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Double Jeopardy By Rhonda Hansome

Thursday, April 18, 2013

When we left off last time: Twinkie Byrd’s question put a halt to my stroll down memory lane. She had spent the first four minutes of our five minute session making numerous notations on my newly revamped resume like a proctor grading an error ridden test paper. Twinkie spoke and silenced the seven voices (I acknowledge) in my head. Their yammering quieted quickly as they sensed my humiliation in the offing, much like sharks sense blood in the water.

The stealth of the casting director’s question was in its simplicity: “Where do you see yourself?” I’m not quite sure if I spluttered, laughed or farted as I stalled for time with a goofy look on my face.

Did the multiplication table just challenge my math anxiety ass to a Calculus Olympiad? Cheeze ‘n crackers! Who knew there would be a quiz at this five minute interview? “Where do I see myself?” I should know the answer to this question! Out of the blue in my mind and heretofore unknown, a shy acne scarred pre-teen bespectacled voice, from behind a volume of the collected works of Guy de Maupassant, whispered “Ask Twinkie what she means.” I coaxed the goofy look off my face and feigned an air of normalcy

“What do you mean where do I see myself?”

Twinkie regarded me with a glance reserved for those recognized with Asperger syndrome

“In what television shows do you see yourself cast?”

Okay, I got this now!

“I see myself as a comedy sketch player, a second banana to a comedy star…”

She interrupted me

“Like Vicki Laurence on the Carol Burnett Show?”

I sighed with relief. She got me! My head nodded as a smile approach my lips

“Yes!”

Twinkie hid exasperation well…

“That show hasn’t been on the air in twenty years.”

My approaching smile slid downward as the truth of her statement sunk in. She continued

“What shows do you watch?”

Totally misunderstanding the question I answered truthfully with an animated litany, literally

“Family Guy, Archer, American Dad, Bob’s Burgers … and the Daily Show.”

“Do you have cable?”

“Not any premium channels.”

With a barely perceptible note of dismissal she said

“Don’t worry about the cost, get those premium channels now and watch to see what roles you’d be cast in. Make these changes in your resume. And follow @CarleaseBurke on twitter.”

Don’t worry about the cost? I don’t even DVR because of the extra cost. I have to buy premium cable channels to tell you what roles I should be cast in?

Carlease Burke

Carla Renata

Yvette Nicole Brown

and a bunch of other working black actresses, I don’t even know about because I can’t afford Starz, are doing the roles in which I’d be cast AND why the fuck should I follow Carlease??? – I silently fulminated.

"Thank you."

I said aloud as I clutched my freshly disfigured resume, choked back a tear, my ego and somehow found the door to exit the tiny studio where I thought my life might change.

Uber Casting Director

Twinkie Byrd

really did change my life because I now have to:

Think about myself in this century because nobody cares or remembers that I killed on Arsenio Hall’s FIRST talk show and toured opening for divas Ross and Baker.
I have to search beneath the surface of my stock answers twenty years old.
I have to wake up from dreams of an uninterrupted flow of film and TV residual checks flooding my mailbox
Look at my industry as the vastly changed landscape it is.
I have to ring in on the Double Jeopardy answer revealed to me in the past five minutes.

For $8.00 @ minute Alex, what is…

Starting All Over Again From The Middle?

Posted by RHC at 11:15 AM | Labels: American Dad, Archer, Arsenio Hall, Bob's Burgers, Carla Renata, Carlease Burke, Carol Burnett Show, Daily Show, Family Guy, Twinkie Byrd, Yvette Nicole Brown | 6 comments | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook |

Boston

Monday, April 15, 2013

No words...

Seems inappropriate for me to post anything other than that the folks in Boston are in my thoughts.

~Samantha

Posted by She So Funny at 12:51 PM | Labels: Boston, Samantha DeRose | 1 comments | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook |

Dive Right In!

Friday, April 12, 2013

By Lisa Harmon

I used to like to go camping. Even I can't believe that. I can hardly imagine sleeping outside and using a pit toilet. I chalk it up to naivete, extreme boredom and a lack of funds.

We used to go to this campsite in Pennsylvania. It was called Promised Land State Park. I've seen the Promised Land. There is no plumbing.

On one trip, someone brought their friend from work. When we finally got there, we'd been in the car a long time, and we were hot and sweaty. The tires had barely stopped when the doors flew open, we bolted for the lake and jumped in.

The guy I didn't know, my friend's sister's co-worker, couldn't swim. He dove right into the water with everyone else but immediately began sputtering around. A couple of guys took him by his arms and brought him back to shore where he sat catching his breath while we all tried to make the best of it and forget how he's ruining our camping trip already.

