She So Funny

By Samantha DeRose

Well, this has been an eventful week that I don't have enough time to go into, but to say the very least, I've seen violence and hatred to the nth degree...enough to make one question if goodness will ever prevail in the human race.

One thing that I've been very vocal about is that the Internet seems to be a breeding ground for hatred.  I've had countless conversations with my own children and my students about being "kind" on the Internet.  Basically, don't post anything that you wouldn't want your parents, grandparents, future college admissions staff, future employers to see.  It's one thing to see kids screwing up on the Internet but it's a totally different ballgame when you see hateful, close-mindedness coming from adults.

I'm an avid online reader of the New York Times, The Huffington Post, and a few other news sources and I'm a frequent participant on Huffington Post Live.  While I enjoy reading the articles and participating in the video interviews, oftentimes when I sit back and read the comments, I am deeply saddened by many of the hateful and bitter comments that people feel that they are entitled to write cloaked behind the anonymity of their computer screens.  There's freedom of speech for you, I guess.

Recently, Cheerios posted this ad on their YouTube channel featuring an interracial family.  This is not the original post, but the comments under the original were horrifying.  I'm not kidding.  I felt like crying.  Naturally, there were  positive comments, but there were FAR more negative comments than positive.  How do we combat prejudice and hatred when the Internet gives everyone a license to say whatever they want anonymously?





Over the weekend, however, I saw this video response to the ad...




Be kind, everybody.

Hoboken is one square mile.  That's it.  One mile that hosts a population of 50,000.  At one point, Hoboken was a sweet, little ole family town (well, with ties to the mafia...maybe that's not sweet).   Today, however, it has turned into an annoying old family town.  The early twenty somethings that landed a few years ago, have gotten older, planted roots and started families.  Along with these families, "mommy and me" groups have formed and have taken over the city. 



Everyone knows that when you decide to have children, you give up certain privileges.  One of those privileges is walking directly beside your friend on the sidewalk.  ESPECIALLY, when you both/all are pushing double wide strollers.  Just so you are aware (because I truly think that you have forgotten), other people are using the sidewalks.  Those said sidewalks aren't for baby pushing only.  And, I have some where to be.  That's why I am walking at a Jackie Joyner Kersee clip. Do everyone a favor and walk in a single file line.  Like we all learned in elementary school.


Another thing: please do not try to teach your kids to maneuver the stairs of the Path train during rush hours. This is EXACTLY the time when you DO NOT force your kids to hit a milestone.  Pick the child up and travel down the stairs at an adult pace.


When dining out, please try not to block the entrance to the restaurant with your freaking tanks (aka strollers).  We all have to use that door to get into the restaurant.  There is no special entrance for people without kids.


Yes, I know I am speaking to you from my high horse.  No, I don't have kids, nor, have I ever wanted them/will ever have them.  I do have two nieces, one is 3 and the other is 10 months...they both annoy me at times.  I wouldn't be a good mother and that is something that I am HIGHLY aware of.  On the other hand, YOU should be highly aware that you are in my way....a lot of the time.  I try to be understanding and would be more often if you all JUST PAID FUCKING ATTENTION TO WHAT IS GOING ON AROUND YOU!!  There are other people in Hoboken besides the young mothers' clubs.  All I ask is that you just be aware of your surroundings.  The non kid people just ask that you share the road.

Last week a mosquito bit me near my knee.  With every day that passed the bite site itched and swelled.  By yesterday morning walking was difficult because my knee was almost football size. Ah yes, the familiar default swelling shape my oh so sensitive body prefers.  Why yesterday morning did I make an 8:30 visit to the clinic?  No need to discuss my health insurance at this time.  I don't want to depress you.  Suffice it to say my coverage entitles me to life saving health care at any local barber or butcher shop.  I made an early morning trip to the clinic and got a surprise: on Wednesdays my doctor is not on duty - surprise!

I went home to work and do last minute promoting for the Comedy Benefit that evening.  As my knee continued to swell, I realized I had to make a choice, either go to the emergency room (a little known and never celebrated rung of Dante's Inferno) or go to the show I was  producing and directing and in which I was scheduled to host.

It was a big to do for me because the evening was full of my funny friends from back in the day, or more like back in the decades.  Among this new crop of comedians I've befriended, I don't know any well enough to ask to perform a benefit for free.  So I went with old pals who came through like gang busters for me.  We SOLD OUT the Main Stage of the Workshop Theater Company - including a gaggle of gals from my Catholic high school, St. Virgin In The Bushes*.



