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

This girl sounds like a pompous ass…wait…

I guess I wrote this in my useless Media Crit class in grad school while applying for some fellowship. That teacher was terrible and we approached our Dean about it. Then, for a whole uncomfortable HOUR AND A HALF the teacher wanted to ‘talk’ to us about what’s wrong and then started to cry. That cost me $2500 and I didn’t get the fellowship, obviously.

Enjoy:

Charity A. Thomas was born in Washington D.C. and raised on the southside of Chicago. She attended The University of Chicago Laboratory High School where she was an award winning television columnist on the U-High Midway and she discovered her passion for the media and writing. After graduating from Howard University with a BA in Radio/TV/Film (film major/ theater minor), with a semester at Columbia University in New York, she moved back to New York and began working in film production. She worked the grueling hours on idiotic music videos as a production assistant, production coordinator, production manager, wardrobe assistant, 2nd 2nd AD, and make-up “girl”, before settling on being The Art Department Coordinator (caps intentional) on commercials (and the occasional music video because her money tree has yet to come into full bloom).

In 2001, after her roommate and best friend joined a cult leaving her with a multitude of bills during a slow production period, Charity decided to begin graduate school. She expects to graduate in May 2003 with a Masters in Media Studies. With that degree she will become a media critic and the voice of the pseudo disenfranchised group- thinkers. In between all of this excitement, she writes. She’s an eccentric poet (published in AIM Magazine and various small friend run endeavors), an apocalyptic playwright, a brilliant essayist, and… a screenwriter. She’s sure there are going to be very professional, even scholarly, biographies submitted to this fellowship program and in being true to a promise she made herself… is going to write this “biography” as she feels it. She’s completely aware that this might cost her the fellowship… but that’s life. This is how she writes. She’s honest and true. She believes her purpose is to illuminate truth. Writing is the way she does that. It is her catharsis and she still believes that when you do what you love… the truth of it comes out. She wants to participate in this fellowship to attempt to find an outlet to let her voice be heard. She’s very appreciative of the opportunity and doesn’t want to appear flippant, but as arrogant and vain as she is… she’s not too big on shameless self promotion. She believes the work will find it’s way to the right people at the right time and it says more about her than any “biography” could. She’s a Leo who loves yoga (both physically and spiritually), reading, listening to jazz, shamelessly promoting her friends artistic endeavors and she hates referring to herself as “she”.

Jesus, what a tool! No wonder I’m sitting here with no fucking money. Blurg.

Link

cheeskisrantsandraves:

i’m standing in times square, in front of 1515 broadway, watching kanye west’s video for “gold digger” on a crystal clear movie theater sized screen in gorgeous HD. the video show beautiful, sexy, shiny, thin half dressed black women done up like pin-up girls. jamie foxx and kanye are just…

Really?!

Charity, how is it that you’re so witty and cute?

Thanks for that question, I get it all the time.  It has a lot to do with genes. I often joke that I’m just in charge of the maintenance.  LOL.  I also have a joie de vivre that comes through I think.  

Only God Forgives Review w/ Ndlela Nkobi

Film Review: Only God Forgives (Dir: Nicolas Winding Refn) /w Charity Thomas | ndlela.com

This movie was bullshit.  But we keep having fun.

Two Poems by Charity Thomas | Word Riot

cheeskisrantsandraves:

See on Scoop.itWomen

Charity Thomas’s insight:

I’d totally forgotten about this.  I mean, TOTALLY!

See on wordriot.org

What Women Wrote To Michelle Obama | KPBS.org

cheeskisrantsandraves:

See on Scoop.itWomen
image

An audience of mostly women gathered at the 10th Avenue Theater last night to hear a staged reading of letters written to Michelle Obama by African American women from all over the world.

Charity Thomas’s insight:

What?!  A staged reading!  What?!!!!  Well who read mine?  Or Manda’s?

See on kpbs.org

Gentrification Blues #3

This weekend was hot. It was the official beginning of summer. I barely left my house. When I did I was again confronted with the changes in my neighborhood. It’s like the rats on a ship or roaches in the dark metaphor. Into the blinding sunlight and mildly scorching heat came the ghostly bodies of my new neighbors. Mouth dryingly pale and still without manners. It’s going to be a fun summer. I love sitting on the stairs of the library, now known as my office, and having to stare down the Park Sloper with the baby crying because it’s hot and mommy can’t take it in the library SCREAMING like that to cool it off or leave because she’s got a great spot to get some sun on her legs.

So here I am sitting alone listening to my iPod scribbling furiously on the stupid story I’ve been hacking away at, I mean writing, for like 2 years now…. “Sorry, what? No, no one’s sitting there.” What could I say? No one was sitting there. I wasn’t prepared to act crazy and have imaginary friends. So down she sits and my table’s perfectly placed for two ways to get sun and put the baby under the umbrella. The screaming baby. The baby screaming so loud that my Erik Satie makes my head hurt and hands shake cause it’s too loud and grating. I stare at the mother who apologizes profusely, but what am I supposed to say? “I accept your apology, but it would be better if you took your SCREAMING MONKEY home.”

She started doing all the things mothers do to make their children shut up, to no avail. I start shifting. I’m already hot and uncomfortable and writing outside and feel weird. How do I describe how I felt with the future sitting there raising hell and a mother who kinda didn’t give a shit. (Now, let me say that I have friends with kids and I know it’s a tough job and adults don’t want to be cooped up with kids all day. But I also know that that’s why I don’t have kids and really resent being subjected to other peoples problems.)

I guess it’s just that I’m seeing something more and more that disturbs me about this neighborhood I love so much. Too many babies. When I’m dictator, I’m putting a moratorium on procreating in Prospect Heights. Go to Queens to fuck up your kids.

