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  1. It Was My Fuchsia Anniversary

    Tuesday, March 29, 2016


     
     
     
    Though Good Friday does not land on the same day (or even the same month) each year, my divorce was on a Good Friday, so I consider it my anniversary. This year, my anniversary began waking up after a full night’s sleep. That still feels like a luxury to me. I opened an email I received from a woman who is part of a comedy group. She was responding to an inquiry from me. She thanked me for my communication and told me she’d have me on a comedy show in the summer. That was a really great way for me to have started my day.

    Then I had to meet a co-worker to give him some papers. He was coming to the front of my house which made it real easy on me. He also happens to be a pastor. Though I do not follow a religion (other than the Golden Rule) and he and I were not born into the same religion, I find him very comforting. I told him what Good Friday meant to me, and he laughed. I said, “I know that’s not what the religion had in mind.” Then he, in his way, connected it by saying it was the end of one thing to be followed by something better. He emphasized “better.” I said that just coming home to me is better since I’m a nice gal. I let him know that though I had no religious connection, hearing what he said did feel comforting.

    I was meeting with my best friend for breakfast and for doing some chores together for me. I am more challenged by some daily tasks than I used to be. I’m still in process of finding my way back to me. (When I speak to God, after safety and health for my son and me, I typically ask God to help my son find his way back to himself, his own heart, and reclaim his loving soul.)
     

    Before my buddy and I met, I wanted to accomplish something I had been neglecting (there are many choices, unfortunately). I turned one disaster area into a sparkling, good to the touch, once again usable area. That felt so lifting to my spirit. Then I did other stuff and got five bags of garbage out. Whew.

    My buddy and I enjoyed each other’s company as we typically do. We shared our current happenings. We find humor where we can when we can. I can’t be thankful enough for such a wonderful friendship. We managed to buy some stuff I needed, from a fly swatter to lightbulbs and all sorts of things like that. He did things for me in the apartment. He is such a brother to me.

    After we parted, I bought fuchsia flowers for myself. I also bought a bottle of wine.

    I managed to fill a couple of more bags of garbage. This time when I took it in the alley of my building, a rat ran by, I screamed, set the bags down on the ground, and scooted out of there.

    That evening I had plans with Debbie Bazza. We went to an open mic in New Rochelle. I met other people doing comedy which is always a good thing. Then Debbie and I went to one of my favorite places – the Starving Artists’ Café on City Island. She was planning to drive me to a point where instead of 3 buses, I’d only have to take 2 buses back home. However, after drinking some, I wanted to stay past the time she wanted to. So I was willing to take the 3 buses. But Debbie asked her friend to drop me where she would have. That was nice. I was good with that. But when it came time to leave, I was offered a ride all the way home by one of the musicians. I accepted.

    The ride home was comfortable. Conversation felt easy. Driving wasn’t frightening. I asked if I can contribute to gas costs. He said no. Then when we were already on my block, he asked me something that felt uncomfortable, over the line, and disappointing. My eyes must’ve bulged. He swore that it was a joke because in my comedy I mentioned a penis-free zone. I told him the zone was real. (It is those attitudes and comments and the hurt they cause that is part of why the zone exists.) He was laughing and apologizing. I really felt he was regretful because up until then, it felt nice. He even seemed like he’d be snuggly. When I got out of the car, he didn’t just zip away. He waited until I got inside. I wanted that to speak louder to me than his turn-off comment. I turned around and waved goodbye.

    I came home to me, my somewhat improved apartment, and my beautiful fuchsia flowers. 
     
     
     

     

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 10:01 AM | Labels: , , , , , | 5 comments | |


  2.  
     
     
     
     
    There is so much on my mind, yet I can’t seem to untangle it enough to write a coherent blog for today.

    So I will share a friend’s set -- Jane Stroll -- that I find very funny.
     

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 12:00 AM | Labels: , | 4 comments | |

  3. March 2016

    Tuesday, March 15, 2016






    It's only Monday night/Tuesday morning, and I'm tired.  I hope my motor picks up to get through the week.  I have gotten some ideas for earning money without going anywhere to teach, proofread, or any of that.  Once I get it going, I will announce and display.  This idea connects me with my mother, who I love and have missed most of my life.  I hope I actualize what I'm imagining.

