Blogging Goals By Rhonda Hansome

Half-baked, newly formed social media goals filled my head when I started writing here. Numerous sources said Blogging could be a quick route to Klout perks, career renewal, internet fame and possible fortune. Four years later I don't know the last time I got a decent Klout perk. Is Klout even still a thing?

I remember the 1st time I unintentionally circulated a fake story, I felt duped, bamboozled and awsomely naive.  After I fall for the number 1 quality of fake news, just enough plausible crap to confirm my biases, I become a re-posting machine. Believe me, it's not fun trying to remember on which social media platform (Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn or Periscope) I plastered a blatant falsehood, about cucumbers no less!



This week when I heard fake news bloggers generate $10,000 per month, blogging bullsh!t, I paused to examine my life choices.

The impact fake news had on this month's election, exposed the frightful state of my power of discernment; on life-support with poor prospects for survival.

I doubt I will Snopes fact-check everyone of the gazillion articles slithering the screens of my multiple devices.

I bought into the social media dream. Now I'm living the click-bait nightmare.

Comments under blogs like this signal interest to advertising $$$. However I've chosen to write on this site with a multiple step comment process confounding to my most ardent fan. Hail the efficiency and convenience of the digital age!

Enjoy our national myth of Thanksgiving as we assault Native American water protectors and their allies at Standing Rock. If that's not enough irony for you, our president-elect is Donald Trump. Need a laugh?

Come See Me Roast Tina Graham!

What's going to happen to us?

           

          Last week, I was one of two featured readers at a poetry reading in Brooklyn.  My co-feature was David Elsasser.  It was warmly hosted by Evie Ivy at the Green Pavilion on 18^th Avenue where the prices are right.  It was a long haul from the Bronx and very worth it.  I had a blast.  However, the reason I bring it up is this:  A woman who contributed to the open mic shared something before her poetry.  She said that on an escalator (she named the building, but I don’t recall it) many years ago, she too was groped by Donald Trump.  When she turned around startled, he told her that she should feel good because he doesn’t usually grope women like her.  She asked, “Do I still have a job?”

        I admit, at first, I didn’t know if this woman was for real or not.  But when she described his response, I thought, yeah, that sounds like him.  She wasn’t tall and glamorous or blonde.  So in his mind, he flattered her.

       Then a few days later, the FBI is again investigating Hillary. 

       What’s going to happen to us?

       Can Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren and Michelle Obama and Joe Biden please step in?   

       On a positive note, the first part of episode 3 of Comics Watching Comics appears tomorrow!  I have no idea what part of episode 3 I will be shown in, so I'll be watching them all.

https://comicswatchingcomics.com/

Campaign Fatigue By Rhonda Hansome

I thought I had Campaign Fatigue.

It's really Cognitive Dissonance in disguise.

Festinger's (1957) cognitive dissonance theory suggests that we have an inner drive to hold all our attitudes and beliefs in harmony and avoid disharmony (or dissonance)

Dilbert offers an example of Cognitive Dissonance: 

It's no secret the DNC stacked the deck against my original choice. 

Thanks a lot!

 I struggle daily to maintain the delusion, illusion, magical thinking that my part in the

 American Electoral Process

means something.

Day by day the Wikileaks drip, drip, drip makes me feel like I can't defend my lesser of two evils.

Sisyphus had it easy compared to what this electoral cycle has done to my psyche.

I'm simultaneously in on and the victim of a national election joke.

I'm not for a candidate I'm against the other.

Without enthusiasm, I say vote.

In the throes of Cognitive Dissonance I will hold my nose and mark my ballot.

I majored in sociology. It haunts me everyday. 

When will my head explode?

Find out this week

One place or another

8:00 PM Fri. Oct. 28th @ Broadway Comedy Club

5:00 PM Sat. & Sun. Oct. 29th & 30th @ Don't Tell Mama

10:45 PM Mon. Oct. 31st  @ Theater For The New City - Cabaret 

Who You Gonna Call? By Rhonda Hansome

It is a living nightmare to be mentally ill.
It is an  inferno of internal suffering to be in the throes of emotional turmoil.
No doubt the multi-layered issues of caring for a mentally ill loved one can test the mettle of the strongest among us.

