Author Archives: charitythomas

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About charitythomas

I am a highly skilled, innovative and experienced Art Department Coordinator, Associate Producer and Production Supervisor looking to bring my skills in-house. While working with talented and globally recognized musicians, producers, directors and networks such as Viacom, BP, HBO, Buscuit Filmworks, Anonymous Content, RSA, MJZ, Goldcrest Films, ESPN, Target and MAC Cosmetics, Barry Levinson and Spike Lee. I have a collaborative leadership style with a proven track record of producing projects on time and budget without compromising quality. I hold an M.A in Media Studies from The New School University and a Bachelor of Arts in Radio, TV, and Film from Howard University and extensive experience as a freelancer. I am looking for a home to develop and build a long lasting production team. Find me here: http://charitythomas.org

Open Letter to Crazy Connecticut Monkey Lady

Dear Crazy Monkey Lady,

Monkey’s aren’t pets. Chimpanzee’s aren’t people. You can’t feed it, get it liquored up, have it BRUSH YOUR HAIR and not expect it to go APE SHIT on somebody. That’s where the term APE SHIT came from I think.

And on top of all of that, the thing that really is heartbreaking is that- the chimp had to die. The chimp that was probably a little tipsy and on Xanax. The chimp who has been turned into a surrogate human in a bunch of really messed up ways by this poor disturbed woman, had to get shot (after being stabbed and hit with a shovel).

That’s just fucked up.

Shame on you Crazy Monkey Lady.

Shame on you.

C

http://www.examiner.com/article/travis-the-chimps-bizarre-relationship

EVENT: Ali/ Patterson fight, Las Vegas Convention Center, 1965

Floyd Patterson’s wearing black shorts. The defending heavyweight champion of the world Cassius Clay (Muhammad Ali) is in white. That is the battle in 1965. Black against white. Good against evil. Christianity against Islam. America against the world. These two gladiators are fighting for more than the Heavyweight Championship of the World. They’re fighting to see who’s going to be a player in the new world order. Patterson is the good. He’s is a Christian, follower of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and an hope of the new Black American world- an integrationists’ dream. Ali (who commentators as well as Patterson still refer to as Clay) is evil. He hates America. He hates whites. He follows Elijah Muhammad and is in the Nation of Islam. He’s a proud big mouth who’s braggadocio is going to get him in trouble. He’s too proud and too cocky. He must be defeated. That will be the only way to shut this kid up. The crowd boos every punch he lands. Needless to say the Las Vegas Convention Center is a cacophony of boo’s this evening in 1965.

Ali eclipses Patterson. The power of his left hand is only matched by the playfulness of his right. The calm on his face is that of a Zen master. Patterson is only one in a line that will lose this eternal battle. The righteous vs. the unrighteous. Which one is which is unclear contextually in 2002. Ali is the star. Patterson is only a rung on the ladder to greatness. Ali is The Greatest. His punches are like the waves in the ocean. Patterson is a man drowning in a sea of uppercuts. He throws wild shots that seem to glide off of The Champ. Round 8- Patterson is looking to get leverage. Even when he gets inside he’s ineffective. By round 9 the commentator slips and gives Muhammad Ali his proper respect and call him by his chosen name. The name of his adopted faith. It’s a fight to get the respect given any other man in simply being called by his name. Patterson stands his ground. He must defeat this kid. His back is bothering him. He’s not as young as he used to be and Ali moves like the ether. The eleven thousand strong in the convention center can’t muster enough cheering to encourage Patterson to a win. They seem to not be able to convince themselves that Ali is evil but they must continue trying. Patterson can’t seem to get off a punch. He’s trying to stay away from Ali who runs out at the beginning of Round 12 anxious for battle. Patterson’s confused and on the receives the message of every hook Ali delivers. Ali hits his mark every time. The referee Harry Krause ends the fight. Patterson concedes to the 24 year old- Muhammad Ali. Winner and still the heavyweight champion of the world.

After the fight Ali thanks Allah for his supreme boxing wisdom and gives thanks to the Honorable Elijah Muhammad for his prayers.

Open Letter to Crazy Connecticut Monkey Lady

Dear Crazy Monkey Lady,

Monkey’s aren’t pets.  Chimpanzee’s aren’t people.  You can’t feed it, get it liquored up, have it BRUSH YOUR HAIR and  not expect it to go APE SHIT on somebody.  That’s where the term APE SHIT came from I think.

And on top of all of that, the thing that really is heartbreaking is that- the chimp had to die.  The chimp that was probably a little tipsy and on Xanax.  The chimp who has been turned into a surrogate human in a bunch of really messed up ways by this poor disturbed woman, had to get shot (after being stabbed and hit with a shovel).

That’s just fucked up.

Shame on you Crazy Monkey Lady.

Shame on you.

