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For Sunday dinner, my family either goes out to eat or some combination of Mom, my sister and I make dinner. OK, so I’m not often part of that cooking combo, but at the same time, I’m the only one of us who works full time and happily orders takeout on the weekends and shares leftovers for Sunday.
Waiting for a Table
We all have our favorite restaurants. As fate would have it, Mom’s favorite buffet style restaurant is my least favorite on our usual rotation. If Satan needs ideas about how to run a buffet, ze can look no further than the dirty floored, amok children, generally bland food of this popular national chain family style buffet restaurant.
Years ago, a wise person advised me to never eat at a restaurant that has the word “family” as part of this name. That’s the only thing missing from this particular loud-ass restaurant that Mom still loves for the variety of its offerings.
The Bride
By some minor miracle, my sister convinced Mom to have our Sunday dinner at a Mexican restaurant. With all the offerings available, she still chose for herself and Dad a Tex-Mex taco salad with the edible bowl. I only mention the edible bowl because Mom kept reminding Dad to eat his bowl as he ate the salad inside of it.
For my part, whenever I see a coconut margarita on the menu, I order it. Nowhere on the menu did it say that their margaritas were the size of a carafe, served with a very long straw. Everyone at the table helped me with that drink. My nephew was the clean up crew since he sucked it down like a vacuum cleaner because he knows nothing about sipping an alcoholic drink.
I’m not quite sure what Mom didn’t like about the restaurant, but she announced days later that we could return without her…already have that in the works for Cinco de Mayo, which conveniently falls on a Friday this year.
Looking for filmmaking grants is as time-consuming as job hunting. I am attempting to replace my day job with something more creative than what I’m currently doing in exchange for income.
Since my idea is to make a short documentary, I want to know upfront what the funding parameters are. I already knew there were grants to support women, racial minorities and the combination of both, but I hadn’t thought about funding based on content such as science.
Besides, I’ve always started such a project by writing it, bringing it to a certain point, but then nothing ever happens beyond that due to lack of funding. I’m not typing a word until I’m clear about the funding. With the possible exception of the treatment. I vaguely recall one part of the application being the treatment. That’ll be the first time I’ll put words to “paper” about what I plan to do. Minus all the details. I’ve got to watch far more videos and read to narrow down my idea. That’ll come later.
Apparently, I hadn’t scratched the surface of NC-based funding even though I checked out a NC-based filmmaking website that seemed to have all types of information EXCEPT about grants. Of course, the very nature of research means looking at several sources. Plus, the pandemic has changed all landscapes, so things that existed prior to the plague may no longer be present, which would explain why that website has a glaring gap of funding information.
Upon further research, a general grant template revealed that I’m supposed to know who my crew and talent are BEFORE applying for the grant–a counterintuitive ask. I wouldn’t even be interested in joining someone’s film project if they didn’t already have funding.
What a Catch 22!
I emailed the director/screenwriter of the only film project that I interned for. She secured funding before assembling a crew and talent. She promptly returned my email and advised me of two approaches. The first approach was to ask my filmmaking friends if I can drop their names even though I have no commitment from them. The second approach was to look for my crew for real, with the stipulation that the project wouldn’t move forward if the funding doesn’t work out.
She admitted that she liked the latter idea, which also resonated with me. Essentially grantors want to see that there’s already interest in the film before they invest in it.
In the meantime, I’ll continue researching to see what other apparent stoppers I’ll encounter. At some point, I’ll find the money. I’m just learning what I’m up against. What I’m actually hoping is that once I create a budget, I can finance it myself with the help of credit card.
Since being priced out of Austin, TX, I relocated to one of the dramatically less hipper cities in NC. It’s so unhip that it’s hours away from the nearest NC city with either a film school or even a modest film industry. Even Wilmington is known as “Wilmywood” and “Hollywood East.”