The first time I went swimming in a lake, I swam a ridiculous distance and ended up in the center. I turned around and saw how far I was from shore. It was far. I was exhausted. I didn't know how I would get back. My friends on the beach were so far away I'd have had to scream at them, and those dopes would think I was fooling around anyway.

Later I found out that saltwater is much more buoyant than fresh water. Since I grew up going to Rockaway Beach (of the famed Ramones tune), I was used to salt water.

We went to Rockaway Beach every summer and swam every day. We all loved the beach. I had a healthy respect for the ocean. The ocean can change in an instant, and one time, it did.

My general rule was not go out further than my toes touching the bottom. We were swimming pretty close to those giant, treacherous jetties. Suddenly, the lifeguard started calling us in. We weren't doing anything and I didn't know why he was calling us in, but it was definitely us he was calling. I looked at my friend, he looked at me, and we started swimming in.

Right then a wave hit. It seemed like a normal wave, but when I tried to touch my toes down again, I couldn't reach. The ground was gone. Completely, totally, way gone. The water must have been twice as deep as it had been just a couple of seconds before.

I'd never experienced anything like that so I shifted into high gear and swam to shore after taking one last look to see Jimmy was still behind me.

After the rescue at the lake, when everyone had settled down, they asked the embarrassed coworker “Why did you jump in the lake if you can't swim?” Good thing our parents weren't there because this would have proved their theory that the answer to the question “If all your friends went and jumped in a lake would you do it too?” is a resounding “Yes!” Finally they'd have undeniable proof that teenagers are that stupid.

But I knew why he did it. It's not because we were stupid (we were) but because he thought he could swim. It never occurred to him that he couldn't swim. It never occurred to me either. A little bit of ignorance sure makes for a lot of confidence. I want to go back to those times – pre-adulthood, and pre-hurricane Sandy, to when Rockaway was still they way it was when I was a kid. I'd like to go back to the way I felt back then – alive, and excited and engaged. I want to jump in with no doubts, and live life with total confidence. I want to dive right in and make the most of every moment.

What's the worst that can happen? I mean, its not like I'm going to drown or anything, right?

Posted by She So Funny at 9:41 PM | Labels: camping, Lisa Harmon, The Beach | 4 comments | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook |

Omarosa's Ambitions By Rhonda Hansome

Thursday, April 11, 2013

When we last left off, I was rummaging through mid-life choices like a bag lady on the “A” train looking for nothing in particular; while disturbing a bag’s contents in an urgent yet random search. Everything I touched took me deeper and farther from reality.

My own personal 3 Stooges:

Coulda/ Woulda/ Shoulda,

whirled in my head like hurricane Sandy leaving my mind a ravaged Jersey shore. In spite of the storm raging in my head I heard, (bewilderment, befuddlement, bemusement?) tucked beneath Twinkie’s nonchalant question, “Where do you see yourself?” Where do I see myself when I’ve decided to end my nearly decade long hiatus from the comedy scene? Making a list and checking it thrice. My “To Do” list rivaled the ambitions of

Omarosa

“Networking”

Hanging out and exchanging business cards with associates had changed -make that ended - make that dead ended. During my absence from the scene, the ubiquitous “business card” had disappeared faster than a Nubian Ibex in a flock of vultures.

Hanging out had morphed into a totally (I dare not say “totes”) virtual experience. To gather (in a manor of speaking) with like minded people, I joined groups on LinkedIn and Face Book and engaged in vociferous conversations with people I did not know, like or care about.

I think I’m getting the hang of it now!

“Electronic Presence”

While I was ‘away’ not only did business cards disappear, but so did the usefulness of live performance save for it being an opportunity to record and post to the internet on any number of ‘platforms’ and websites including YouTube. I have lost count of the videos I’ve viewed that are poorly composed in bad or NO lighting, with crappy sound AND inane content; all racking up tons of ‘‘hits’ & ‘comments’ – electronic presence currency. I was told of one person whose “numbers” were through the roof. His content consisted of taking a dump on camera. Get out of my way I want in on this!

I got my website up, running & almost interactive. I offer short comedy clips but WITHOUT an app that requires visitors to register or subscribe thereby “capturing the visitor’s contact info; my bad. I lose 2 points. My website, www.RhondaHansome.com is a lovely sentence with a dangling participle. I’m on GigSalad where I consistently underbid on job possibilities and never book even one. I ask every new friend (actually FaceBook strangers I would not know if on fire in front of me) to press the laugh button under MyComedyBook.com/RhondaHansome in hopes to be the featured comic in a corner of cyber space populated ENTIRELY by funny people.

“Social Media”

In spite of the fact I STILL have no concrete evidence that “social media” will lead to anything other than severe carpal tunnel syndrome; I threw myself into the social media fray with an abandon surpassed only by the enthusiasm of divers on Splash.

