Dear Postal Worker Donning 3 Inch Electric Blue Press On Nails,
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.
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.
Thank you Postal Worker Donning 3 Inch Electric Blue Press On Nails and thank you United States Postal Service for all the good times.
Friday, December 15, 2017
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Dear Hollywood Executives and Image Machines,
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 American 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 you 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) GUESS WHAT? America is no longer a melting pot where the standard for everything is based on some caramelized myopia by Europeans! (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.
Bottom line: I am an American. I have a story line. 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...