Consider that you and your emotionally vulnerable relative have lived your entire lives subject to the implicit racism of every authority figure encountered.

FYI:

Implicit racism, broadly defined, refers to an individual’s utilization of unconscious biases when making judgments about people from different racial and ethnic groups ... implicit racism is an automatic negative reaction to someone of a different race or ethnicity than one’s own.

If your disturbed relative erupts in a violent episode, where do you turn to deescalate your overwhelming situation?

Who You Gonna Call?

If your first thought is to call the police, I question your understanding of implicit racism.
I wake weekly to the traumatizing news of police excessive force. The solution eludes me.

Produced by the Frank Silvera Writer's Workshop, Baton explores intimate relationships in the storm of police abuse of power.

7 PM Mon. Oct 24th I direct the FREE reading of  Baton, by Deneen Reynolds-Knott, in the Skylight Gallery, Bed-Stuy Restoration Plaza, Fulton St. Between Brooklyn Ave & New York Avenue.

Featuring 

Marki Michelle, Daniel Carlton, Carter Winter, Helene Galek, James Joseph Aquino, Will Young, Althea Vyfus, Dorie Casper with assist by Gaynelle Jasper.

Rhonda Hansome is an actor, coach and stand-up comic who directs as Passion

3rd of the Good Karma Series & Other Stuff

So this is a bit late – I guess I took an unannounced, unplanned vacation from blogging.  I left you after two parts of a sort of good karma series.  The last slice is this.  I planned to cut off my long hair and return to a simpler life of short hair.  I figured I’m not going to grow it long again.  (If I move up the financial mountain significantly and can afford others to deal with my hair, I’d consider it.)  So this was my chance to donate my hair to a place that makes wigs for cancer patients who can’t afford wigs.  There are many places, and they have different requirements.  I sent my braid to the Angel Hair Foundation in Oregon. 

  

And now I look like this…        

                                                      

      

Before going to get my hair cut, I played a game of Quick Draw and for hitting none of the numbers, I won five dollars. 

The homeless man in the park, the pigeon on the train, my hair off to Oregon -- all followed by some monetary luck – seemed so connected to me. 

But in general, I am financially f’d.  As I mentioned a couple of blogs back, my second job closed down.  The program doesn’t exist anymore.  And getting from paycheck to paycheck and not getting evicted or services turned off has been very hard.  By the time payday comes, I owe so much of my check to others who helped me get through.  Even carfare to go to free things is an issue.  Luckily I walk to my day job.  And since I work on a college campus, there’s sometimes free food to be had.

So I once again ask my readers to keep me in mind and spread the word regarding:

·        Proofreading – I’ve worked on and off over the years as a proofreader for law firms, financial institutions, advertising agencies, and my favorite: individual creative writers.  I’m willing to pick up and deliver the work.

·        Artist’s model – clothed and nude for fine artists (those who paint, draw, sculpt). Photographers on a case by case basis. I’m not a Twiggy, and I’d be considered “mature.”

·        Paid comedy gigs

·        Paid acting roles

·        Paid poetry featured readings

·        Depending on location, I can attend to people’s cats while they are away. (I do well with cats and dogs.)

On an exciting note, a while back I shared that I did a set for a taping of Comics Watching Comics.  I will be in episode 3.  I have no idea what the comics watching said or how they reacted to my stuff, but I know when I did it, the audience and I had a blast.  Episode 3 will be appearing in parts starting later this week.  I don’t know what part I’ll be in.  I’m excited.  I’m being very brave to share this when I don’t know what they said about my stand-up.  That’s a benefit of getting older – the oh fuck it attitude.  I’m looking forward to this adventure.

https://www.facebook.com/comicswatchingcomics/

I'm Not Yelling by Rhonda Hansome

Sometimes I hate Gloria, my GPS. On my way to work this morning she told me to get off 278 in Queens to make my way to the Pulaski Bridge. Too late after exiting, I realized Gloria was up to her old tricks. Gloria had placed me in the 6 lane midst of a less than 2 mile artery, not moving.