After recovering from my initial disappointment of not being able to partner with a local community college or some other institution of higher learning that has a film department, I focused my research on equipment. Since both my laptop and smart phone are old, I’d hedge my bet buying those two items with digital filmmaking in mind.
The laptop costs around $2K and the phone a little over $1K. Already more than my monthly take home pay.
But that’s not all!
I’d also need a “gimbal,” which I originally thought was a fancy word for a “selfie stick,” but the more I read, the more I liked the idea of having something to mount my camera on to help stabilize the shot. Although newer phones have a built-in stabilizer, I still want a tripod, which the gimbal I’m interested in has. So, that’ll be about $200.
Lastly, the app which turns smartphone cameras into a much easier to use film camera cost about $15. I’d buy this today if I knew upfront that I could transfer it to the new phone. Actually, the more I think about it, I want to grab that low-hanging fruit to start practicing with the camera I have now.
Of all the features on my current smartphone, I had no idea about altering the camera settings. Might be nice just to trial and error my way through the whole experience before investing thousands of dollars into equipment.
Next, I need to delete many pictures off my phone…eventually. I still have plenty of storage on my phone now that I no longer produce a monthly live show. I’m not even tempted to buy whatever the equivalent of a memory stick is in today’s current technology since all the important pictures have been used in a blog post, which is online.
I don’t want to be all dramatic and say that civilization would have to collapse before I completely lost all my pictures since: 1) I may be living through that right now with Florida leading the way, and 2) I’ll have greater concerns than digital pictures if civilization does indeed collapse. All I’m really saying is that I’ll survive when I delete pictures off my phone.
Besides, I love the idea of removing things that no longer serve me to make room for new experiences.
For one day a year, many people in the US celebrate Irishness, even if the religious basis of the observation should give one a moment of pause. Besides, we Baptists weren’t exactly a part of the conflict.
Nonetheless, I seized on the opportunity to hang out with a friend at an Irish restaurant where neither one of us had ever been. My usual Friday night plan involves swimming a half mile after work, a relaxing way to end the week.
My kilt-wearing “Black Irish” bartender
The restaurant opened two hours earlier than usual for the special occasion. I thought we’d have trouble finding a parking space and table, but there was plenty of surrounding lots AND the bulk of the crowd hadn’t shown up before sunset. After clearing security, which included a walk through a metal detector and a manual search through my fanny pack by the bouncer, we walked around and got the feel of the place.
Smoky Old Fashioned
Although they normally have trivia night on Thursdays, they postponed it a day to be part of the celebration. Just added to the craziness, but perhaps that was what they wanted. My friend and I laughed at how bad we were at trivia despite being avid readers. We by-passed the trivia room.
A Different Kind of Religion
We ordered our food and had no problem finding a table. The only glitch was ordering drinks. I’m not normally a beer drinker, but I got a Guiness while my friend got a strawberry margarita, which I thought was an unusual choice for an Irish pub. Nonetheless, my kilt-wearing Black Irish bartender put on such a show, making that margarita from fresh fruit that the guy beside me had to ask what the bartender was making.
Another bartender making a smoky old fashioned captured my attention. I don’t normally drink them, but the presentation alone enticed me to ask my friend to order me a smoky old fashioned when she went up to buy the second round.
Lipstick-Wearing Leprechaun
Once upon a time, half my closet back in Austin was full of costumes. It pained me to donate the vast majority of my stash when I moved. On rare occasions such as this celebration, I miss being able to walk into my closet and throw a costume together. I was fortunate to find a green sweater.
Still I posed with the best dressed costume wearers. The person wearing the leprechaun costume really impressed me. The entire evening, I made several admiring comments to my friend about the leprechaun’s costume and how dark “her” facial paint was up until I asked “her” for a picture.
The leprechaun’s voice and hands were unmistakable male. That was when I remembered that every leprechaun depiction I’d ever seen had been male. Then, I was preoccupied with how they reproduce if they’re all male. Don’t care in the least that they’re magical beings. Even magic has logic to it.
