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

Museum of the African Diaspora

“I’ve Known Rivers: The MoAD African Diaspora Stories Project” is up and running.

My poem “Poor People” can be seen here: http://www.iveknownrivers.org/stories/adaptation.htm.

Here’s a little background on the project from the website:

SAN FRANCISCO (September 12, 2005) – In Africa it is said that when a griot, or oral historian, dies, “a library has burned to the ground.” In recognition of the fabled tradition of the griot and in an effort to document stories of the African Diaspora, San Francisco’s Museum of the African Diaspora (MoAD) has embarked on a landmark project.

I’ve Known Rivers: The MoAD Story Project is an unprecedented effort by an international museum to collect, publish, and archive “first voice” narratives about people of African descent. In light of the recent devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina and its effect on the lives of thousands of African Americans, this project’s story-collecting mission takes on an even greater significance.

An international museum based in San Francisco, California USA, MoAD is scheduled to open in December 2005 and is poised to become one of the world’s pre-eminent cultural institutions. Unlike anything ever offered by a modern museum, I’ve Known Rivers: The MoAD Story Project will be similar in vision to the historic WPA Federal Writers’ Project (1936 -1940), which archived thousands of items, including essays, oral testimony, folklore, and authentic narratives of ex-slaves about life during slavery.

“We are excited about people everywhere sharing inspiring stories which explore our African roots,” said Emmy award winning journalist and MoAD Board President, Belva Davis. “These stories will create an international conversation about what it means for us as a global community to be connected to Africa.” International Call for Stories

MoAD has issued a global Call for Stories in an effort to collect, publish and archive authentic stories from throughout the African Diaspora. Stories should be submitted in the form of first-person essay, short fiction, and poem by published and unpublished writers as well as authentic voices from across the African Diaspora. Additionally, the stories must be related to MoAD’s four founding themes: origin, movement, adaptation, and transformation.

In partnership with User Logic and funded by the ATT Excelerator Grant, MoAD will begin publishing these selected stories on the museum web site starting Fall 2005 and continue leading up to MoAD’s grand opening in December 2005.

The most highly distinguished twenty-five stories from the entries submitted will be published online and considered for an inaugural hard cover book for the museum.

After the opening, the project will continue to collect and archive stories, creating one of the first international virtual archives of African Diaspora Stories by a modern museum. In addition, the I’ve Known Rivers: The MoAD Stories Project web site will serve as an online writer’s lab, providing the newest applications in instructional media to assist those in the general public to write their own African Diaspora stories.

It’s a great way to start the new year.

There will be more exciting times to come.

Things I wish I’d Known In My 20’s

I know I’ve asked people to comment and I appreciate those who have.
I didn’t put my list on here, because it’s a little more revealing than I like to do… but this is what this forum is for.
So, even though I totally don’t want to- I’m going to reveal.
What do I wish I’d known in my ‘20’s?

That things smell funny and it’s okay.
Things being your own body

That men are nasty and will do anything to get laid.

The weight that you used to lose in a week now takes months -even years-of concerted effort to lose.

Smoking stinks and it’s mad hard to quit.

Cocktails only get more delicious with time
Men don’t like to hear the truth
Shit, sometimes I don’t like to hear the truth
Friends leave
There’s no such thing as a grown up
You can save $100 a month and not spend it on shoes
There is such a thing as too many shoes.
Just because you sleep with a guy that you think is your friend… doesn’t mean he’s going to call
Mind blowing sex does not a relationship make
Sometimes, your best friends will abandon you
Most times your best friends will save your life in ways they’ll never know
Maybe your mother is really crazy- I mean really crazy
Siblings are God’s way of saying everything’s okay-or that you might be just as screwed up as them
You’ll still get crushes that will completely occupy your mind
You’ll still have pretend boyfriends/ girlfriends because you’re still too scared to say something to them.
Money comes and goes. Worrying about it doesn’t change it’s nature.
Don’t worry the money will come
You have to do a lot of work to get a lot of money
Freedom is worth more than money
Joy is worth more than money
Piece of mind is worth more than money
Doing what you love will always pay off
I don’t want to go to work everyday- damn.

