Yay, another assistant gig in LA!

Recently, I was sent a job posting for an assistant position at a major music television network. A couple of weeks ago I was lamenting over the state of my life, why am I here, what am I doing here, where am I going, etc… (I teach dance here, in Los Angeles, not what I came here to do.) So, I called a friend to vent and she said she’d “keep an eye out” for me, then sent me the job posting for the assistant position. As I read the requirements for the job and the duties I couldn’t help thinking, “I don’t really want to do this.” Theoretically, I should WANT to do this, it is in the entertainment industry, I could make invaluable connections and there are possible opportunities for advancement. But the truth of the matter is that I don’t really want this position. Six months to a year ago I would have sent a resume the day I received the posting and added it to the hundred or so other resumes I have already sent for similar positions in and around Los Angeles. However, having friends in these positions has tainted my view.

There’s the friend who works for a large children’s television network that had a crazy boss who thought you could cue up a DVD like a videotape then hand her the DVD and say “Hey, I cued it up for you,” smiled in her face then wrote nasty emails about her to other execs and blame her when she neglected to do her own work. Then there’s the other friend who barely has a moment to spare during the week or the weekend. The same friend who has gotten two promotions but has not gotten a raise in pay! More work, even longer hours, same pay! She’s so busy reading scripts and writing coverage for her job that she has no time to write her own stuff. This friend is happy to have a job but not exactly happy to have this job.

When we moved to Los Angeles we all had dreams of stardom. We write, we direct, we have MFAs. At graduation we were told that the world was our oyster. We were commanded to go west and make our mark in the entertainment industry. If we didn’t have internships secured prior to our arrival, we did as we were taught in school. We called and emailed any and everyone that we knew asking them for advice, for their contacts and if they knew anyone hiring. We were lucky if for every five inquiries we received a response. Promises were made, most never kept and over time and several jobs (most gotten on our own and not through our “network”) some of us managed to break in to the complicated and duplicitous entertainment industry.

The most successful of us shunned “Hollywood” or traditional entrée into the entertainment industry and made films on their own, financing, producing and crewing (staffing) it with friends. They “made it” but not without heavy sacrifice. They lived in cramped apartments and houses with numerous roommates, sleeping on couches, driving a beat up old car or catching the bus, buying groceries at the 99 cent store or eating off the Taco Bell Value Meal menu, if they had enough money to eat at all. They finally get their film made, have an agent and have the all important buzz surrounding their name. The only drawback is, as one classmate put it, waiting for the next project because no one tells you that your next project is not guaranteed… you could go back to living on Taco Bell and your friend’s couch next week.

So what are we, am I, to do? Do I pack up and go home? No, hell no, I don’t do Midwestern winters. Besides, I came out here to do everything I did at home on a larger level, take my career to the national and international level and I will. Do I apply for entry level jobs as assistants? No… I mean yes, I mean I need to weigh my options. If it is an excellent opportunity for me at a company whose work I respect and/or love I will go for it. I don’t have a problem being an assistant I have a problem applying for jobs just because. Hey, I don’t want to work for the aforementioned unnamed music television network, it’s not even the cool one, trust me! So, I’ll continue writing and teaching dance around the city. I like it; I’ve met really cool people, made some lasting connections and lost some of my baby fat (from when I was a baby). Besides, Hollywood ain’t what you know it’s who you know and definitely not how you got there. Here’s to finding your own way!

Chris and Ri Ri and nem…

Remember him? He was fine… skin like butter, straight teeth, fresh fade and washboard abs. He was tall, short, medium, dark, caramel, light and handsome. He was the pretty boy or the roughneck, the one everyone wanted and when he chose you, YOU, over all of the dozens of girls who swooned over him you told yourself that you were lucky. Everything was wonderful at first. He told you, you were the only one and you believed him. You ignored the rumors about him and other girls because they were all jealous. Everyone was jealous of you both but most of all HE was jealous. He didn’t like for you to talk to other boys even if they were just your friends and if he caught a boy looking at you he wanted to fight… them. When he told you that he didn’t like it when you wore certain things because it attracted the wrong type of attention you thought it was kinda cute, even gallant. And when he told you that you should stop talking to your friends because they were always saying something negative about him and your relationship you listened because you wanted your relationship to work. Besides, they were all jealous… right? Then one day the two of you got into an argument, you were both really upset and both said some things you’d later regret, and out of no where he hit you… hard enough to make you stop talking. It took a moment then the pain and shock radiated throughout your body. Instantly, he was sorry, he even cried with you and wouldn’t let you leave until you forgave him. You covered up the bruise, the one on your face and the one in your heart, and pressed on… that is until the next time and this time he was less than apologetic.