I actively post on twitter, FaceBook, tumblr, and have been asked by more than several online groups to limit or cease & desist my voluminous contributions. Oh and if you are reading this there is no need to mention I blog. Every damn THURSDAY I spew heart, soul and funny. My little spoon hitting a tin cup in the clattering cacophony of the bloated blogosphere. Well after taking a $400.00 course in social media, I became an overzealous convert determined to get my money’s worth…someday.

“Engage Gatekeepers”

And this is where Twinkie comes in. I’d resisted paying to ‘interact’ with a Casting Director until I finally realized that if I did not pay I would not ever be seen and considered in the running for possible paying work.

Twinkie Byrd

had a track record, she cast projects that actually hired black folks, and she had the most adorable name. What’s $40.00 for 5 minutes Alex?

To be continued...

Posted by RHC at 1:00 AM | Labels: 3 Stooges, bag lady, business cards, Chuay Bravo, Dallas Travers, electronic presence, Facebook, gigsalad.com, Ibex, LinkedIn, MyComedyBook.com, networking, Omarosa, Rhonda Hansome, social media, Twinkie Byrd | 5 comments | Email This BlogThis! Share to X Share to Facebook |

The Red Nickel Demons Dance

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

The Red Nickel Demons Dance

“I shouldn’t have had so many children. I should’ve only had three like my sister.”

“But Grandma, then you wouldn’t have my mother or me.”
“So, you wouldn’t know me.”
“Noooooo, Grandma, don’t say that. I love you. Don’t you love me?”
“You wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t know me.”

God, do you remember that I’m here? Please don’t forget about me, God. Grandpa said you see everything. I hope you do. I really hope you do.

“I miss my mother. I want my mother.”

“You have to be an understanding child! Your mother is a sick girl!”

“Go be nice to your fucken self.”

“How come I don’t have a father?”

“He’s from a communist country! He can’t be with you. Pretend like he’s dead. It happens. What if he was dead?”
“But he’s not dead.”

“Your mother was one of seven, and no one could take you in?!”

“If I knew you then, I would’ve adopted you.”

“If you don’t eat, I’m going to have to put you in a foster home. I can’t keep you here if you don’t eat.”

“You better never do anything wrong, I’m tellin’ you. Your life won’t be worth a red nickel!”

A whore and a virgin at the same time? Had to look up whore in the dictionary and it didn’t make sense. What does sexually loose mean? Why does my aunt say that to me? How can I be something I don’t even understand? I’m not sexually anything. I’m twelve.

“You want a hug!? Wait, one day the fellas will hug you.”

“I want you to hug me, Grandma.”
“What’s wrong with you? My children didn’t act like this. Except the sick ones. You better be careful.”

“There’s nothing more important than family. Don’t ever forget that!”

“You sit all hunched over and your mouth hangs open. You look like a monkey.”

He played a song for someone else and the lyrics went, “I want to be your number one…”

“You’re always crying. You’re going to turn out just like your mother. You better be careful, I’m tellin’ you!”

“You are not going to like yourself if you do anything with him.”

“You could do worse.”

“Don’t ever talk about your family.”

“I’ve been trying to back off. You, not so much.”

“You should drop out of college. It’s all wasted on a nigger-lover like you.”

He took the picture of me down. He had it up and called me fascinating. Now it’s gone. Wish I felt nothing about that.

“I ain’t be seein’ nobody ‘cuz when I’m with somebody and they do me wrong, then I do me wrong. So I ain’t be seein’ nobody.”

So many of these so-called big strong men are weak little boys, Mindy, who need the next woman lined up and ready if they even feel a chance of being alone for a minute.

“Back off.”

“She’s ignoring me.”

“Carol’s mother says you don’t have confidence. What’s wrong with you?! Why does she say that?”

“You’re better than that!”

Am I? Am I?

Toyed with.

“Don’t let anyone toy with your life.”

He played a song for someone else and the lyrics went, “I want to be your number one…”

“You shouldn’t have been born. If I knew you were going to turn out like this, I’d have had your mother have an abortion.”

He wrote that he pissed me off, and then he LOL’d.

“You act common… like a common girl. I’m disappointed in you.”

He LOL’d.

“If you do anything wrong, you can just throw yourself down a river.”

“We attract people who we recognize as human based on what we grew to know as home.”

“You can’t say that to me. You don’t know what that means.”
“That’s where we start, but we grow from there.”

Maybe I need to cry, and he is my onion. Maybe I miss my family. That can be dangerous. Maybe it is my default position to slip into something ill-fitting and emotionally abrasive enough to call home.

The cat should scratch him. It’s so deeper than crabby.