While basking in our post show celebration my knee reminded me I had another early morning clinic visit in my future.  Once there at 9:30 AM, without an appointment, I knew I had to keep my cool and go with the flow.  I could not even register with out talking to the two nurses who told me I should have gone to the hospital emergency room yesterday with my tale of the expanding mosquito bite.  It only took a half hour to find out that even though my doctor was on duty, like a last minute flight to LA, she was overbooked.  I batted my eyelashes and pouted my lips.  Well what I really did was get humble as all get out, put my head down and look mournfully at my football knee.

An hour later I was allowed to register for a different doctor.  Another half hour and my name was called.  No not to see the doctor, but I did get my vitals taken. Nice, I lost an eighth of a pound.  That bit of good news kept me civil, actually almost giddy, until an hour later when Dr. Paul saw me.  Yes, Dear Readers, it's only the mid point of the year and I've been prescribed antibiotics just about every month so far.  So I'm going to pick up my medication, sign a contract to tour with the musical Date Me, Do Me, Dump Me, come home and elevate my leg.

Missed the great show last night?  Come see me this weekend.  I'm working with another old pal and a comic I've never met.  Come out to the show so you can guess which is which.

About a month and a half ago, I was one of five judges at a comedy competition.  I had enjoyed doing it.  The other judges and I took our role seriously and it seemed everyone was in agreement with our decisions.  The producer, long before the contest was over, told us that our scoring was spot on.  I was inspired to compete in the next competition the following month. 

One comic was good at delivery but the material was not anything great.  The funniest joke he did was one I had read on Facebook.  It was funny and he got laughs.  He scored decently with unoriginal material.

The scores were whacky.  The options for each judge to give ranged from one to ten.  On the very same set, one judge gave me a nine and one gave me a three.  A fuckin’ three.  I acknowledge that I must’ve had a delivery problem, but a three?! while also getting a nine?! and things in-between.  That was disappointing.  However, I will do it again.  It’s always a different panel of judges.  And I’ll be working on my delivery.

I got the part.

Words Don’t Make It So

 

One night a young man in my neighborhood with his pants hanging below his ass looked at me and said, “I’m forty.”  Poof!  I was supposed to go, “Oh then let’s go out.  It doesn’t matter that you don’t look 40, act 40, have the money of a 40-year-old, have any maturity whatsoever.  You say you are 40, and that’s all that matters.” 

A teacher I worked with, who students warned me not to promote anyone to unless they are very secure and thick-skinned, announced, “I’m very sensitive.”  She displayed that sensitivity when I shared with her how a student described a molestation she experienced by her building’s super.  The “sensitive” teacher yelled, “That never happened!”  (I’m so glad for the students that she is not insensitive.  Imagine how that would sound!)

Recently, a man who posts barely clad “chicks” on motorcycles, watches the kind of porn that makes us cringe instead of get turned on, and never learned how to seduce  a woman told me he is a feminist.  I should have just laughed.  But I wasn’t tickled.  I was disturbed by what some will say to score points.  I tend to get insulted like it is a statement about me and my intelligence.  But it really is a statement about them and their self-delusion.

Apparently, since he doesn’t agree with physical abusiveness, he believes he’s a feminist.  Most of my traditional uncles were not physically abusive at all.  Yet none would say they are a feminist.  They just aren’t the scum of the Earth.  We didn’t give out medals and pussy to men who were decent and had enough self-respect to respect someone else.  It was the standard.  The men who were abusive were the ones who stood out as different.  Unfortunately, I think the “feminist” man comes from where men who don’t abuse stand out.

Once I put up a posting about how little girls shouldn’t be called bossy but rather as showing great leadership skills.  This guy argued throughout the thread at how he’s been called bossy.  Typical “feminist” reaction, huh.  This “feminist” didn’t see the need to level the playing field.

He is the only “feminist” I ever met who is so sure he will offend me that he has told me to stay away from his Facebook wall, to visit but ignore most things, to understand that it is all just humor.  In other words, if it offends, it’s just a joke. Can’t you take a joke? Where’s your sense of humor?  He has no idea how he makes himself look.  No real feminist offends me.  They provide air, so I can breathe in spite of the patriarchal pollution.

The only feminist-related impact this man has had since I know him is make me search for my inner lesbian.  And that was unintentional on his part.