C

http://www.examiner.com/article/travis-the-chimps-bizarre-relationship

This ain’t so bad: Open Letter to Michael Jackson

This ain’t so bad: Open Letter to Michael Jackson: “www.tripnyc.org”

It Ain’t Free

I wrote this in 2004….
Irony’s always ironic.

America pumps it’s market driven interests throughout the globe only to naively ask, “Why do people hate us?” and then answer their own question with “because we’re free”. Now I now one true fact about my life – IT AIN’T FREE.
Art ain’t free. It’s very expensive when working within the capitalist model. Working outside that model? Here in the US that’s called underground. To be an underground artist takes work and perserverance and either rich parents or a job that’ll pay a living wage. Not that it can’t be done- but we’re talking about models here. Sure the underground model can work. It builds prestige, a market base and respect among comrades. The most important product of this work is the integrity the artists feels about the art s/he’s creating. The integrity of the work, the spirituality of the creative process, perhaps even the illumination of truths are indeed rewards in themselves to the artist. But will it support you? Probably not. And I’m sure there is somebody this has worked for but I’m talking about large monetary scale support. But how much money does one really need? Does the truth sound better or ring truer when delivered in a Bentley?

Underground is what it is because it’s outside the radar of populust consumptionist culture. Any hip-hop created outside the states is underground in the US. Any art aimed at communities of color that isn’t commercially marketed is called underground. Once the underground moves into the light of success it loses the edge- some argue the truthfulness- of it’s alleged pre capitalist roots. Finding diasporic artistic movements and contributions is an effort to Americans. To find out about different (read as non American) forms of artistic revolutions takes effort. It takes time and desire to experience something else. Why when bred in a culture that tells you that you are what everyone else on the planet either wants to be or destroy, would you look outside to find other modes of artistic expression? MTV et al barely show non mass produced music and images from within the US. When you’re told that art is either an imitation or a negation of what you believe to be art, why would you not believe that your expressions (and for a lot- not all- of this generation of “urban” youth it’s hip hop) can’t be translated into a global struggle against oppression?

Why can’t we Americans get up off of that? Because it’s a “Lovely Day” when the Gap tells us to all look alike like most proletarian/ elite models. We see through the unitarianism of our systems, not specifically governmental, but the transnational bent of American corporations the need to create a consistent market base for their products. Products! It’s sad to think that James Baldwin, Fela Kuti, Gil Scott Heron, Nina Simone, etc could be thought of as product. But when looking at the current cultural landscape of mass produced “artistic” endeavors… you have to wonder if you would even have heard of them today. When we make an effort to move through cultural differences it’s apparent that colored artists all over the world living in “decolonized” war zones are moving in a similar rhythm.

True power comes from controlling one’s own destiny. Money is not (always) the answer to that problem. Changes in policy, educational curriculum, early cultural and media studies education are some of the steps to freeing the minds of youth of color to see the links they are in the struggle for the global destruction of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. Moving past methods of control and searching for ways to find truth and integrity globally through art could be the key to bridging power structures leading to the bonding of the links to personal freedom.

It Ain’t Free

I wrote this in 2004….

Irony’s always ironic.

America pumps it’s market driven interests throughout the globe only to naively ask, “Why do people hate us?” and then answer their own question with “because we’re free”. Now I now one true fact about my life – IT AIN’T FREE.

Art ain’t free. It’s very expensive when working within the capitalist model. Working outside that model? Here in the US that’s called underground. To be an underground artist takes work and perserverance and either rich parents or a job that’ll pay a living wage. Not that it can’t be done- but we’re talking about models here. Sure the underground model can work. It builds prestige, a market base and respect among comrades. The most important product of this work is the integrity the artists feels about the art s/he’s creating. The integrity of the work, the spirituality of the creative process, perhaps even the illumination of truths are indeed rewards in themselves to the artist. But will it support you? Probably not. And I’m sure there is somebody this has worked for but I’m talking about large monetary scale support. But how much money does one really need? Does the truth sound better or ring truer when delivered in a Bentley?

Underground is what it is because it’s outside the radar of populust consumptionist culture. Any hip-hop created outside the states is underground in the US. Any art aimed at communities of color that isn’t commercially marketed is called underground. Once the underground moves into the light of success it loses the edge- some argue the truthfulness- of it’s alleged pre capitalist roots. Finding diasporic artistic movements and contributions is an effort to Americans. To find out about different (read as non American) forms of artistic revolutions takes effort. It takes time and desire to experience something else. Why when bred in a culture that tells you that you are what everyone else on the planet either wants to be or destroy, would you look outside to find other modes of artistic expression? MTV et al barely show non mass produced music and images from within the US. When you’re told that art is either an imitation or a negation of what you believe to be art, why would you not believe that your expressions (and for a lot- not all- of this generation of “urban” youth it’s hip hop) can’t be translated into a global struggle against oppression?

