Saturday, December 1, 2007

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Cyber smack my hands for taking so long to post. Being busy doing multiple things has its drawbacks. Having just celebrated Turkey Day I've been inspired to show thanks to my readers by not hitting a forty day lapse between posts. And away we go...

Having 39 days pass between keeping you all informed about what goes on in the life and mind of a media hustler has its benefits. The inevitable forward motion of time allows the world to reveal itself and expose its beauty, wonders, accomplishments and miracles. That exposure also gives a glimpse inside its shames, injustices, and self-destructive tendencies.

A few weeks back Rev. Al led thousands on a March For Justice in Washington, DC to demand federal prosecution for hate crimes. Although hate crimes seem to be that poison for which there is no antidote, the march allowed attention, for at least one day, to be put on the powers that be to prosecute these crimes with the same voraciousness used for the Vicks, Stewarts, and Libby's of the world. Is the world ready to admit that a noose in ones office is as hurtful as a swastika spray painted on a door? Do you know how many people have been subject to harassment by noose? Thanks to my girl Phish, you can check out a visual time line right here. Sad, right?

I've got my speech coming up next week at Montgomery County Community College on the life and times of a freelance writer. I've been gathering materials and feel excited about the opportunity. I don't get nervous speaking in front of people but I do want to make sure to keep things interesting. I've also been making sure to get my connections in order because come January 2008 TLA is going to use what she got to get what she wants. And what does she want? More places for the world to see her words. Rap Pages magazine contacted me this week about some writing, so we'll see whats up with that this week. I'm meeting with my former editor and mentor this week too and he's always full of ideas. In 2008 I'm kickin in doors with out waving 44's.

Things have been going very well at the station too. I have been able to use my writing and research skills in a radio environment which has been very helpful. We've (we meaning the Hot Boyz show I work on) had Dame Dash, Jay-Z, and Frank Lucas Jr. (yup, son of the American Gangster) call in recently to the show. I did research, talking points, and questions for all three which enhanced the interview. Stumbling for questions isn't a good look when you are live on the air. Luckily for me the Hot Boyz are very good at what they do, I simply make it a little easier. We also had Omarion & Bow Wow live in the studio, along with listeners, and that was both hectic and exciting. Navigating the technical aspects of a live broadcast is no easy task. Being able to assist the engineer and the board operator with the broadcast was one of the biggest learning opportunities I've had so far. Imagine that, TLA actually learning how operate a board at a radio station? I still didn't get a nick name yet although the fellas do tend to call me Nish, which I normally hate, but don't mind so much when they say it. Maybe I'm getting softer in my younger age. Oh yeah, one little tid bit for you. According to Lucas Jr., Daddy had 769 million when he was arrested. Yeah.

Rodney King shot? Again? WTF?

This week I found out I wasn't the grand prize winner for the short story contest I entered a while back. I definitely plan on continuing to enter because its such a challenge to try and come up with a good story while also keeping it under 750 words. The contest gives you the prompt and you just go from there. The prompt for this piece was this: After years with a traveling carnival, the strong man and the bearded lady try to adjust to a normal life as a married couple.
So without further ado, here is the winning story (at least in my mind) for your reading pleasure. The word isn't out on the honorable mentions though...
On With The Show
By TLA

Mornings aren’t what they used to be. For the past eight years I’d wake up in the afternoon, brush my teeth, splash water on my face, pull my costume on, and head to the tent. Now mornings meant a routine I’ve grown to loathe. Waking up to wash, shave, and moisturize with SPF 45 isn’t my idea of starting the day with joy.

Eight months ago, which now seems like an eternity, Otto and I were still on the road performing as the main attraction for Big Bobby’s Traveling Freak Show. Over 310 days of our year were spent listening to bratty kids ooh and ahh at a woman with a beard as big as St. Nick’s. Now I get to listen to snooty suburban moms bore me to death about their monotonous lives that only seem to consist of shopping, gossiping, and wishing they could screw the gardener.

Otto found an ordinary job as a used car salesman. I think he was hired because they thought he might be able to lift a car off the lot and save them a few bucks on tows. He hasn’t really made any friends at the job yet, and I think its starting to bother him. Worrying about his frame impinging on his ability to sell schmucks an SUV is a constant topic of evening conversation. The more he asks if his size matters, the more I lie. Of course twenty-eight inch biceps aren’t weird honey. Oh no, you aren’t a mutant dear. Have another can of vanilla ‘Bulk’ my love.

One way or another, before our heads hit the pillows, we end up talking about our new lives. Sharing late night laughs about the ironic turn our lives had taken gave us plenty to put ourselves to sleep. Being considered a freak was the optimal word in our former lives. Now we had to try and live our lives around a bunch of dull normals.

Normal was the word we used to distinguish between freaks and non freaks working at Big Bobby’s. Coupling up with a normal meant there was half a chance that your children could avoid harassment.

Last year, Otto and I went to our old pal Gita’s wedding when she married a talented normal named Robert. As we danced, watching Gita swirl her hips in happiness to the hypnotic hum of Roberts’s pungi, forced us to wonder if living our lives in a bus was all there was going to be for us.

It wasn’t easy when we first arrived. Early on a Saturday morning, we pulled our rainbow colored bus into the driveway of our new home. Stepping out, we already felt the penetrating stares of the normals who’d gathered on their stoops.

“It’ll be ok Zelda. You know you’ll be beautiful to me no matter what”, he said barely breaking a sweat holding three trunks.

“Thanks love. I’m right behind you.”

After burying his lips in my weeklong growth, Otto gave a reassuring wink before heading inside. Digging in my purse, I took a deep breath, clicked the ‘on’ button, and pulled my right hand to my left cheek. Sitting on the emergency exit bumper, I took long, angry swipes all over my face until I could feel the unusual sensation of the suns warmth.

A couple of days later, Edna, my Mary Kay selling neighbor, offered to give me a free demonstration. I got my first makeover and knew I had officially crossed over. In no time, I was hosting Tupperware parties and joined the block party organizing committee. Who knew so many clubs existed in suburbia?

Now I spend my days scouring the Eastchester Gazette looking for the latest nouveau cuisine recipes to entice Otto’s beef jerky palate. Nights meant slathering my body with depilatories Edna claimed would make me ‘baby smooth’. Life has become all about perfectly coiffed hair, no fuss knits, and diet soda. Edna even started calling me her pseudo suburban carnival defector.

I would never tell Gita, but sometimes Otto and I miss our old lives. Gone are the days of having fresh funnel cake in the mornings and lying in bed at night eating leftover cotton candy. But every morning, as we stand at his and her sinks splashing ourselves with cooling gels, we know this is where we’re supposed to be. No, we aren’t the headliners any more, but every day, we still get to perform.

Thanks for your patience. I'll be back soon. I promise. And yes, I'm a woman of my word.