit up straighter. Trust me. I want to encourage every woman who has ever had the glimmer of a fantasy to do stand up comedy, please run to the closest open mike in your city and sign up. Voices, needed. Don't worry about enriching, bombing or making a fool of yourself. You will. Might as well get it over with asap. Matter of fact, sign up with the intention of bombing. Do it on purpose. I did. Free your fears and the funny will follow...

Matter of fact, a shout out to Sheryl Underwood who founded the African American Female Comedienne Association sometime ago in the 1990's. I got the t-shirt, the little baseball cap with the logo and newsletter. I was a proud member living in Toronto at the time. Hey Sheryl is the association still around? You did a good with that, gurl. It was a strong move.

Back to Mo'Nique...

Mainly, I wanna be on The Mo'Nique Show to prove Wallace D. Wattles had the Science of Getting Rich right when he said, "By thought, the thing you want is brought to you. By action, you receive it." If Wattles is right, then anybody's possibility is possible or in those other famous words:

"Bow-wow-wow, yippee yo', yippee yay! Bow-wow, yippee yo', yippee yay!" - Atomic Dog

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a stand-up adventure in becoming a guest on The Mo'Nique Show. Get out there female comediennes and wannabe's, grab a mike and put some meat on your funny bones!