Arghhh, and I still want to remove some…
So now there’s no excuse for not helping me out.

Just A Lousy Dime

“We want to leave early so that we can get in for free. So can you be ready by 9?”
“If I take a nap. I’m exhausted. I haven’t had time to sleep yet.”
“Well you know you have to go with us Minah. It’s your last night here. I haven’t seen you since graduation and now you’re flying off to Paris… I can’t even talk about it or I’ll start crying.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll go but have to start my nap now. It’s already 6 what time are you calling?”
“Okay, I’ll call you at 8.”
“That’s cool, I have to shave my legs so yeah, that’s cool. Eight o’clock.”
“I’m so happy you’re going.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later.”

Minah laid down with Miles Davis asking “So What” on his trumpet. She dozed off with visions of the Seine flowing through her mind, then the phone rang.
“You up?”
“What time is it? “
“Five after 8. I just finished cleaning up and I’m about to take my shower. We should be over there in about 1/2 hour. I’ll call first.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you in a little while.”
“Cool.”
Minah got up and turned on her light. The room was bare. Everything was packed except for some pictures she wanted to carry with her and her traveling clothes. She picked up a stack of pictures and started flipping through them. She stopped on a picture of herself with her “big brother”. Though they weren’t related by blood, they spoke everyday until she left for school. She hadn’t spoken to him in two years. Two years? Has it been that long Blueboy? She missed him, he always wanted to go to Paris. But pain kept her pride from giving in to fits of sentimental fancy. She’d accepted his flaky behavior as part of his character, but after that Christmas she couldn’t stand being stood up by him one more time.
The final straw had been her missing a party she’d planned because of him. Her car was being ravaged by the unnaturally cold Chicago winter. It was quite naturally cold for her, but her car was Japanese and still not used to the weather. So who else to call but her brother who only lived a few blocks away. She knew she was taking a chance, but she figured, Hey, we’re adults now and made the mistake, yet again, of depending on him. He called and told her he was on his way and she woke up the next morning in her bad-assed boots and a mini-dress in the recliner by the door. He called the next morning with some excuse she’d already heard and she hung up on him. He called periodically but she never spoke to him. She didn’t trust him. She had a couple of boyfriends who tried the same game. She had no tolerance for it and they got the same treatment. When they asked why she was “trippin’ so hard” she’d just say she had her reasons. She flipped to a picture of herself as a child standing in front of the window smiling and holding a little suitcase.
“Minah, sweetie, is your bag packed to go to your Dad’s?”
“Yes, I even put little Minah in there.”
She points to a brown yarn doll wearing a yellow sundress and black toe-shoes. “We’re dressed alike today, only I don’t’ have a bonnet and she doesn’t have on gloves.”
“Well you have a little while before your dad gets here. Do you want to watch some TV?”
“No thank you. I’d like to sit in the window and see him pull up so he can see I’m ready. We’re going to see the Muppet Movie and we can’t be late.”
“Okay baby.” her mother said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. As she did she stroked Minah’s cheek and looked lovingly at her daughter. She looked so much like her father it sometimes scared her. Please let him come this time. One of the few good things she believed about her ex-husband was that he loved Minah. Yet she knows he loved her when they were married but that didn’t stop him from disappointing her. She hoped he wouldn’t have the same relationship with Minah. As she walked back into the den, she looked at her daughter so little and vulnerable, then at the clock. He was already 20 minutes late.
Minah comes back to the present and puts the pictures down. On the top of the stack is the picture of her as that child. Ironic, she laughs to herself, as she pulls out a similar dress to wear on her last hurrah. As she jumps in the shower she throws in her favorite Jimi Hendrix CD and together they declare “there must be some kinda way outta here” as All Along the Watchtower begins reverberating through her empty apartment.
About ten “there must be some kinda way outta here”’s later she’s dressed and waited for her friends. She puts her wrap, purse and shoes by the door and sits in her living room smoking a cigarette and looking through more pictures. She runs across another one from the same day except it’s with her and her mother at Fun Town, the now defunct amusement part that was Chicago’s equivalent to Coney Island. She remembers waiting in that window for hours waiting on her father and running for the door every time a car started down her quiet street. She sat there until the phone rang and her mother came out of the den and told her that her dad wouldn’t be able to make it today and that he would come and take her out tomorrow. As soon as her mother finished telling her, Minah started crying. Her Mommy came and picked her up hugging her tightly to her.
“It’s not that bad Sweetie,” her mother said in that soothing Mommy voice. “You’ll see him tomorrow and you two will have a great time, you’ll see.”
“But why didn’t he come today? He promised,” she said through her tears. “What’s wrong with me? I look pretty today, don’t I ? Tomorrow I might not look as pretty. He promised. Why doesn’t he keep his promises?”
“Oh Baby,” her mother said with tears now in her eyes that she fought to keep out of her voice. “You look pretty as always and you’ll look just as pretty tomorrow. This isn’t your fault. You know your daddy loves you it’s just… well… it’s just that sometimes the things you may think are important he might not feel the same way about. And that’s not his fault. Now I’m not saying he should break his promises, that’s not right, you just have to make sure you tell him, or anybody else, how this makes you feel. Okay?”
“I guess so,” she said feeling better and not really understanding why.
But she understood why now. She couldn’t, then or now, cut her father off. But anyone else who pulled the same act got the boot. She sometimes explained why, and like with Blueboy, explained over and over again how she felt, other times it was just not worth her breath. She said in the beginning of all of her relationships if you can’t make it or are gong to be late, just call and tell her what’s going on. No big whoop. Just a thin quarter.
At 9:45 she slid on the jeans and tee-shirt she was going to wear tomorrow. She taped up the last of her boxes and started a book. Her friends called at 10:30 explaining but she didn’t answer. She was on the other line talking to her father. She wanted to see what time he was coming to pick her up for the airport in the morning- before she packed her phone.