Why can’t we Americans get up off of that? Because it’s a “Lovely Day” when the Gap tells us to all look alike like most proletarian/ elite models. We see through the unitarianism of our systems, not specifically governmental, but the transnational bent of American corporations the need to create a consistent market base for their products. Products! It’s sad to think that James Baldwin, Fela Kuti, Gil Scott Heron, Nina Simone, etc could be thought of as product. But when looking at the current cultural landscape of mass produced “artistic” endeavors… you have to wonder if you would even have heard of them today. When we make an effort to move through cultural differences it’s apparent that colored artists all over the world living in “decolonized” war zones are moving in a similar rhythm.

True power comes from controlling one’s own destiny. Money is not (always) the answer to that problem. Changes in policy, educational curriculum, early cultural and media studies education are some of the steps to freeing the minds of youth of color to see the links they are in the struggle for the global destruction of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. Moving past methods of control and searching for ways to find truth and integrity globally through art could be the key to bridging power structures leading to the bonding of the links to personal freedom.

Pissed: or “Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher”

So today is Sept. 11. That sucks. And in case you were planning on having a good productive day, well fuck you. Cause the whole city needs to be on anti-depressants. The collective energy of a city of this size mourning will crush the most Mary Poppins of spirits. Think Ghostbusters 2. So then I have to come to the den of corporate idiocy and listen to inanity from kids who don’t know who Blair Underwood is.

Idiot #1: Did you know Blair Underwood got his start as Denise’s boyfriend on the Cosby show?

#2: no. (pause) wait a minute, I know who he is.

#1: He was on that lawyer show in the ‘80’s.

#2: Night Court?

I can’t make this up. They work at a TV station that specializes in classic shows. I wanted to yell “LA Law you dummies!” but since I’m freelance, I kept it to myself.

Then I have to suffer the crush of seeing my college classmates all married and successful in a way I never will be. I chose differently. And while I’m in this pit doing nothing, literally, I feel like a slacker and a loser because I could have chosen differently. The energy it takes to just make it through the day is enough to make me want to just get botulism from my salads I refuse to put in the fridge and just die.

I know this is for money and the city needs to just chill out. We’re like a bunch of kids picking a scab cause today’s a day to get attention. People die everyday. We should remember them everyday. It’s sad, it sucks, we have to move on or this city’s going to eat itself alive.

On the TV in the elevator, I hate it; they showed a picture of what looked like thousands of people down at Ground Zero. I understand that it was the most important day in some people’s lives. I understand that it was pivotal. I understand that it’s tragic beyond understanding. But life and grief is about moving on. Why go down there? Celebrate them in some positive, less photo op way. It’s like we don’t know how to grieve so we just go do what we see everyone else doing.

And we haven’t moved on. Not yet. We haven’t moved on emotionally, spiritually or politically. This morning I got spooked cause I heard airplanes low overhead. It’s an overcast day. I hear them all the time. I was spooked. And that was before I’d really realized what today was. And then the “President” decided to make a speech, a lot of speeches- not enough silence.

We’re all fucked up. And on top of it, personally, I’m trying to be a mature person when I’m sure I’m being dissed and I’m fucking pissed. I have no real reason to be pissed except that I feel betrayed. Am I over reacting, probably, but I do so too rarely. I don’t overreact nearly enough. The whole world runs on overreaction, and I’m gonna join the party today.

So besides this being one pissy little town today… let me tell you what’s gonna happen tonight. Again, think Ghostbusters 2. Only add alcohol and drugs. It’s gonna either get really ugly or the alcohol will be the positive slime that got infused with the Jackie Wilson song.

I, personally, hope that people who diss people should maybe get boots put on their cars. Or scabies. Or a perpetual runny nose. See, I do have a soft side.

I’m fucking pissed.

Don’t smell like roses

I got sunflowers for my birthday and I had them on my table/ desk to inspire me to write. Every little girl loves flowers right? Right. Only what I didn’t have any idea about was that my beautiful sunflowers would start smelling like a sack of assholes.

Seriously. I was looking under my shoes, even took another shower (the inhumanity). After convincing myself that my computer wasn’t farting (I’ve been drinking for like 2 weeks straight) went to smell the flowers.

Whew! I then told them, aloud, that they didn’t smell like roses. Then I laughed the way crazy people who talk to flowers alone in their homes do.

Then I wrote this:

These sunflowers I got for my birthday smells like assholes. I just told them they don’t smell like roses, but I guess that’s an old joke to them. They didn’t laugh.

What is it about the American mind that insists that all inanimate objects must be infused with some sort of soul or personality? Have you watched that Tom and Jerry lately? It’s a horror show. It’s also my favorite, particularly during the Tex Avery era. Such exquisite violence. Watching it now makes me whence and understand where I get a ton of my violent fantasies from.