Folklore suggested that leprechauns were the unwanted children of fairies. Of course that intrigued the hell out of me since the world over values boys over girls. So, what is it about fairy parents that would abandon their baby boys? This is precisely the type of academic research that’ll preoccupy my mind.
Often, I say that such a rabbit hole adventure will be used later in some future written work. In truth, the joys of literacy and a curious mind means that I’ll keep boredom at bay. Perhaps this time of year will inspire me to learn more about Celtic folklore as part of my celebration.
A few weeks ago, one woman in my creative writing group asked what the rest of us were reading. Since I usually have at least one audiobook and at least one e-book going at the same time, I added all their book titles to my ever-growing booklist.
One was To Speak for the Trees by Diana Beresford-Kroeger. I had no idea at the time that the story took place in Ireland. Without even trying, I added more to my St. Patrick’s Day observance than ever before. As of late, I’m happy to access as much as I can before public library books start being banned.
I distinctly remember around this time last year, Congress made a lot of noise about ending Daylight Savings. They cited many reasons why it was no longer needed and even dangerous to continue the tradition of “springing forward” an hour, which robs us of an hour of sleep.
Not to mention those of us who watched the Oscars, which miraculously ended before midnight. I actually went to bed at the “normal” time even though my body still registered it as an hour earlier. Not sure how long it’ll take my circadian rhythms to catch up with the time adjustment this time around. What I should have done was take something to help me fall asleep prior to going to bed, but I took a sleep supplement a few hours after the fact.
On Monday, I posted a picture of an Oscar award and Oscar the Grouch, asking my coworkers which Oscar they felt like. At least I made them laugh. Not being a coffee drinker myself, I wondered how many pounded more coffee than usual.
Right on cue, all the articles and interviews about the benefits of sleep entered the news cycle. As if the only thing robbing most Americans of quality-of-life-enhancing rest is setting the clock forward an hour once a year. What about American grind culture?
One theory states that our government wants to keep the majority of us grinding away at the edge of poverty. If the majority of us are more focused on survival strategies, then we don’t have the luxury of time and rest to contemplate or even act upon things to protest and demand better.
As a result, once again, only the rich can afford to rest and lobby for the change that they want to see. The glaring problem with that is that whatever changes the rich want to see, by design, doesn’t work for the majority of us. As a matter of fact, those changes only work to maintain the status quo.
When something is nearly impossible to accomplish, Dad says that the situation takes an act of Congress. This is something that Congress will NEVER act upon. Hell, they can’t even do away with Daylight Savings. Might as well just enjoy the sunshine.
Once again, a privileged white man, who made his riches in one narrow area, comic stripping, now feels qualified to rant from his ivory tower. Based on the so-called results of a facile-worded poll question, “Is it OK to be white?” Dilbert creator claimed that that convinced him white people should live apart from black people.
Of course, I call bullshit. No one, not even a mansplaining privileged white man, is so easily convinced of such a radical position because of the result of a mere poll question. More than likely, his racial animus was well nurtured and brewed until it boiled over.
Since the concept of race is a pseudoscientific social construct of oppression, I’ll address all my questions to the fictional character, Dilbert. And why the hell not? The so-called basis for Dilbert’s creator’s call for racial separation is also based on fiction. The only difference is his fiction is far more dangerous.
1. Who should mixed-raced blacks live among? There’s no dilemma among those of us who identify as black, but would you allow blacks who identify as white to live among you, regardless of their skin tone? I imagine you consider yourself not racist, so would white-identifying blacks be able to live in your all-white society? Would they be allowed if they are culturally white and pass the brown paper bag test?
2. Is whiteness based on skin tone or cultural adherence? Would you allow those blacks who are so “articulate that you forget they’re black” to live in your all-white society? Or do they need to be on-sight white, regardless of how well they speak, hard they work, or how much money they make? Who gets to shield themselves under the umbrella of whiteness, sparing them from the debilitating drench of racist exclusion?
