Category Archives: Uncategorized

PISSED

My name is Charity Thomas and I’m coming out as a broke and angry 38 year old black woman.  It’s taken me a long time to write those words but it’s true.  I’d turned that anger in on myself and have been depressed for a very long time because I was ashamed.  Ashamed of being a stereotype.  Ashamed that maybe I wasn’t working hard enough to get a job (which for a while I wasn’t because the rejection was destroying my spirit).  Selling and liquidating all of the money I’d tucked away over the years.  Selling the life insurance policies that were bought for me when I was born by my sharecropping great grandparents.  Ashamed that all my education had lead me to have to consider food stamps. Ashamed that I chose to follow a passion and followed it half-heartedly.  Ashamed that I couldn’t even get server jobs because I’d never worked in service and felt that I was too old, too fat, too black with only one ACL to stand for 8 hours.   Ashamed that I didn’t have skills I didn’t ever think I’d need or want.

But the shame stops here.  I know I’m not the only one.  And keeping this to myself is isolating.  Because now I’m angry.  I’m angry and I want to use my anger for change.  I’m not even sure what kind of change yet, but I know I’m going to tell the story of change.  From being a debutante to using change to buy food on some days.

I know I could have done better with my money, but I didn’t.  I got a computer so I could keep up with the changes in my industry (film, a whole other can of worms) that now require faster speeds. I got a camera so I could maybe make some web videos and start a channel with some friends so we could at least do our artistic thing. I still drank when I could and started rolling my own cigarettes (another broke/ health shame, but the truth). My friends will come by and feed and water me, but then I’d start to feel guilty about that. 

I’ve been freelance my whole life and figured it was just slow for me.  But I worked one job in 2012 and that was in November/December.  The damage was done.  And my self-worth was wrecked.  My story revolved around my poverty.  But it also included my self-examinations.  I did a lot of soul searching in that time and I am blessed to have a therapist who didn’t desert me when I went broke.  It is forcing me to re-evaluate who I am and how I value myself every single day.  And I’m learning. And today I learned that I AM PISSED! 

PISSED at a systematic breakdown of my nation.  Pissed at the cruelty of those elected to serve but only belittle.  People we PAY a lot of money, but not as much as corporations.  I’m pissed that corporations are people.  I’m pissed that we are still having conversations about blacks that plays in to centuries old stereotypes that I have also swallowed despite my knowing better.  I’m pissed that I did that. 

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I want to tell the truth and the truth is I’m scared.  I’m scared that I might get sucked into a system that I’ll never get out of.  That no matter how many times I do my resume or how ever many I send out will never be enough.  I’m afraid of this being the new normal.  And I don’t want to take it lying down.  I don’t know what’ll come of this, but this is what I had to do today.

The IRS Is Serious

I’ve got a few tax things I need to take care of.  So I decided to share some of my favorite parts of what’s taxable.  These are from the IRS in the “Miscellaneous Income”:

Bribes.   If you receive a bribe, include it in your income.

-Really?  You can just say that?

 

Foreign currency transactions.   If you have a gain on a personal foreign currency transaction because of changes in exchange rates, you do not have to include that gain in your income unless it is more than $200. If the gain is more than $200, report it as a capital gain.

Exchange rates can be some real bullshit.

 

Hobby losses.   Losses from a hobby are not deductible from other income. A hobby is an activity from which you do not expect to make a profit. See Activity not for profit , earlier, under Other Income.

  

Description: http://www.irs.gov/publications/images/caution.gif

If you collect stamps, coins, or other items as a hobby for recreation and pleasure, and you sell any of the items, your gain is taxable as a capital gain. However, if you sell items from your collection at a loss, you cannot deduct the loss.

-That little caution sign is disturbing.

-Wait a minute, if I make money, then I have to claim that.  But if I lose money, oh well.

