"We're not Mexicans, we're from out of town."

I just woke up from my Kuma's-induced food coma to realize that I now have 20 groupies. Err, followers. Yes! Soon, I will be famous.

This is how I plan to celebrate:



"We don't got no beer—just tequila."

Okay, so in reality, I'm going to go see Inglourious Basterds, but in my mind I'm dancing with the three amigos.

Because I remember when I was you.

A conversation I overheard this past Saturday keeps popping up in my head. I thought about it while I was driving back to Chicago Monday afternoon. I thought about it while I was putting on my makeup the other day. I thought about it while I was waiting on a table last night. It just keeps popping in my head, uninvited, at random moments. I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s because it has nothing and everything to do with me.

I was out to lunch in Indy with my brother and his girlfriend. The restaurant was crowded, and the table behind us was a group of loud, giggly young women. My guess is they were freshman or sophomores at Butler—they all had that excited, freshly realized air of independence about them. From my seat, I was facing their table. While we were waiting on our food for what seemed like forever, I was getting increasingly cranky—a combination of being so hungry I was about to start chewing on the tablecloth, and the table of loud women. If one of them giggled one more time, I was going to throw a bottle of hot sauce at them. Basically, I was hungry. (If I’m this cantankerous at 25, can you imagine what I’ll be like at 65? Yeesh.)

Anyway, once our food arrived, I pretty much forgot about them, until I overheard one girl talking to the now silent group. She was talking about someone going through chemotherapy and how it had been really tough so far. “But the good thing is, she hasn’t gotten any mouth sores yet,” she said. By this point, I had realized this girl was talking about her mother. My sandwich, which had been absolutely delicious until I heard that statement, became tasteless. In that one statement, I heard how scared she was, and how much she needed her mom to be okay. I looked up, and the girl who’d been talking was directly across from me.

What, there were no women around?

As if we aren't already inundated with Tyler Perry's bullshit movies and television show where he insists on dressing in drag and not being funny, now I've received the upsetting news that he is adapting Ntozake Shange's "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf."

My faithful readers might recall my previous posts on For Colored Girls...not to mention that the choreopoem was a major inspiration for my blog title. Rainbows, ahem.

I'm unhappy. Aside from the fact that I can't think of a single project Tyler Perry's done that I've liked, umm, hello? This is a woman's piece. A woman's perspective is crucial for this piece. Crucial. You can't tell me that Tyler Perry read "for colored girls" and thought, "Exactly. I've been there before." He's not even believable in drag. Come ON.

So he's going to adapt monologues like this:

ever since I realized there waz someone callt
a colored girl an evil woman a bitch or a nag
i been tryin not to be that & leave bitterness
in somebody else's cup/come to somebody to love me
...
left screamin in a street fulla lunatics/whisperin
slut bitch bitch nigga/get outta here wit alla that
i didn't have any of that for you/i brought what joy
i found & i found joy
...
i used to joke abt when i waz messin round/but a real dead
lovin is here for you now/cuz i don't know anymore/how
to avoid my own face wet wit my tears/cuz i had convinced
myself colored girls had no right to sorrow/ & i lived
& loved that way & kept sorrow on the curb/allegedly
for you/but i know i did it for myself

This movie should be adapted by a black woman. I don't really see how we can argue otherwise. It's the heart of the piece, and I'm so disappointed that Tyler Perry's not using his influence to do this movie with a talented black female writing and adapting it. He could still produce it! That's fine. Whatever. But a woman should write it, and a woman should direct it.

No surprise that I got this bad news passed on from Jay, via TNC. You can read a couple more perspectives there.

Sigh. Tyler Effing Perry. To quote from "for colored girls":

never mind sister
don't pay him no mind
go go go go go sister
do yr thing
never mind

He better pull this off. Check out these two clips from a performance of "for colored girls." These are two of my favorite passages.

Home Sweet Home

Okay, I know August was not a good blogging month for me. But now it's officially September, summer is officially over, and I took a sorely needed long weekend in Indiana which has given me the inspiration to get off my uninspired ass and blog again. 

However, you're going to have to wait just a little bit longer for a "real" post, as I am still at Poppa Hamm's house. He's making omelets. I'm in heaven. 

While at home, I schooled my cousin Ian on blog etiquette, and I'm happy to see that for once, he actually listened to me and is now following my blog. The visit home has provided me with so much blog material that I'm overwhelmed and will have to spend the drive up 65 plotting which parts to share on the blogosphere.

Do I write about Ian's coyote and black panther conversation? The number of Asians at Rib Fest? The number of white teenagers chain smoking Marlboros at Rib Fest? Scolding Butler undergrads at the Margot & the Nuclear So and So's show? The cat training school my Uncle Roy has encouraged me to start? My dad calling Debbie while in the same house? 

Simply too much material. I'm going to eat my omelet. 

Thoughts on My Invisibility

Thank Jesus I can't find a job in my field, because now that I've been waiting tables for some time, I've had a revelation: I have a super power.

I'm INVISIBLE.

Not only that, apparently when I speak, I can hear myself, but customers can't! It's magic.

Seriously, people, didn't your momma teach you any manners? You most certainly didn't have my Aunt Linda around, who scolded me every time I asked for another helping of Kraft Mac and Cheese without saying 'please' when I was a kid.

Please, please, when you go to a restaurant, and your friendly server comes to the table, will you acknowledge his or her existence? Last night I almost fell over the first time someone made eye contact with me and--gasp--smiled.

I got to the point last night where I was contemplating pulling a Clark Griswold when my tables left: "Kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Kiss your ass. Happy Hanukkah."

So if you really want to break a young woman's spirit on a Saturday night, come sit at one of my tables, refuse to make eye contact with me or respond to my questions, and never by any means say please or thank you.

I mean, give me a break people. It's Saturday night, I'm making $4.85 an hour and I'm wearing an apron. You're drinking beer and eating nachos. Acknowledge me!

"These two penguins are raising a kid. Have we even thought about the children?"

Can't. Stop. Watching That's Gay.

Bryan Safi, where are you so you can become my new best friend? I love you.

"Seriously, what the F**K did you tell your mom?" Hooray for That's Gay!

Thanks to Bitch blogs, I just discovered my new love, Bryan Safi.

"Homosexuality is totally cool when the dudes approve. So if they're getting off, the ladies can get off. It's all for the bro with the boner who's watching."

Ha!

That's Gay: Lady Kisses


"Let's face it: Katie Perry's 'I kissed a girl' went number one for a reason. Cause nobody wants to hear a fulltime resident of Vag Town sing this: 'I kissed a girl and I liked it, makes sense cause I'm a lesbian.'"

Watch more That's Gay! Love. It.