3. Would any other race of people who are also richly melaninated, but not black, be permitted to live in your all–white community? Would South East Asians, Pacific Islanders and Latinos be allowed to live among whites if they can easily pass a comb through their hair, regardless of if they can pass for white? In other words, how dark is too dark for people who cannot sport an afro?
4. Does a Jewfro count as an afro? Would you allow Jews to live in your all-white society, regardless of whether they can naturally style their hair into a Jewfro or not? Or will your sequestered-from-blacks society solely depend on having a low melaninated skin tone?
5. If I’m 1/16th white, does that make me less racist against whites, according to your calculations? BTW, my mother is 1/8th white. Would you consider her a “reverse octoroon”?
6. In your all white community, would you regulate media so that no racially-diverse programing is experienced? Would you permit black music or any genre based on black music? Would you only play black music if only covered by white people? Would you form parallel versions of professional sports? How separated do you need to be from blacks?
7. In your white society, who would you hire others to do those jobs where whites are underrepresented in an integrated society? Even the founding fathers embraced diversity when it came to the workforce, especially jobs that were deemed unsuitable for respectable white people.
8. Lastly, if you achieve your all-white society who will be the new niggers?
When one of my cousins invited us to an event as part of a monthlong black history celebration, several of us had different ideas about what it would be: a potluck, a dance, a play, or some other presentation. I knew for sure that it was a potluck because, once again, Mom had been requested to make potato salad.
Parents Ready to Party
My sister, brother-in-law and I arrived earlier than my parents and a cousin who also attended. We sat at one table and my parents at another. Although the event was a potluck of sorts, I was so happy that we’d eaten Japanese food prior to attending the event. My sister and her husband are pescatarians, so it was especially important to them that they had an actual meal.
Before Mom Makes the Rounds
The only “program” during the event was the lineup of black music the DJ played all evening long. The Motown hits kept coming, along with other genres of black music. Of course the DJ called for a Soul Train line, line dances, slow dances and we freestyled.
Mom Sandwich
We never managed to get Mom and Dad to dance together. Mom’s number one mission was talking. Dad’s never been as much of a talker, compared to Mom, but he’s hardly ever met food that he didn’t want a “taste” of. No matter how soon we had just eaten.
Our Host Joins Us
I barely tore Mom away from socializing to get her to dance the Wobble. I generally can’t stand line dances, but to entice Mom to join us on the dance floor, I made the necessary sacrifice.
Dancing Queens
Yet, for Dad, my sister requested a slow song. Much slower than the music which the DJ had been playing. When the DJ announced a Father-Daughter song, I had been content videotaping the whole thing, but one of my cousins took my camera, and insisted I join my father and sister dancing.
Dapper Dad
At the end of the evening, which was around 8 PM since the party was held in the recreation room of a retirement community, Dad just naturally struck a pose while waiting for the car to be driven around. A GQ model couldn’t have done it better.
I knew it was a check before I opened the envelope. Peeking from behind the window, which revealed my name and address, was the telltale “check” paper.
I tore open the envelope, noted the check amount and dreamed of what I could do with the money. I set it aside to eat dinner. As the high from an unexpected monetary windfall subsided, I recovered my senses.
First of all, why would the U.S. Treasury issue me a refund in a higher amount than what I’d just paid in back taxes? Thirdly, why did they send me a check instead of issuing the refund via direct deposit like all my other refund “checks”?
I’d planned to deposit the check via my mobile app after dinner. Instead, I researched how to tell if a check is fraudulent. While doing so, I learned that one popular scam was to mail a fake U.S. Treasury check, then the IRS con artist calls up the recipient, telling them that the U.S. Treasury had made a mistake. At that point, the recipient has to refund the “U.S. Treasury” the money. The way the con works is that the scammer has to contact the recipient before the check “clears,” which it won’t because it’s fake to begin with.