    For now, I want to share the work of a woman who calls herself PsychoSuperMom.  (Canada Anne, you might want to check her out -- she does comedic songs about all kinds of stuff.  I think she'd enjoy your "Propaganda Pussy" (or was it "Pussy Propaganda"?).)


     
     
     
    It is Women's History Month, and many of us are making history right now.  Maybe one day it will be called herstory (and it will encompass a much fuller picture).  And on that note...
     
     
     
    "In societies where men are truly confident of their own worth, women are not merely tolerated but valued." - Aung Sang Suu Kyi (1945)

    Burmese opposition politician Suu Kyi was under house arrest for 15 years for her pre-democracy campaigning. She only gained release in 2010 following an international campaign to let her free. She won a nobel prize in 1991 where it was said that "Suu Kyi's struggle is one of the most extraordinary examples of civil courage in Asia in recent decades."

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 12:00 AM | Labels: , , , | 2 comments | |

  4. Heroin Not Funny Ha-Ha By Rhonda Hansome

    Thursday, March 10, 2016


    I'm conflicted.

    Drug dependency is no joke.

    Drug addiction is not funny.

    In addition to the incredible financial profit associated with drug traffic, narcotics are also used for social control. Time and again it is revealed that illegal substances are funneled directly to black populations in the United States. It has been documented that African-American neighborhoods were the targeted destination of highly addictive DRUGS, often in response to increased community consciousness, militancy or rebellion. I'm just saying...

    What IS funny to me (not funny Ha-Ha, but in a WTF? kind of way) is the recent almost weekly hue and cry over the uptick in drug overdoses in suburban areas, so called "good neighborhoods" or among the "well educated". Countless families have one if not two generations suffering repercussions of draconian drug possession / use laws.  Why now the call for a "more sensible" response to addiction and decriminalization?  I'm not saying, I'm just saying...

    When it comes to drugs there is more than susceptibility at play. There is design and discrimination regarding penalties. There is intention with distribution and proliferation.

    There is a method to the madness. 
    It's no laughing matter.


    Follow @RhondaHansome 


    Tell Your Friends To Like Rhonda Hansome Comedy

    Rhonda Hansome #NotYourGrandmasComic But #YourCrazyAuntLovesMe









    Posted by RHC at 9:38 AM | Labels: , , | 4 comments | |


  5.  


    About a year ago, I proudly posted on my Facebook wall how long I’d been penis-free.   Much to my surprise, many men sounded upset while I pretty much felt it like an accomplishment.  So I asked my buddy, who is a heterosexual man, why men who live far away in other states and many who are married or committed and not dating would care if I choose to have sex with another or not.  After thinking for a moment, he said that it may not be rational but somewhere deep inside, many feel that someone should be getting it. 

    We laughed and I simultaneously fumed.  But it validated what I felt most of my life.  It has felt like I’m expected to pay an extra tax to live on the Earth because I have a vagina.  For me, having been penis-free for quite an impressive chunk of time is empowering.

    I come home and lock my door. Grateful to have some peace even if not yet enough. I’m grateful to have a place to live even if it still needs a lot more work.  I did clean my toilet today.  I finally have a seat for company.

    ………….

    Big changes ahead at one of my jobs.  Can’t say I’m not concerned.  I need both paychecks.  Neither is extra.  I work hard to be this low-income.

    ………….

    I applied for a couple of auditions for paid acting roles.  I don’t do that consistently enough.  So it felt good to let casting people know I exist.  There were several I couldn’t apply to because of my jobs.  Oy.

    I applied to participate in a paid focus group.  If I get accepted, it means missing the poetry workshop I love attending.  It also means a hundred bucks.  I need it.

    ………….

    If someone is against planned parenthood, is s/he for unintentional, unplanned parenthood?  Doesn’t sound like someone who understands what’s involved in raising a child/building a person or maybe s/he simply doesn’t care.  It is a way to trap a woman.  I know a man who impregnated his first and second wives in reaction to his fear that they didn’t plan to stay with him. Maybe he felt it easier than becoming a more desirable partner.  Poor babies, born into unhappy marriages because a pathologically selfish man wanted to buy time with each woman though he was faithful to neither. 

    …………..
    If you don't stop Monsanto from poisoning us, please don't tell me how pro-life you are.  If you think men should have the final say-so on women's vaginal activity, please don't tell me how much you respect women.  Be proud of who you are or change. 
    ...........

