tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81870569603739853272024-02-20T10:47:16.369-08:00The Open Letter ChroniclesThe Open Letter Chronicles records the written letters of Kansas born actor/writer MDW and the social and often comical commentary of her everyday life experiences in Los Angeles. "Enjoy. I hope you laugh or at least smile."MDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-72695894725523210412018-06-27T18:17:00.004-07:002023-10-13T16:59:59.030-07:00Dear Brown Brotha/Sistah ImmigrantDear Brown Brotha/Sistah immigrant dealing with this fuckery of
racism and separating families.<br />
(To ALL immigrants in general but to my
brown brothas and sistahs in particular.)<div><br />
I am with you. I AM with you.
HOLD ON. They did the same to us (the Africans, the Blacks, the
Negroes, the slaves,) knowing the recovery from this kind of separation
takes centuries to overcome. HOLD ON. I understand that this is not the Dream you had when you risked your life to live on land t<span class="text_exposed_show">hat you occupied before we took it in war. You have come home and are no longer welcome it seems, but HOLD ON. Some of us are waiting for YOU. I AM WAITING for YOU. They did the same to us so I know the outcome. So do they. They are afraid you will survive just like we did; you will thrive-just like we do. They know this, so please HOLD ON. They see how great you are in spite of what they have left for you. HOLD ON. I AM WAITING FOR YOU. I am your American sistah and I AM WAITING for YOU. But You must HOLD ON<br /> </span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show">MDW </span></div>MDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-89792762466072811252018-06-05T13:31:00.000-07:002018-06-27T16:05:10.565-07:00Dear Apathetic Americans Too Lazy To Vote in Local ElectionsDear Apathetic Americans Too Lazy to Vote in Local Elections,<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Voting to is kind of like exercise. You know it's good for you and sometimes you are disappointed in the results. With exercise, if you keep at it things will eventually change for the better. It's the same with voting. Having said that I hope you exercise your right to VOTE TODAY and in every election as I have. Now I'm off to exercise and hope to see positive change in my thighs. (she sighs and pushes through as her thighs burn. she mumbles the lyrics, ♫it's been a long time but I know a change is gonna come.♫) Good day sirs and madams. GO VOTE!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">MDW</span>MDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-35582741813096346912018-04-17T19:57:00.000-07:002018-06-27T16:13:25.590-07:00Dear I'm Not Ready For A RelationshipDear I'm Not Ready For A Relationship,<br />
<br />
Too late. You meet someone. You are attracted to them for whatever reason. You exchange personal information with them. Spend your free time with them. Call them late in the night and tell them your secrets. Call them when you get a break from work. Call them when you don't really have time but just because you want to hear their voice. Hold hands in public. Make them dinner. Eat from the same utensils. Share your food, your body, your ideas. Introduce them to your parents, your friends, your co-workers. Guess what? YOU ARE IN A RELATIONSHIP. You don't prepare for it. It just happens. I am sure all the people in your life you call friend are not in your life because of some calculated move or pre-meditated plan on your part. You met, you clicked , you consistently keep in touch, you're friends. You have a relationship with them. Same goes for that man or woman you met and wanted to get to know better. The "getting to know you better" part is how it all starts. Don't use that line if you know you are not ready to be in a relationship with that person. That line screams relationship of some kind.<br />
<br />
Now, be honest. You are ready for relationships. You are simply bored of the person you formed the relationship with and now you want to bail. It happens. That's when you say something like, "this is not working for me" or "I don't want to be with you" or even get hard core and just say "I'M OUT". Those lines work. They may hurt but they are simple, honest and there's no gray area. Saying, "I'm not ready for a relationship" after being in a person's life for months or years is confusing and in some cases may cause you bodily harm. That's what you say to yourself BEFORE you spend time to get to know somebody better. I know what you are thinking but don't worry about whether or not everybody will label you as a cowardly ass, because they will. They do. And you are. And it's okay. That's how we learn.<br />
<br />
BOTTOM LINE: You don't GET READY for a relationship. You GET READY FOR THE PROM!<br />
<br />
MDWMDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-37345090426271243172018-03-02T15:00:00.000-08:002018-06-27T16:12:15.866-07:00Dear Producer Who Asked Me What I Need From TheatreI need you to sell me truth, or even a lie. I want to go home and believe that I made a great purchase. So great that I want to tell all of my friends and my friends' friends to go out and buy it, a ticket that is. I want to see ME drafted into a world of possibility;my IMAGE, my CULTURE, MY VOICE. I want to BELIEVE, judge, discuss, laugh, maybe even shed a tear or two; happy tears and sympathetic ones. I want you to TEACH me something I don't already know about the world. Yes, I want to LEARN; walk away with a sense that I've learned something new, about myself, about others. I want to maybe even disagree. I want to debate and have no one come out a winner. I wan to hear your opinion. Show me the same shit in a different way. Yeah, that's it- SAME SHIT, DIFFERENT WAY. I want MAGIC-magic that I know can only exist in the theatre. I want to believe for two hours or so that it's all real. Make it real-the grass, the set, the backdrops, projections. Take me on a roller coaster ride with fake sets, and lights and period costumes and invoke real emotion from me. I want to FEEL, I want to BELIEVE. I want to DISAGREE. I want to feel like I know the characters; to believe that they really breath and have opinions even though I know they are all made up; created from the soul of some passionate writer. PASSION. I want to QUESTION my morals, my values, my judgements- all of that in 2 hours. I think that's it, in a nutshell. Yep, that's what I want for my ticket...and free parking. MDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-12715529107293131832018-02-02T13:26:00.001-08:002023-05-27T18:53:29.452-07:00Dear Taco Truck Stationed In The Car Wash Lot On Vermont AveThere is no other way to say it but to just come out and say it, I think I love you. The way you stealthily back into the car wash parking lot around 6:30pm; just after the last over-priced Lexus has been spot wiped. Your huge, boxy frame gliding on 4 wheels arrives, like a Prius, barely making a sound and sitting high above the rest. You are a SEXY BEAST. And I admire the way you stay grounded by strategically placing wedged blocks of wood behind each tire. You can't be too careful. We don't want you to roll away. And the people who steer your orange and red steel frame filled with meat and tortillas are the best. You're parked now and that's when the ceremony begins: the lowering of the canopy. Removing all the white plastic fold up chairs and card tables from your carriage and placing them on the wet sudsy lot; one long row of chairs and then four at each table. You like to keep it simple; no frills- using natural light for the table at first and then street lights after dark to set the mood. But do we really need the extra light with the neon glow that permeates from you when you hook up the generator? The flashing ticker tape sign and the 2 flat screen TV's that blast Telemundo and Univision are all the light we need. But the best part is the rolling condiments bar, complete with sneeze guard; filled with fresh cut salsa and limes and cilantro and radishes and cucumbers and onions each having their own metal tongs. You even supply us with napkins and tiny plastic bags if we decide to dine at home. You have thought of everything. You look in my eyes and ask for my order in English. I answer,"carne asada or dos pollo." You give me the "nice try" smile because my Spanish is horrible. You gently hand me my number then I wait to be called. I wait in line behind countless others of all races: Korean, Nigerian, Hispanic, Black, White, all salivating for your delicious food. But you do more than feed us. You unite us. We are all equal under your salsa stained canopy each hovering over the condiments bar getting our part of your perfectly seasoned, chopped, grilled heaven that you have promised us. And there is plenty for everyone. As it should be. You are one of the things I am proud of in America. Hmm,a thought... The United Colors of Taco Stands. It should be a movement and you should lead. And that's why I love you Taco Truck Stationed In The Car Wash Lot On Vermont Ave. Until tomorrow evening... MDWMDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-77401412908478084502017-12-15T11:41:00.000-08:002018-06-27T16:16:53.789-07:00Dear Postal Worker Donning 3 Inch Electric Blue Press On NailsDear Postal Worker Donning 3 Inch Electric Blue Press On Nails,<br />
<br />
I miss you. The monotone way you say, "next person in line." Your deadpan stare through the cloudy bullet proof glass window. When I ask you for African American Heritage stamps you sigh because you don't have any at your station. But that's okay. I enjoy the way in which you remain seated, first rolling your eyes and then rolling your chair 4ft across the room, using your talon-like hands to reach them for me. Graceful. It's like having a front row seat at Postal Workers on Ice and you're the star. Yeah, I said it. You're a star! You dazzle me by adding up my transaction ever so slowly, placing my stamps in the sleek cellophane envelop and then you slide them under the slot without scratching me with those striking electric blue nails. I thank you and walk away unscathed, happy that I was able to spend 15 minutes with you. Yep, 15 minutes for some stamps.<br />