Here’s what I didn’t understand: how do the con artists know when the check has been deposited? After all, to call before the recipient has deposited it won’t work. Also, waiting too late to call, the recipient would know that the check is fake. How does the con artist know where the sweet spot is?
The check stated that it was good for a year, which meant I had no urgency to deposit it. As a matter of fact, I looked up the number for the IRS, so I can give them a call on my day off. If there was a slim chance that that thing was real, I wanted confirmation. Plus, I could go to my bank one Saturday, and have them verify the check.
In the meantime, I practiced in my head what I’d say to the scammer if they called. Every suspicious call that came in since receiving that check made me wonder if it was the scammer calling. No one left a message. They called while I was at work, so I didn’t answer nor call back.
Trying to talk to a live person at the IRS, was more challenging than seeing the Wizard of Oz without Dororthy’s companions. Out of frustration, I called the number on the back of the envelope. The woman provided me the number for the Department of the US Treasury in Kansas City. When I called the number, a man answered who didn’t bother to ask any HIPAA questions when I said I wanted tto verify if a check was real.
He directed my attention to the QR code in the upper right-hand corner. Beneath the QR code was a number, which I recited to him. He told me the amount of the check and stated that it was real.
In that moment, I thought, “Yeah, right.” So I call the number on the back of the envelope in which the check came and suddenly, I talk not to one, but two live people and the check was real. Well, at least I kept a cool head, noting that after breakfast, the bank would be open and I could open an account with that check. If anything funny happened after I deposited the check, at least it wouldn’t fuck up my money.
I asked the bank employee who stood near the door if she were the manager. She wasn’t, but asked how she could help. I explained my situation. She agreed that I could open a new account. Or, one of the tellers could verify the check.
Once the teller typed in all the check information, she turned the monitor to me, showing me the green check.
After all that shaky shit, the check was real. I went ahead and deposited it, telling all who were listening to my story that they were my witnesses.
Even so, it’ll take me a while to feel okay about letting my balance dip below a certain amount just in case.
I’m always apprehensive to attend a surprise birthday party for an older person. I remember that scene in the movie, “Get Shorty,” where the surprised birthday person has a heart attack. I’d hate to be associated with such an unfortunate event, but my extended family has been smart. We lie to the unsuspecting birthday person about where they’re going. When they walk into the room, we don’t shout or spring out at them. Instead, they notice that they know everyone and see how the room is decorated.
My Beautiful Outspoken Aunt in Her 20s
My aunt, typical of her generation, was part of the network of women who knew things because she kept up with extended family. I like to think of them as the internet prior to the actual internet. So, the fact that her family, church family and friends were able to keep this from her for months was noteworthy.
Surprised by Her Children
They lured her in by telling her that one of her sons, known for having art shows, was displaying his work at their church. Now, as much as I know of my cousin’s paintings, I’ve never seen anything that one would readily associate with a “Christian” theme, but all artists can branch out.
Surrounded by Her Children
Fourteen years ago, we had a similarly arranged 70th birthday party for Dad. The lure that time was that the local rec center was having a fish fry, so our next door neighbor easily talked Dad into going to get a plate. Upon entering the room, he noticed that he knew everyone. The difference between then and now, Dad could be easily unaware of things because Mom was the social planner.
Dad Joining His Sister with Mom
This go around, Dad returned the favor, surprising one of his younger sisters.
Birthday Embrace
Both Dad and his sister joined the military. The military took them wherever their skills needed to be in service to our country’s objectives at the time. Even so, Dad’s side of the family wasn’t exactly “close,” as compared to Mom’s. Yet, looking back, I attribute that more to being in survival mode.
Wisdom Table
Over the years, Dad’s side of the family grew closer. Part of this phenomenon was due to being more sentimental with age, but also, the elders in the family have reaped the benefits of serving and retiring from the military. Unplugging from the daily grind has a mellowing effect.