Merry Christmas

Sure it’s late- but I get to do whatever I want here. I was sitting around watching TV while trying not to play Monopoly on games.com (completely addictive and I’m trying to get everybody hooked. There’s a movie like that… it’ll come to me.) So I sat with my notebook next to me and wrote what my limited attention span could muster. Now I share it with you:

The closer we get to Christmas, the shittier the gifts get. I mean a jar opener? Really? Do people consume the bulk of their nourishment from jarred foods? How many olives can you eat? A jar, can , bottle opener. Who needs this? Are we really this lazy?

Law & Order was really good when it came out. Razor sharp writing, exquisite timing, compelling characters on every side. Smart. Development of characters on all sides.

Okay. I said there was a dirth of mental activity on my part. I’ve been busy. Law & Order, the original and SVU, had marathons over the holidays; I was partying with my friends; Monopoly. Come on. That’s a ton.

I’m working on a story that I have to finish this week… I’ll see how that goes and share.

ok, ok…

I know it’s been a minute- but HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
I’ve been busy getting myself into trouble and avoiding my work like the plague. I’ve been writing, only not posting and that, my friends, is ending now.
It’s a new year and a new perspective on life. (BTW, anyone who wants to hire me for American dollars-or euros- give me a shout.)

So I’m now trying (again) to change my layout, but it appears that my master’s degree hasn’t prepared me for code harder than Chinese algebra.

Alas, I will share some of my newest thoughts, ideas, rants, stories and such within the coming week.

Oh, and I’m trying out the google ad business too…. but right now it appears that my open letter to MJ and the frequent references to Dubai have steered the ads in an interesting direction.