Holocaust victims restitution.   Restitution payments you receive as a Holocaust victim (or the heir of a Holocaust victim) and interest earned on the payments are not taxable. Excludable interest is earned by escrow accounts or settlement funds established for holding funds prior to the settlement. You also do not include the restitution payments and interest the funds earned prior to disbursement in any computations in which you ordinarily would add excludable income to your adjusted gross income, such as the computation to determine the taxable part of social security benefits. If the payments are made in property, your basis in the property is its fair market value when you receive it.

  Excludable restitution payments are payments or distributions made by any country or any other entity because of persecution of an individual on the basis of race, religion, physical or mental disability, or sexual orientation by Nazi Germany, any other Axis regime, or any other Nazi-controlled or Nazi-allied country, whether the payments are made under a law or as a result of a legal action. They include compensation or reparation for property losses resulting from Nazi persecution, including proceeds under insurance policies issued before and during World War II by European insurance companies.

-That makes sense.

Illegal activities.   Income from illegal activities, such as money from dealing illegal drugs, must be included in your income on Form 1040, line 21, or on Schedule C or Schedule C-EZ (Form 1040) if from your self-employment activity.

-Wait what?  You can just say that? The IRS is the agency that actually got Al Capone locked up.

Pulitzer, Nobel, and similar prizes.   If you were awarded a prize in recognition of accomplishments in religious, charitable, scientific, artistic, educational, literary, or civic fields, you generally must include the value of the prize in your income. However, you do not include this prize in your income if you meet all of the following requirements.

1.     You were selected without any action on your part to enter the contest or proceeding.

2.     You are not required to perform substantial future services as a condition for receiving the prize or award.

3.     The prize or award is transferred by the payer directly to a governmental unit or tax-exempt charitable organization as designated by you. The following conditions apply to the transfer.

a.     You cannot use the prize or award before it is transferred.

b.     You should provide the designation before the prize or award is presented to prevent a disqualifying use. The designation should contain:

                                           i.         The purpose of the designation by making a reference to section 74(b)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code,

                                          ii.         A description of the prize or award,

                                         iii.         The name and address of the organization to receive the prize or award,

                                        iv.         Your name, address, and taxpayer identification number, and

                                         v.         Your signature and the date signed.

c.     In the case of an unexpected presentation, you must return the prize or award before using it (or spending, depositing, investing it, etc., in the case of money) and then prepare the statement as described in (b).

d.     After the transfer, you should receive from the payer a written response stating when and to whom the designated amounts were transferred.

-Wait, so you get to keep it, right?  I mean…it is the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.  That’s such a specific one, right?  I’d hate to have to think about the Taxman taking my Pulitzer money.

Rewards.   If you receive a reward for providing information, include it in your income.

-Damn, Taxman don’t play!

Link

My friend Susan has a show I’m going to try to attend if I can.

Meeting of the Minds

District 9

Take every film genre, or more specifically- every summer blockbuster genre, throw it in a blender and have Peter Jackson produce it and you’ll realize you’ve already seen District 9.

I was making a list of the styles:

  • documentary
  • aliens la “Aliens” a la The Fly
  • transfomations a la “The Fly”
  • firefights with big assed guns: see summer blockbusters
  • the alien buddy movie

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

Note: Originally published 24 Mar 09

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 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 that, 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.

This is so bad

One of my love brothers died. As an only child, I adopt people I wish were related to me. Mary grew into a stellar blood component of my immediate family and that’s a treat. But I didn’t get Mae for 13 years after I’d developed this particular habit.

Here in NY, after B and Dane left, I only had Carl and he’s harder to catch than rabies. When the bar opened downstairs I got another bit of family that rescued me from my loneliness. Then, in 2007, the universe gave me 2 new brothers. T & Cakes. I remember telling Cakes about some wack nigga business and him being all “you know we’ve only known each other for a few months, right? And you’re blowing that nigga’s spot up.” My response was “uh un. Remember when we were in grade school and…” That’s how I felt. Like I’d known him forever. We’d just been separated. And w/T, who’d graduated from Howard the same day as me, it was easy. We had the same language. 