<br />
I'm looking forward to visiting you again during the holiday season. I can't wait to see what color your nails will be; Christmas colors, Hanukkah colors or maybe a Kwanzaa theme. It doesn't matter because I'll drop in to buy some holiday stamps and maybe, just maybe, I'll ask for another book of African American Heritage stamps just to see you glide your chair across the room for old times sake. I would appreciate that.<br />
<br />
Thank you Postal Worker Donning 3 Inch Electric Blue Press On Nails and thank you United States Postal Service for all the good times. <br />
<br />
MDWMDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-90521273732822028492017-01-10T16:35:00.000-08:002018-06-27T16:06:31.108-07:00Dear Hollywood Executives and Image Machines Dear Hollywood Executives and Image Machines,<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Really? Am I rare? See I am not an angry, sassy, twerking,
overly-sexed, weave pulling, reality TV star with baby daddy drama. I am not the
fish out of water best friend who mysteriously appeared from the hood to the
suburbs to assist you in navigating your way through a privileged, angst-filled life while deferring my
own dreams. I am not, nor do I want to ever be racially ambiguous. And honestly, how can I be when we live in such a racially charged society? I can love a white person without disregarding all facets of my culture so that you don’t feel threatened by our differences. We are not the same. Nor do I want to be. But I
am still an <b>American </b>at the end of the day and I
rarely see me on TV, at the movies or on stage. I see water colored versions (I am referring to the cultural tone not skin tone) of<i> you</i> as me but I don't see me. I am 100% born and raised, pure Grade A American. I am part of the dream. I should be reflected in the images used to project said dream. Your studios create diversity programs as if it is such an effort for you to find images of all Americans. Pshaw! Come on...You know that we exist because you simulate our lives in order to profit from it; fostering a sort of vulture culture. I understand you are constantly seeking ways to make profit at any expense (pun intended). And I am positive you can do that. But you have to listen. Ready? Here it goes: (in her best Sam Kinison voice) <b>GUESS WHAT? America is no longer a melting pot
where the standard for everything is based on some caramelized myopia by Europeans! </b>(now in her Deepak Chopra voice) America is a salad
bowl with Latin, Native American, Indian, African, Asian, Caribbean, Pacific Island, Jewish, Arab, a multitude of flavorings all in the mix; each adding its own unique zest
to every bite.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bottom line: <b><u>I am an American. I have a story line.</u></b> I've even written it for you. All you have to do is stop making excuses to keep us hidden and represent America as the beautifully "diverse" nation she truly is. Your move...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
MDW</div>
MDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-22720984501008928952014-11-26T13:15:00.000-08:002018-06-27T16:14:11.979-07:00Open Letter To St. Louis County Prosecutor in Ferguson<span style="color: #444444;">Dear St. Louis County Prosecutor in Ferguson,</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I feel as though you waited until evening (8:24pm) to announce the outcome knowing that it would incite a riot so that you could make this about our rage and not about your murder. I am sure you planned this and that you will do nothing to help rebuild the communities but you will continue to fuel this rage with images of us looting and burning and soundbites of our religious leaders and crying mothers as you ask for their response to news that you knew would break their hearts. You</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> got your reaction shots and now you will pimp out images of us at our worst so the world outside of us will think this is who we are. This is how you will justify needing military weapons to "protect and serve". Tell us what to do to change your hearts about us? Tell us how to act to make us appear human to you? What clothes should we wear, what hairstyle? What vernacular should we speak? Tell us what to do so that you will not be afraid of our mere presence? Tell us where to live so that you will not hunt our young boys like wild game. Who will serve US? Who will protect US? Our screams, our anger seem to be lost in translation. We don't understand what it is you don't understand. So tell us. What do we need to do? It's been 400 years and we are simply out of options.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">MDW</span></span>MDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-53967236887315289522010-09-09T12:59:00.000-07:002010-09-09T12:59:50.335-07:00Open Letter To ProcrastinationDear Procrastination,<br />