    When I look at Trump, I see a weak little man who is too frightened to allow another to be heard.  I am so familiar with the type.  I think his pretty wife is getting to know him too.  A friend of mine even suggested that she, like me, may create a penis-free zone of her own.

    Whether it looks like this 
     

    or like this



     
                                                  it is the same shit -- not good for anyone.

     

    Treasure and protect whatever freedoms you do have.  Don't count on anyone else to do so.  It’s International Women’s Day.


    Please, vote like a woman!  Consider candidates that know they have no right to rule our bodies and lives.  Do not dishonor our foremothers who were beaten, hospitalized in mental institutions, jailed, and force-fed, and had the ovaries to endure it so that we can vote.  Fuckin' VOTE!  Thank you.

     

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 12:00 AM | Labels: , , , , , , , | 5 comments | |

  6. Sleeping with Trump

    Tuesday, March 1, 2016








    Don’t judge me but several nights ago, I slept with Donald Trump.  I didn’t mean to.  I was watching what the Republicans call a debate. 
    But many wouldn’t have earned a good grade in my son’s middle school debate class where they taught to attack the argument and not the person. 

    At some point, I fell asleep. 
     
     
     
    The station replayed many portions of the so-called debate all night long.  Each time I awoke, there he was, not allowing others to speak, calling people names that are more true of him, bullying, putting his hand up, giving his permission for another to speak as if he were the moderator, just indulging his incurable narcissism.  He was connecting with other bullies and appealing to bad qualities in ugly ways, putting down an opponent for not being for torture and all kinds of disgusting shit.
     

     
     
     
    In the morning, I was kicking myself for not changing the channel.  I think in my sleepiness, I thought it would end.  So in some creepy, disgusting way, I slept with Trump.  Here he is describing the size of something.   
     

    It’s this small but you’ll love it. Women love me. No one respects women more than I do.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    The painting “Sleeping Woman” is by Karoly Ferenczy, (1912)

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 1:01 PM | Labels: , , | 11 comments | |

  7. Promethazine Dreams By Rhonda Hansome

    Friday, February 26, 2016

    When not living life in the exciting stand-up comedy lane, or directing theater productions, on occasion, I do background work. And don’t you dare call me an “EXTRA”!! I hate the demeaning, dismissive implication of, “Just put that extra… over there.” 

    Daily, I check my email for casting calls, 5 or 10 times… an hour.  I don’t click on just any role like, ND (nondescript) BG Available For Exteriors, Must Have All Day Availability!

    Because I’m an experienced and highly respected actress, I click on roles seeking, Union ND BG With Car, for the car $$ bump and the possibility that I could spend most of my work day sitting in my car.

    Unless you know somebody in casting, getting background work is a numbers game. Imagine thousands of actors looking for 1 union job every 10 minutes all day long.

     Last week I hit the lottery. I got a call to report with my car to location by 7:18 AM. In professional BG artist terms, yes I said ARTIST, don't judge me! In professional lingo that means I factor in, possible rush hour slowdowns, spontaneous detours and police actions. If I leave the Bronx by 5:30, I'm sure to arrive in Brooklyn before a production assistant’s annoyed shout, "#6, Rhonda Hansome?!  Is #6, Rhonda Hansome here!!???", echoes throughout "holding" - a local church basement.

    My Mom preached endlessly against CP time. I am not only my mother’s daughter but a former Girl Scout; so the night before I bathed, set the alarm for 5 AM and put out my clothes. This is where I opted for a left turn.

    As a BG professional I know that a job with my car could possibly include an endless loop of walking back and forth, up and down a cold street where the principal actors (living my dream) are saying their lines. That is exactly why working the week before, I’d dressed in 3 under layers, street clothes and a big faux fur. You never know how long you'll be standing in 10 degrees while cameras and lights are reset.

    Oddly enough the previous week on Limitless, there was NO time standing on the street. With this winter’s random “suddenly spring”- 50 / 60 degree days - I spent 4 hours straight, layered for life, sweating in my car. To avoid repeating that sauna experience, the night before going to bed, I preset 1 under layer, street clothes and a light coat suitable for sitting to get my eyebrows threaded.

    6:45 AM I arrived at the holding location for the day’s shoot on the TV show, Power.  15 minutes before check in time I ate a warm delicious high calorie meal laden with breakfast meats I never eat at home. Hey, don't judge me! I’m on the clock & the corned beef hash, sausage and literal bacon, is on the company.