And to watch the two of them was to watch two men who loved and respected each other be able to demonstrate their love and respect. I’d just watch them laughing and hugging (T’s a big hugger) and smile. I love watching black men demonstratively love. 

I learned that my heart brother died. It was last Thursday and it’s been a whirlwind every since. I’ve barely been alone and when I am I just stare blankly at things. My current drug of choice is Law & Order. The original, cause I can’t deal with SVU right now. It’s comforting. I’m all about comfort right now.

I made my therapist cry yesterday. That’s cause he knows how much Cakes meant to me. He was my writing soulmate and hero. He was the coolest and you can hear his voice in every word he writes. 

That’s all I can do for now. I’ve got to take a shower and deal with one of the worst days I’ve had yet. Tonight is his memorial service and every time anyone hugs me they pour their sorrow into me. I’m exhausted and this is just the beginning.

This whole thing’s gonna change

I get so intimidated reading other people’s TV/Film type blogs. They’re so organized. I don’t always have something to say about every show I see. I watch way too much TV for that. So, from now on, I’m just going to write what the fuck I want to on here. I’m not monetized or anything and if someone wants to follow or comment, so be it. 

So here are my new favorite shows in no particular order:

Top Chef All Stars: My boyfriends Spike and Fabio are gone, but Carla’s still there and that pleases me. I also think I’m a little hooked because I’ve decided Padma looks and acts like my mom. So pretty.

Good Wife: As my friend Tanisha and I say “Good Wife Good”. It is. It’s an adult show with adult people and adult problems. Even the kids have adult problems and that’s like 1000% better than most alleged network dramas.

Damages: I know it’s not new yet, but I’m reliving it with a padawan and it’s fun to see it through new eyes. Since I’ve seen all of them I get to see how strong the storylines are and how well they have been followed. The character development is complex (even Rose Byrne impresses me with her Keanu Reeves style of acting). 

RuPaul’s Drag Race: Well, duh and/or hello. No explanation needed. Drag queens competing. RuPaul. Every show should be this good.

Archer: I had something for this. It’s one of the most fucked up 1/2h going. And many of my new catchphrases come from it [see duh and/or hello above].

*tiny, tiny writing* Vampire Diaries: Leave the 17 year old girl inside me alone. It’s not her fault. Boone from Lost is on it and she loves Boone. Get over yourselves. And it’s what I watch with my little sister (and a few select adult friends). 

SUPERNATURAL: I have no shame in my love of Dean. I love him. I love him. I love him. But I’ve always had a soft spot for a bowlegged man. The angels, demons, monsters, Lucifer (Jacob from Lost), Death…I mean really. What’s there to not like? Before I watched it and saw the commercials I’d get mad that I’d wasted time on that fucking Heroes and had missed the beginning of Supernatural. I’d say “man, that show looks good” and I had no idea what I’d been missing. And it’s all meta. It makes me feel like my masters in media studies wasn’t a waste. (Though daily the job market insures me it was.)

30 Rock: For all the obvious reasons. It makes me miss going to work sometimes too.

My Heart is Broken

This is one of my favorites from Cakes:

Monday, June 02, 2008
bloody knuckles

i got into a fight.

it was in front of the bar. it started out as an innocent confrontation that turned into a shoving match which then mutated into a beat down and finally evolved into an all out brawl. i dont think i started it, but i guess, in a way, i did.

it all started with a cigarette, or more to the point, my desire for one. i was at the bar having an animated conversation with my friend CT when the very familiar urge to inhale nicotine swept through us both. we put napkins on our drinks and headed towards the door. no one was fighting yet.

the door opens outward and in front of it, preventing our exit, was a kid, about 20 years old, shirtless and in sagging shorts, pushing a girl around his age into the door. it looked as if they were playing – one of those aggressive, sexual games that involve a lot of contact – and i just said to them, “you cant do that here, you have to move out of the doorway.”

