Last week was an eventful week for me. I had a bout of mental health* that
weekend. Had a good comedy set where I
actually enjoyed it while doing it. (I
often don’t enjoy it until it is over.)
I finished a book I was reading. The last ten pages can take me as long as the
rest of the book because I don’t like saying goodbye.
A comic, who I have been
consistently supportive of, felt the need to attempt to make me a target from
the stage. Once it all sunk in, it
saddened me. I had acknowledged to
myself long ago that we were different, our comedy different as well. I didn’t think we had to be the same. I had made room inside of me for where we are
each at in our life’s journey. Well,
apparently, that acceptance isn’t mutual.
In many circles, “different” is not taken as an opportunity to see
beyond one’s own experience but still means “traitor” and “she’s not like us so
let’s pick on her.”
I know it is more a
reflection of what my existence triggers for this person about their own self than
it is anything I’ve done, but still it is a let-down, especially because I’ve been more a voice of be all you can while this person needed
to be the voice of if you insist on
speaking your mind, people aren’t going to be your friend. Well I have a mind, and only I can speak
it. The status quo is already well
represented. Why bother taking the stage
if I have nothing unique to offer? My friends love the way I am. It’s part of why the friendship exists. One often says he counts on the artists to
move humanity forward. I wondered if
this comic would’ve told Richard Pryor, “If you keep calling the bigots out on
their racism, they aren’t going to like you.”
A poem by Pat Parker (may she rest in peace) came to mind. These are the last lines of a verse of Pit Stop as it appeared in 1973:
SISTER! your foot’s
smaller,
but it’s still on my
neck.
Went to one of my favorite poetry readings but didn’t bring a
poem to share at the open mic portion of the evening. Tried to write one on the train about what
happened in the comedy arena, but only got halfway through by the time my trip
was over. So it is possible the poetry
people felt snubbed though that was not at all my intention. Though I didn’t read, I like to listen.
A poet asked me to collaborate on a chapbook of poems relating
to the Bronx. I have some written, some
have been cooking in my head, and I’m glad to have a focus for them now. I think the other poet is quite good. His poems recall his grandmother’s in the
Bronx during his childhood. I am a very
irregular attender at the poetry workshop I know him from (due to job schedule)
which could’ve put me on the outskirts in that group, but their tendency is to
reel me in and not push me away.
I decluttered my desk at work for hours and hours over several
days in hopes of leaving a clear desk before starting vacation (not going
anywhere, but don’t have to go to work either).
Found so many interesting things, threw out much, filed stuff, but
didn’t quite complete the task. However,
I made major improvement. Now I must do
that in my apartment as well.
I went to see a comedy show with some folks in it who I
like. I sat up front and did not regret
it at any moment. All were mature male
comics. Mature men (not synonymous with
aged) are a favorite group of mine. Afterwards, I spoke with one of the men who is
a friend (not only a comic I like to hear).
Without mentioning names, I shared the situation that had been feeling
bad. He looked furious that I should be
feeling bad over other people reacting to their insecurities by wanting me to
make myself smaller. By the time we
hugged goodbye, I felt I had been given an antidote, even a dose of what it
must feel like to receive paternal love.
I told him, “You make me feel like I should be more of me and not less
of me.” He said, “That’s right. That’s the way it should be.”
On the train ride back to the Bronx, I finished the first
draft of that poem I had started.
When I got home, there was a message on Facebook from someone
I don’t know. It was a picture of an
erect penis getting licked at the base by a young woman. After the initial wave of nausea, I read what
he wrote. It was like junior high school
for older folks who didn’t manage to emotionally develop much past
puberty. He was offering me penis and
told me it was white and how long it was.
Who said men don’t court and romance women anymore?
By rainy Thursday, I started feeling like I could get
sick. I didn’t want that to happen, so I
cancelled a planning meeting with two other comics with whom I was working on a
project.
A mouse appeared in my foyer by my livingroom. My dog is hard of hearing now and didn’t even
realize the mouse was near him. It took
a lot of self-control not to scream and stomp.
I didn’t want to freak out my dog.
The next day, my buddy set traps and eased my anxiety.
Friday morning, one of the comics backed out of the project
(at least for now due to other situations in her life that really had to take
priority). I was to be on a cable program
Friday morning promoting our project for the fall, but adjustments were made so
I was able to talk about it as something still in the planning stages.
I have been having trouble getting to sleep early and getting
up early now that I’m not teaching. I
was worried about rising to the occasion on Friday morning, but I did, and then
I worried about not having enough to talk about during the interview especially
with the changes. But I worried for
nothing. The host, Rhina Valentin,
made it easy. We talked
about things I had no intention of talking about. It got prompted by the pronunciation of my
last name. That has been a conversation
piece since kindergarten. There was no
Matijasevic in the phone book back then.
I have always, since before I was born, been in circumstances considered
“different.” As an adult, I am blessed
with being able to experience “different” as a good thing – a breeze of fresh
air, a poem, a truth-teller, a genuine human being.
*”a bout of mental health” is a phrase coined by Bob Cohen, my best friend and maybe the funniest person I know.