NOT MOVING!

Did I mention I was on my way to work on a TV show?

Did I mention I got up at 5:30 this morning?

I sat in traffic watching Gloria's screen increase my estimated arrival by the minute. 10 minutes later when the cop car in front of me peeled into the oncoming lane, I thought I should follow him, but I thought again and watched my ETA grow later and later.

I surreptitiously dialed the "emergency number" and on speaker, advised the casting office that I was stuck approaching the bridge. I sat in traffic for another 10 minutes.

When a random car peeled down the oncoming lane, I did the same and inched my way to the Pulaski Bridge and then Gloria instructed me to merge onto 278 to head into Brooklyn.

BITCH, I WAS ON 278 WHEN YOU TOLD ME TO GET OFF!

After the bridge and fuming at Gloria, I drove left, right and left, rumbling over cobble stones and found my way to the address where I was to park my "picture car" and told the 1st person I saw wearing a Walkie-Talkie that I was #10. I was almost a half -hour late and the Production Assistant I was talking to had no idea where I was suppose to be. With a heavy french accent the petite brunette, who looked entirely too good at 8:30 am, got on her Walkie-Talkie to find the PA who knew where I should go.

When she got no response, I ambled over to the breakfast tent, where I decided to leave my Ketogenic Diet in the dust. I dug into grits and potato laden hash with gusto. More than 3 weeks of no alcohol, no bread, no sugar, no rice, no potatoes or ANY carbs, I'd lost almost a half pound?

F#@k That Diet!

Frenchie the beautiful PA, approached the array of chafing dishes on display and began to fill to-go plates. In between selections she checked her Walkie-Talkie, and eventually said a van would take me to a different location. Okay... I'm a picture car and a van is going to take me to another location?

When the van pulled up, Frenchie handed me 2 to-go plates and says, "Give these to Sean." I got in the van. The driver got out of the van, telling Frenchie he needed to get breakfast. I sit in the van. The driver makes HIS breakfast selections and returns with a to-go plate. We rumble over a few cobble stones and he stops the van, gets on his Walkie-Talkie to whosoever, "Anyone else to pick-up?

We sit in silence. 

I check my watch. It's almost 9 am! He checks his Walkie-Talkie. Thank goodness there's no one else to pick up and we proceed left, right and left over cobble stones. I think if my Mother was alive, she'd never believe that I showed up for work almost a half-hour late; not HER Rhonda. I look at the 2 to-go plates on my lap and ask. "Where's Sean?"  The driver doesn't know, wouldn't know, shouldn't know because he's a DRIVER. He pulls up by a fence and points to a PA, "Ask HIM where Sean is."

The PA happens to be holding a to-go plate, "Do you know where Sean is?" He responds, "Sean who?" Of course, I don't know Sean who, Frenchie didn't tell me... "Can you call for Sean on your Walkie-Talkie?" "No, I'm with the 1st team." 

"I just want to make sure anybody looking for #10, knows I'm here in the van." 

He says, "You don't have to yell at me."

But I wasn't yelling 

I was too tired to yell

Too anxious to yell

I know I wasn't yelling because when he said, "You don't have to yell at me.", I really wanted to 

YELL AT HIM!

I didn't.

The rest of the morning in an empty dusty warehouse in Redhook, I changed into and had my picture taken in 3 different coats while I waited for yet another PA to summon me into position as ambiance, what I call background or what you might call "extra" work.

I was never positioned on camera and we were dismissed by 1 PM. 

Not a bad day after I stopped beating myself up for not leaving earlier than 7 to get to Brooklyn from the Bronx by 8 AM. But I had to write this blog to stop thinking over and over, when I yell - 

I YELL!!!

I wasn't yelling at him.

I love being on stage at Broadway Comedy Club, but I canceled my midnight spot there tonight, because I have a 5:30 AM report time as background on a movie shooting in Queens tomorrow. 

I'll have to leave home at 4 AM and go to sleep right now. 

Gun & Sugar Tricknology by Rhonda Hansome

Tricknology alert!