thats when the kid freaked out. i dont know what his problem was, maybe he and the girl werent playing, and he was really angry at something she had done. maybe he misheard me and thought i’d actually said, “i fucked your mother.” maybe he had taken some bad steroids and they’d just kicked in. maybe he has father issues and i look just too damned similar. i dont know what it was, but the kid was furious.

he’s screaming at me unintelligibly. angry, hateful gibberish that im sure we have all spouted off at one time or another. at first im kind of shocked, then confused. remember, i’d initially figured he and the girl were just having fun, so the change was so sudden it seemed like i had hit some dreadful switch in his psyche that indicated BRING THE PAIN. i had to stare at him a moment and gather if he was serious or not. i’m not a small man, and although he had his shirt off and could act extremely peeved, i wasnt as afraid of him as i was bemused.

he was pushing up against me with his chest, a torrent of curses and challenges roaring from his mouth to my face. i pushed him away from me and i think said something to the effect of, “you better back up off of me kid.” he didnt. his tirade just grew in fury. he was pushing me, still wild and screaming. i stared at him a second, hoping maybe he would calm down. he didnt. he pushed me a few more times. i waited for him to throw a punch but then he just pushed me again.

so i socked him in the jaw.

the next two seconds were long and somewhat dramatic. the first second was filled with us looking at each other. he looked confused that i had hit him and i looked confused that he looked so confused. the next second was filled with a gasp. then someone said “ooooh.”

then they were upon me.

the rising sounds of grunts and yells swelled in the street. voices heading my way. an army of growls. i look and see about ten kids storming my way. fist clenched. all baggy clothes and screwed up faces. a herd of angry teenagers barreling straight towards me. thats when i think “ok, im gonna get my ass kicked. i better just brace myself for it.”

i move from the doorway so as not to be trapped. i push someone, i dont know who, away from me, and three kids are already at me. i cant remember if they are punching or shoving or what. i see a long arm come at me from over the top them and it connects with my temple. there is that ringing white light you see and hear when getting hit hard. more yelling. hands everywhere. i’m pushing people away. shoving. not throwing punches, trying to keep my arms close to protect myself. more kids are on me. fist rain down on my head and body. my shoulder slams against a wall. i continued shoving and pushing, keeping my arms close. my friend Griddy comes from no where and punches a guy whose hand is clawing for my face, connecting squarely with his jaw. i see the kid crumble a bit. then half the kids go for Griddy. then im backed in a door way with 5-7 kids on me and im pushing them away. someone is pulling kids off of me and someone is saying whoa! whoa! whoa! and arms are flailing everywhere. it is pandemonium.

there is a small moment of calm while everyone assesses the situation. i am in front of a door and three kids are in front of me. one of them being the kid i hit. he makes his approach and then a foot flies from no where and kicks him back. i wonder where it came from and i realize im standing behind CT, towering so far above her i dont even realize shes in front of me. she says, “you better get back!” and the kid steps back. i just stand behind her, waiting, when i see some guy on the ground getting kicked. its Griddy. so i race over there and start pushing kids off of him and lift him from the ground. he is a little hurt but he stands firm, adrenaline firing on all cylinders. fist still clenched. we look around, prepared, but the kids then scatter. all of them. they leave. up the block. under cars. behind bushes in the shadows. suddenly they are gone.

the police come and ask questions. my hand is bleeding where i split my knuckle. i tell them what happened and we all just shrug our shoulders and say, “kids.” i go back in the bar and we talk more about what happened over whiskey shots and beer and cigarettes. a complex rush of violence, fear, and testosterone shivers through me. i ask myself over and over weather or not i should have hit the kid but can only come to one conclusion: what else could i have done?

now i have to be wary of the neighborhood i work in, which is unnerving to say the least.

posted by -jkg at 5:16 PM