Speechmaking
My aunt had the honor of addressing us prior to dinner. She marveled at how her family managed to sneak this event past her.
A Third Cousin & Me
In addition to celebrating my aunt’s birthday, we had an impromptu family reunion. This had been long overdue since before the pandemic.
Sister, Cousins & Me
Working for myself for years gave me the schedule flexibility, but never the steady income of an employee. I went from having the time, but not the money. Then after the pandemic, I had neither the money nor the time.
The Schedule & Menu
As dinner wound down, we all got the greenlight to share 2-minute memories about my aunt. Three themes emerged during our comments: how mean/strict/brutally honest she is, how each of us were her “favorite,” and no one honored the 2-minute time limit. So, as her favorite niece, I shared how I always thought she was mean, but when I became an adult, I understood her angst. I told everyone that I couldn’t repeat a word that I’d overheard my aunt saying, but I understood what she meant.
Some Other Nieces
Of course, another niece told everyone that SHE was the favorite niece since she got to practice driving Auntie’s car to get her driver’s license.
Sister, 1st Cousins & Me
There never seems to be enough time to catch up with everyone. Now that I’ve moved back to the East Coast, I should be able to visit this side of the family more often.
Artistic First Cousin & Me
Fortunately, I got to catch up with one of my cousins who I’m collaborating on an animated project with. Although my part has been put on hold for a minute, I was happy that he continued to illustrate for the series.
My Parents with Aunt
One of the most challenging things of the evening was capturing a good picture of these three.
Take Two
Part of the challenge is that my aunt doesn’t really like to take pictures.
Third’s the Charm
After all was said and done, my aunt revealed a “secret” to me.
Auntie w Her Favorite Niece
Turns out, I WAS her favorite niece! Actually, whether she was serious or bullshitting…that’s her.
Apparently Photobombing Is Still a Thing
Now, of course I couldn’t have the Queen for a Day all to myself for long during a photo op.
My Uncle & His Children
Actually, those are my aunt’s children as well. All of whom swore they were the favorite child for some reason or another.
My Uncle & His Sons
Truthfully, one only wants to have the favor of someone powerful. And lord help you if you fell out of favor.
Youngest in Our Family
Some people believe that the youngest children are the loudest because we want to be heard above our older siblings. Whatever the case, all families have their upstarts. I traveled the world as an international math/science teacher and my cousin travels around the world doing missionaries.
In a workshop about developing my own personal brand, the presenter stated that a branding statement consisted of three P’s: portable skills (What do I do well?), previous experience (What is my greatest strength/accomplishment?), and personal passion (What would I like to do and why?)
After writing my personal brand, I was about to recycle the piece of paper where I’d written down the template. Instead, I gifted it to my nephew. Figuring he wouldn’t write a personal brand unless there was a proper incentive in place, I knew he had a few things that he would actually work for. The idea of promoting himself to get a promotion was far too abstract.
So, I asked him what his favorite hamburger was. He named two. One I’d never heard of before. Nonetheless, I told him that if he wrote his personal brand, I’d buy him one of his favorite burgers.
Two weeks later, I took a day trip to attend a dance competition. My friend and I grabbed a quick bite at a fast food restaurant where I ordered the burger I’d never had before. One thing for sure, I could only eat the burger in one settling. I saved the fries for breakfast, which I warmed up in an air fryer to get them nice and crispy. Even so, I split half of them with Dad because there were so many of them.
Not only did I want to try out the burger, which wasn’t anything spectacular except for the caloric intake, but I wanted to text the photo op to my nephew. He knew exactly why I’d sent the picture. Even so, he still hasn’t written his personal brand yet.
Although a free burger tends to taste better than one you pay for yourself, my nephew apparently views the job of writing his personal brand a Herculean task.
Nonetheless, I’m not going to nag him about it. If he doesn’t want a free burger, then I’ll save my money. One thing I cannot save is someone who won’t try to help themselves out of a dead-end job.