<br />
You have visited me one too many times. It seems you are always around when I need to go to the gym or finish a draft or read a book or do my laundry or organize my papers or...you get my drift. It's not that you're not fun to be around. I mean, I like playing Sudoku and Text Twist on the computer and watching reruns of Family Guy and skimming through old Oprah magazines searching for ways to live my best life. You help me fill my time with mindless tasks and then I get hungry. But I don't have any food in the refrigerator because you convinced me to hold off on buying groceries until my coupons come in the mail. Honestly, Procrastination, I just don't think you are good for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying you're all bad. I am really good at Sudoku and my score at Text Twist is at its highest. But the truth is I want more out of life and I feel as though you are holding me back. It's obvious to me now that you are a saboteur. I know you don't mean to be. That's just your nature. It hurts me to say this but it's over between us. I've been meaning to tell you this for quite some time but I kept putting it off. So it's goodbye Procrastination, goodbye. I'm headed for the gym.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<br />
MDWMDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-52401637363394526672010-09-04T11:15:00.000-07:002010-09-04T11:15:46.967-07:00Open Letter to the Man at McDonald'sDear Man At My Local McDonald's,<br />
<br />
Do you have to use the outdoor dining area at McDonald's to smoke and drink and practice your cat calls on teenage girls? THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT! HAVE SOME RESPECT. Are all the street corners in Los Angeles occupied therefore you had to move to the patio at McDonald's to spew your sexual comments? You break a little bit of a young girl's spirit every time you say things like, "I want to do you real hard so you will have a good orgasm." Are you serious? Is there not some strip club you can go to? I see plenty of ads for them. What, too pricey? Can't afford the minimum drink requirement? The 99cent Sweet Tea that they sell at McDonald's is more in your price range? Add a little liquor to it and you have your self a Long Island Iced Tea... Micky Dee's style. Is that what gives you the courage to do what you do?<br />
<br />
Do you feel that badly about your life that you have to ruin one of America's greatest dining rituals. Has it come to this? Are you not aware that parents flock to those golden arches to feed their children a high fat diet filled with gluten and high fructose corn syrup that gives their kids just enough energy to play on that primary colored playground and then crash in their strollers on the way home? It's pretty much an American tradition and the people at McDonald's are smart enough to put that tradition in a box, throw in a toxic plastic toy and call it a Happy Meal. Don't ruin it by shouting nasty comments to young girls. CHILDREN HEARD YOU! I HEARD YOU! EVERYBODY HEARD YOU! You got the attention you wanted now STOP IT. STAY AWAY FROM THE GOLDEN ARCHES! Don't taint this rites of passage practiced by mom and dads all across America. Don't do it. Be better than that. Let the kids have a happy meal. <br />
<br />
MDWMDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8187056960373985327.post-68639002038091733102010-09-01T17:14:00.000-07:002010-09-03T12:49:03.853-07:00Open Letter To A SpiderDear Spider Lurking In My Apartment,<br />
<br />
For some time now I have known that you existed. I even realized that you had a couple of friends who may have helped you weave your web in some tiny, discreet corner of my apartment. The fact is that I allowed you to stay in my home rent free. I figure you're not taking up much space, you're a non-smoker and quite frankly if you don't bother me, then I won't bother you. But you had to cross the line. You bit me in the middle of the night while I was asleep. That was punk move! I had to go to Urgent Care the next morning! My leg was swollen in 3 different places and now I'm on medication for a week just to get rid of your nasty spider juice inside of me. Really spider lurking in my apartment? Really?<br />
Now you have forced me to ignore my Buddhist ways and forget that you are a living, breathing being who is a part of the universe. Instead I am going to hunt you down. I will check every corner, every nook, every cranny looking for you. When I find you, AND I WILL FIND YOU... It's on! Watch your arachnid back. I have a can of Raid on standby, and if that doesn't work, I've got a 4 inch stiletto heel with your name all over it!<br />
<br />
MDWMDWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11294125498571852674noreply@blogger.com2