Barbeque

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 Time

The time is so short

Much like Herve Villachez

But not as severe

Maybe it is

It bites your knees too

Rockets don’t move fast enough

For the movements of the symphony

Yet we’re trapped inside the music

The notes locks us to this alleged reality

Releasing our souls to the next ethereal plane

While our bodies rot in this mortal shell

Expiring

Expired

like the milk they feed us

Because it’s for baby cows

Not for baby humans

Yet we refuse to believe that it’s

Killing us

And making us weak and fat

We capitalists are executing our purpose

Not dying steadily and constantly

An unnatural death of consumerism

Fueled by the light from the box that tells

The truth resting comfortably in the lies

It has grown to love

And we fight time

As if it’s our enemy

Instead of our teacher

Full of infinite wisdom

We’ve been told time and time again

From Charlamayne to Baldwin how it goes

And we as infinitely arrogant beings

Refuse to believe it

But whether we do or not

Time doesn’t care

And the lines around our smiles

Become our passport to our own destruction

While leading us to the ways of the past

Time laughs

At our arrogance and trepidation

And our race is lost

For by the time we understand the truth

We’re too old to do anything about it.

Ahh, sweet youth.

We certainly do shake it fast.

12/07/00

Love, Sex and Magic? I don’t think so…by any stretch of the imagination

Today a friend of mine posted an article on Facebook asking why Justin Timberlake gets a pass to degrade black women. They were referring to his, rather Ciara’s new video for a song featuring JT. There were a lot of comments to the article about how he threw Janet under a bus during “Nipplegate”, but I’m on board with the commenter’s who asked “why would Ciara do this?”

I know, it’s a chicken/ egg question for the ages. They’re performers, artists, businesses. JT is like vocal gold in a landscape riddled with weak voices and fueled more by personal scandals than talent. I totally dig that. But it is the 21st century. Maybe she should read this and she wouldn’t be so quick to let some white dude, literally, yank her chain. Wasn’t she the dancing queen a few years ago when she was part of Missy’s crew?

I’ve gone on and on about black female sexuality and film, so all I can say right now is: Really?

Is this really a video today? Are we so willfully ignorant about our own history that we find this acceptable? I’m sick of blaming other people for our own lack of love and respect for ourselves. It’s a tired Civil Rights movement mentality. This young woman was told the concept and performed the video. She’s the one crawling all over this man (white or black) apparently desperate for his attention that only her body and sex can get her. Her “lyrics” are equally as needy and a plea for him to fall in love with her while having sex with her. I guess that’s the part that really disgusts me. A whole generation of young (and not so youthful) women believing that having “mad skills” in the bed will make a man “fall in love”. (Whatever that means to them.)

The theory is that all these gyrations are the thing that will build a lasting loving relationship. Having been on both that young once and the older cynic that I am now, it’s depressing. It’s depressing because I have all these words for it, but it incites in me such a visceral reaction I just start yelling “stop acting like a slut, you’re fucking it up for all of us!!!!” And even if I said that, I’d be shouting at the wind. How can I tell these girls that shaking your booty to the detriment of your mind and self worth won’t get you love? Every other piece of media tells them the exact opposite.

They don’t want to sit around reading stuffy Sterling Brown or hear about Jezebel and her role in their oppression. Shit, they just want to look cute and get some numbers. I dig that. I’ve been there and still go there occasionally. But what I really want to say to them is that they’re worth more than that.

When I was in my early 20’s I worked on a video for Lil’ Kim, “Crush on You”, I was still just a Production Assistant (PA) and was therefore at the bottom of the production food chain. There were a lot of hip hop celebrities around cause Biggie was there and his album was dropping in 2 weeks. Luke had come with his entourage of ladies in sheer dresses with thongs on that beautiful 10 degree day in February. At some point in the 26 hour shoot day, I see a guy grab one of the dancers butt. He just walked up to her and grabbed it. I went up to her and asked if she knew him. She said “No, but he’s one of Mase’s boys”. I didn’t, then, know what a Mase was (nobody did- or would if Biggie had lived I think) and told her he didn’t have the right to touch her like that. She just giggled, repeated the same line, and walked away with him. I was furious. I went in the corner and wrote some moody poem about pain and there being no art there.

As the girl PA, I was especially conscience of my own sexuality because of the sexual attention I garnered from the hip hop dudes whose videos paid my rent. God forbid I should show up in clothes that showed my hot young body, cause they’d try the same thing with me. I remember one rapper (who will remain anonymous because I can’t remember who he was- one hit wonder I think) who couldn’t understand why I wasn’t lapping up his attentions. I was at work and so was he, I told him. His attention, though flattering, was inappropriate. The dancer girls called me a fool. He was rich (only he’s not now, I’m sure) and why wouldn’t I want to go out with a rapper? Cause he’s stupid, and arrogant, and shallow, and not a very good rapper. They thought I was stupid.

But the most important thing was, I didn’t like him and didn’t have to like him just because he found me attractive. I’m not on the slave block. And it’s not that I haven’t fallen into the trap and tried to “learn to like someone” who liked me. But it’s still a more intellectual exercise with an appropriate and seemingly compatible person than me humping the air so they can see how good a lay I am.

I just think more of myself. I think more of my mind than my body, because that’s what I’ve EARNED.  I thought I’d look like that forever too. But I don’t now, I look better. You can tell I read too much when you talk to me and that weeds out the riff-raff interested more in my rack than my spin on Foucault. When I tell young girls that their minds are their greatest asset, they look at me like I just farted out of my mouth. So what do you do about Justin Timberlake sexually degrading interactions with black women? Let him not find any black women to sexually degrade… that should be a cinch right? Maybe we can get Michelle Obama to help.