That’s when I thought maybe I should ask my therapist if I might need to commit myself for a while.

The real answer is that I need more fresh flowers in my house. Despite the fact that my allergies have been a nightmare since the jack the ripper of pollen lived in my house stinking it to high hell.

Maybe I’ll try daisies.

This economy is some BS

So I’m trying to find somewhere to lay my kinky head in Paris and this Euro to dollar conversion is a heartbreaker. Aren’t we the leaders of the free world?

Yesterday, the world’s most corrupt real estate manager said in a press speech that the economy is still growing.

WTF? IS HE ON CRACK? Every country on the planet is doing better than us. Mexican pesos are catching up with dollars. PESOS!! So I’m trying to be all international like and as soon as I buy a $1200 tix to Copenhagen and Paris… the news says, “not the right time for a European vacation”. Oh, really? Thanks for the NEWS!

But more than that, are people even aware of the isolationism happening? If Americans, who are terrible travelers, can’t make their annual sojourn to Europe, will the Europeans have to stay home and enjoy summers in their native land?

NAH.

Cause Manhattan is still cheaper than Paris if you get paid in Euros. I want to get paid in Euros. I really wish I’d done this traveling when I was younger. I wouldn’t care if I had bedbug bites or if I had to share a toilet down the hall with a bunch of weird Germans (i mean… they’re weird- they just are). I’d have been fabulous and free and tossing Francs around willy nilly. Or even when the Euro hit the scene and it was like pesos. Ahhh, the 90’s.

So I’m going to stay with two of my friends for a few days all cramped up in a tiny French apt. in the 13th (maybe 11th) and when they leave I’ll be able to stretch my legs and bring home strange Frenchmen. Good Living.

But he’s going to have to buy the wine.

Gentrification Blues part deux

In the bit about gentrification I kinda glossed over the fight part.

This shit is scary. I’m a little girl (well not little in the Sarah Jessica Parker sense- see other postings) but I’m a girl. These little monkeys are crazy.

It was so easy. I’m rappin’ with my homey about the season finale of the most excellent show on television and how mind twisting it was; having a few cocktails and now it’s time for a delicious smoky treat.

We’re headed out to smoke and walking talking. There’s this couple hemmed up in the doorway and my homey (I guess I’ll call him BC cause I’m gonna confuse the hell out of myself like that) tries to open the door and tells this little brother he can’t do that here. I’m stepping right behind him and the next thing I know is that this little MF is screaming and pushing BC and yelling.

When I told my sister she asked what he was yelling. I said it was unintelligible. “I don’t know. Something like ‘I’m a man’; ’ I got two eyes’; ‘I didn’t get enough love as a child’; ‘peanuts make my feet stink’; ‘public education has served me poorly’…” (You get the point. it actually tickled the both of us so we went on for about 5 minutes.)

That’s when BC punched the fuck out of him. I’m running out all Tyler Durden waving my arms yelling “whoa, whoa, whoa” (when he was in front of the van- favorite scene) and screaming for someone to call the police. The supreme queen bartender was on it already as were most of the patrons (the newbies. I do distinctly remember seeing a pair of eyes only peeking over the back of the bar. Like Cleavon Little was gonna come in shouting “where all the white women at?”). I moved through the crowd of ruffians that have BC jammed up against the door to the apt building and that’s my turf, so I kinda snapped a little. And remember it was like the Smiths in the Matrix so like a hundred dudes dropped out of nowhere (I think it was like 10 in the end).

So I get in front of BC and put my arms out tiger style and stood in front of him yelling, “STOP!” (Think Gandalf and the dragon thing). Then it was suddenly just the skinny troublemaker woozy looking and rising up in front of me. Then I was suddenly like shit, this kid’s gonna hit me. WTF? So before he could fully stand up, I kicked him in the chest. Kinda a bitch move- but I am a girl. I even had on a skirt and my Keds. Then he just staggered away. Remember when the LA cops said that Rodney King was on PCP and acting all hulk-like. Well that’s what this kid was like. Just not there.

Then BC calls my attention to the white body being dragged in the street and it’s another homey and that’s when I started shaking. For some reason that’s when it got real. And real scary. He was limp and this kid is a firecracker. These little animals were dragging him in the street. Do they even know the implications of that? I want to drop them in 1950’s Mississippi and then we’ll see when they drag someone in the street.

This is my home. This neighborhood is where I’ve spent my formative adult years. I’ve become an adult here. Now that’s not to say that I haven’t been called an ugly bitch from my door to the end of my block. And I was shocked because I’d never been called an ugly anything in my whole life. And ironically enough one of the ruffians was the grownup boy who called me out back then. He’s going to jail. And he has a baby now. Pity. But why come after people who look like you? And despite my animus for the newer residents, I also don’t want them to suffer at the hands of “angry black youth” but damn man.

What would Obama do?