In my late 20’s I dated someone who was, while not F-I-N-E, good looking. He wasn’t as intelligent or as mature as I was, didn’t have a job and smoked copious amounts of weed and I knew we had little if anything in common but I was bored and he was cute. (It had been a while since my last relationship.) After a couple of weeks of dating he moved in and that’s when I started noticing he had a problem with his temper. He pouted when he couldn’t get his way like a five year old… lip poked out, sullen and defiant… on my couch! I learned to ignore him but then one day when I took him to meet a business contact, that could have resulted in employment for him, he crossed the line.

He sat in my contact’s office in earshot of the staff cursing because the man we’d come to see was late. When I reminded him that we were still sitting in the contact’s office and that people could hear him and he needed to quiet down he said, “Don’t you ever tell me what the fuck to do. See that’s what your motherfuckin’ problem is you talk to goddamn much. You ain’t my wife or my mother don’t you ever tell me what the fuck to say!” I was in shock. It was like someone had kicked me in my gut. No one had ever spoken like that to me in my life. As I opened my mouth to speak the lobby door opened and an older gentleman entered. I told the man I was with that I thought it was time to leave. He agreed and we left. As I started the car, my car, I gathered myself and said in a very calm voice, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again in public,” (as if private would’ve been better). He began to scream and curse, jumping up and down in my 1990 Hyundai hatchback and hitting his hand with his fist. “See,” he said, “I knew you wasn’t gon’ just let that shit drop! I told you, you ain’t my motherfuckin’ wife or mother you don’t tell me what the fuck to do, etc…!” I couldn’t believe how this fool was performing! I pulled over on the side of a busy street and yelled for him to get out. I was so angry tears streamed down my face, my voice cracked and my body was shaking. He got out albeit reluctantly. I went home and packed all of his things, one box and two duffel bags worth of stuff, which were picked up that night by a third party. The relationship hadn’t lasted a month!

Our tight knit Pan African community was upset over the news of what he’d done. My parents and brothers were relieved he didn’t hit me, that we broke up and that they didn’t have to risk losing their freedom by putting him in the ground. I demanded an apology from him and got it. He started calling again and we saw each other a few times after that but we never got back together. I couldn’t. Shortly thereafter he began dating a woman I knew and was friendly with. He blacked her eye, twice.

Okay, maybe you’ve never experienced physical, psychological or verbal abuse, but we all know a woman who has. If you are one of the fortunate few who doesn’t know anyone who has experienced abuse you do now with the continuing saga of singers, Chris Brown and Rihanna. Turn on the TV, they’re everywhere! Now, I’m no expert or psychic but I’m willing to guess that this is not the first time that these two have fought and he’s hit her. There was an ease and comfort with which the abuse flowed from him. God often sends you a pebble before he sends you a rock and people tell you who they are, it is up to you to listen. My pebble was when the man I was dating decided to verbally abuse me. The way he jumped up and down in my car pounding his hand with his fist let me know that, sooner or later, I was next. The transcript provided by Rihanna to the LAPD reads like the ghetto playbook for wife beaters and girlfriend abusers. “You know I’m gonna beat your ass when we get home,” “Now, I’m gonna kill you.” If this was the first time he’d abused her those statements were the pebble and his fists were the rock.

Message boards on social networking sites have been all a buzz since the news broke about Chris and Rihanna and I have been amazed by how many women, African American women, have either outright defended his actions or said that we shouldn’t judge because we don’t really know what happened. These women began citing instances where a man has hit a woman and they thought he was justified in doing so. To me, this type of attitude is indicative of how acceptable it is for domestic violence is in our community. It also made me wonder how many women on those message boards have been abused by their partners in some way. Now that’s not to say that women are always right in their dealings with men but it is never okay for anyone to put their hands on someone else, debase someone else or attempt to control someone else. Love doesn’t hurt, love doesn’t hurt, love doesn’t hurt!

A few nights ago I dreamed about Chris Brown… someone said something to me and I jokingly said, “Alright, I’m gon’ do a Chris Brown and do you like he did Rihanna.” I could tell by everyone’s reaction, the “oooohs and aaaaaahs” that something was wrong. I turned around and Chris was there. I apologized, I told him I didn’t know he was there and I wouldn’t have said it if I’d known he was there. I told him it was not my goal to be offensive in any situation. Then I talked to him about his current predicament and that he had to use this as an opportunity to explore why he thought it was okay to hit her, to really get inside of himself. He seemed to genuinely listen to my advice. He seemed sorry for what he’d done and knew that this incident could potentially ruin his life. When I awoke I wondered if anyone was telling Chris these things since the whole world seems to be talking to Rihanna then I thought hell, I just did…