    7:30 AM I was summoned to report to my car, and... wait. If you’ve never heard the term “hurry up and wait” it is a truism on any shoot. BG artist must be on set immediately when called, ready to walk or stand still without speaking - in every kind of weather; fully aware there could be an hour or two WAIT until technical issues are resolved. Sound simple? Not easy while giving the stank eye to the juvenile on set who has logged more on screen dialogue than I have my entire career. 

    Santos the production assistant in charge of BG, interrupted my jealous musings with a knock on my corolla window. He motioned for me to stand with the group of ND BG shivering on the corner. Santos walked with me, the exact length of street I was to cover, confirming I was clear on my action, instead of directing me with a grunt and vague gesture; then back to "1st position", from where I’d move at his prompting.

    We rehearsed 3 times and then shot about 8 "takes". During an extended pause in action, adjustments were made to the tricked out police car parked by the basketball court in Brooklyn, I stood thinking, with 3 featured players inside that vehicle, viewers will never notice the BG pedestrian traffic simulating a busy Queens neighborhood. Then I noticed The Cold.

    Certainly there was a chill in the early morning air, but my preoccupation with who I followed and returning to my "first position" in time for the next take, eclipsed my body’s constant shiver; until this moment when I felt The Cold.

     You know The Cold I’m talking about. The Cold beyond sucking your teeth, “Ooo wee it’s chilly out chear!”  I’m talking about The Cold that sneaks up, then boldly takes your breath away. While Canadia Goose swaddled staff and technicians surrounding the picture cop car adjusted mics, lights and murmured into walkie talkies, in a flash The Cold arrogantly grip my core. The truth may be the light, but ain't heat nor long johns and OMG, it is only 9 AM!

    Long story short, we worked straight to 3 PM in The Cold. That’s right, walking back and forth, up and down, WE NEVER EVEN BROKE FOR LUNCH! Don’t get me wrong. Three union lunch penalties are a nice $$ bump in my paycheck, but as I gave Santos my voucher in the warmth of the church basement I heard The Cold, now inside me whisper, "I'm here to stay." 

    Airborne and Tylenol 3 times a day usually gets me back on track, but by the weekend, a dry cough had moved bag and baggage into my chest. It didn’t feel like pneumonia. I was familiar with that death threatening mambo. But this cough's choreography was tone deaf to even Nyquil’s soothing refrain. 

    Early Monday, I visit the doctor, who comes to the rescue with a prescription for
    promethazine


    which did not evict the dry cough, but promised a short term sublease.

    Time passed in hazy increments of Judge Judy and TMZ. Glancing at the clock Wednesday morning, 8:57 struck a chord of panic. In my promethazine haze I had confirmed an 8:45 AM call to WHCR FM!!!

     I am a PR hoe via my Face Book, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn, Tumblr and Periscope accounts and NEVER miss an opportunity to talk about me! me! Me! Now a good friend had gone out of his way to arrange an on-air interview promoting my March 3rd big comedy show and I'd slept on it? Literally??? Really??

     All my clocks are set 2-5 minutes ahead (see above Mom's warnings against CP time) so I quickly dialed the studio number and was elated when a warm voice intoned, "You're on the air."
    "Hi Jeanne, it's Rhonda Hansome!" 
    "Jeanne's not here!"
    Dialtone...

     I quickly sent a text and email to my PR Pal. In the midst of an apologetic voice mail message, I remembered my morning dental appointment downtown. Oh crap! I quickly dressed as I cursed Promethazine and headed out my door.

     Half way to the train station, my PR Pal rang my cell. I blurted a litany of sorry this, that and something about NYU Dental.
    Him: The interview is Wednesday.
    Me: What's today?
    Him: Tuesday. 
    Me: So I don't have the dentist today.
    Him: Are you okay?
    Me: I haven't felt well all week...
    Him: Can you call Jeanne Parnell tomorrow?
    Me: Promethazine is really something.
    Him: Call tomorrow?
    Me: Sure

     Back at home I set 3 clocks to alert me to my Wednesday morning agenda. After a teaspoon of Promethazine and a cup of Lemon Ginger tea, I curled up on the couch with Judge Judy.

     Of course the chat on the radio with Jeanne was fun and to the point of March 3rd.

    Comedy seasoned just the way you like it!



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    Posted by RHC at 8:39 AM | Labels: , , | 3 comments | |