Open Letter to Michael Jackson

Dear Michael Jackson,
I’ve been needing talk to you for a long time… this is really difficult. Well, part of it is that I love you so and I don’t know what to do to help you. But I’ve got to tell you. YOU NEED HELP. Living in Dubai isn’t going to solve your problems, particularly if you don’t speak or read Arabic or understand the customs. (Although I’m sure it’s beautiful and will come visit you anytime.) You once told me you were going back to Indiana. I think that would be best.
Or, Maybe you should talk to Oprah. I’m sure she’ll talk to you. You can move into one of her complexes. She’ll call Lil’ Richard, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, and Dr. Phil. You guys will talk it out, eat some ribs or something. Work out whatever is making you CRAZIER THAN HELL. Excuse me. But I’m so frustrated right now because your behavior is affecting me adversely. I need to hear your voice. You have such a beautiful voice and it’s at the peak of it’s maturity. Just when I want to give up on you, you give me “Butterfly”. It’s beautiful. Your voice is beautiful.
Please stop being crazy. Let the bass come out in your speaking voice. Stop having slumber parties with little boys. Stop wearing sheila’s in Arab countries and going to ladies rooms. STOP BEING SO CRAZY.
We’ll discuss it more when we talk.

Love,
Charity

Arabian fright: Ladies’
rest room hi-Jacko’d

BY MICHELLE CARUSO
DAILY NEWS WEST COAST BUREAU CHIEF

Jacko’s blushing – and this time it’s not just his rouge.
The Queen, er, King of Pop, disguised in an Arabic woman’s head scarf, got caught fixing his face in a ladies’ bathroom in a Dubai shopping mall Saturday.
Cops were called to the scene to resolve a dispute between Jackson, 47, and a shocked Tunisian woman who snapped his picture as he primped at the mirror. No arrests were made, according to The Khaleej Times.
Maybe the wigged-one couldn’t read the Arabic word for “women” on the rest room door, or maybe he chose the ladies’ lounge rather than risk powdering his cheeks in a Middle Eastern men’s room.
Dubai Police Col. Abdul Jalil Mehdi said he believed the pop star made an “innocent mistake” in using the ladies’ loo, the Times said
Mehdi did not comment on Jackson’s choice of head-wear – the traditional Emerati women’s scarf known as “Sheila.”
A 37-year-old teacher, identified as Latifa M., “screamed in shock and ran out of the ladies room” in the Ibn Battuta Mall when she realized Jackson was a man, the Times said.
But the school-marm shutterbug went back and snapped some pictures of the pop star with her cell phone camera.
Jackson chased after the woman and demanded the photos. She refused and asked for “compensation,” the Times said.
The ruckus attracted cops, who told the teacher her demand for money was illegal. The photos were “erased,” the Times said.
Jackson has been living in Bahrain as a guest of the royal family since his acquittal on child molestation charges last summer. He recently purchased a secluded $1.5 million property in the Amwaj Islands and plans to make his home there, according to reports.
In the U.S., Jackson’s official Web site, MJJSource.com, is down. His longtime friend and makeup artist Karen Faye posted a note to fans saying the site “is down because we have had no cooperation with Michael and his present team. … We were Michael’s voice, but if he doesn’t wish to speak or pay his bills for MJJSource, there is nothing we can do.”

Okay, now it’s your turn

I’d like to get comments answering the questions:
What are some things you wish you knew in your 20’s?

barbeque 4 dane

my best friend left me and broke my heart years ago.
i had a slight nervous breakdown.
she’s reconnected and i don’t know what to say
she said she’d read my blog.
she broke my heart.
but this was one of her favorite poems….

BARBEQUE

I’m drowning in a sea of skulls
While Adam’s ameoba looks
for that lost rib.
Am I missing one too?
Not unless I want to be a pop
star with a smaller waist.
Maybe I should sit up 200 times
a day, but I might get bed sores.
Besides, there must be enough
room for people to live inside of
my body and suckle at my udders
while my ass becomes roast for
Oprah’s Texas cattlemen. Yee Haa!

The End

so I’ve put my entire thesis on here now (w/o works cited…if anyone cares for them let me know- i’ll send them to you). I’ve been reading it here and i’ve gotta say… it ain’t half bad. actually it’s pretty good. big ups to me and my friends who helped me do it. but i do welcome any comments