Do you visit or live in 1 of the 45 states where 

(with or without a permit & or license) 

"Open Carry" 

of a gun  is legal and you carry a gun?

If you are Black and visit or live in an open carry state, 

Please Don't Carry The Gun! 

There is NO WAY a black person with a gun (some might add candy bar, football, bible or Skittles) in an open carry state, can have an encounter with police, over zealous neighborhood watch P.D. wanna be, or fellow gun carrier & have it end well. Okay, maybe 1% of the time all might walk away unharmed... in my dreams.

Speaking of tricknology, I'm currently on a "fad" diet. I know it's a fad because it was promoted with rows & rows of butter, 

(Yes I Said Rows) 

of butter, cheese & meats on a "YOU CAN EAT THIS" list shown on the Dr. Oz Show.

For 2 weeks I've consciously eaten No Sugar. 

I say consciously because SUGAR IS EVERYWHERE, even in bacon.

So give me a shout if you know a good sugar-less bacon, because on Keto I can eat handfuls of that! 

In the past 2 weeks 

I've eaten more meat than I've had this entire year. 

 I've had No Starches like pasta, rice, potatoes or legumes

sometimes known by their less exotic name - beans. 

On this (Ketogenic) plan, no "diet" or "low-fat" food is allowed & carbs are kept low to none.

For the past 2 weeks I've consumed Eggs, Cheese, Butter, Olive Oil & Coconut Oil - purported good also for hair & skin BTW; Meat & Fish cooked in/with Butter, Olive or Coconut Oil, String Beans, Leafy Greens & Asparagus dressed with Olive Oil; even Coffee WITH Coconut Oil, Butter & Heavy Cream - AKA Bulletproof Coffee.

I'm a gullible naive victim of tricknology... for at least another 2 weeks because I'm giving this crazy diet a month.

Yes that's me on the train eating 

cream cheese stuffed celery.

Anyway...
Leave the gun at home when you come to see me tomorrow - Sunday at Don't Tell Mama

Mother/Son Love; Pigeon on the Train (2nd of several connected stories)

One night I had a wonderful dream.  My son and I were being affectionate, hugging, snuggling cheek to cheek, and he said in my ear, “I love you, Mom.”  I felt so happy.  It felt so real. 

The next night I was going to a reading from the NYC Writing Project which is connected to the program where I work.  They had held a program for teachers who identify as writers.  At the end, they were having a reading at KGB Bar on East 4^th Street.  I wasn’t part of the program, but I wanted to hear the writers and support the NYC Writing Project.  The reading was free.  That helps.  I invited a few people, but only one planned to join me.  Somehow from the way he expressed himself, I got the feeling he wasn’t that into going and would not show.

I took the 4 train which is an elevated outdoor train in most of the Bronx before it goes underground at 149^th Street and the Grand Concourse.  I texted my son and told him about the dream and how good it felt.  After I rode several stops, a woman ran on screaming and then ran out another door.  My heart started racing, sure someone was after her or that a rat was involved.  I’d be screaming like that if a rat was near me.  So I was frantically looking to see what the problem was.  She got back on and sat down.  Suddenly she was up and screaming again.  She went into another car of the train.  Next to where she had been sitting was a pigeon, alive and well.  I laughed with relief that it was just a pigeon.  It seemed harmless compared to what I feared.  I’m sure I wouldn’t have felt so calm if I were feeling followed by it, but compared to a human attacker or a rat, it seemed so innocent.  It chose to ride the train.  It walked around mostly under the seats.  I began to see things from the pigeon’s view and assumed the bird was scared.  The train wasn’t crowded, but things could get hysterical if the pigeon started flying around.  One man tried to grab it.  Maybe it was to set it outside at the next stop, but I didn’t know the man or if he’d hurt the bird.  I was glad he didn’t catch it.  

At the next stop, the bird seemed confused by which side the doors opened on.  When people came in, the bird cautiously stayed away, so it remained on the train.  I was having anxiety for the pigeon.  I don’t love pigeons or hate pigeons.  I just didn’t want any sadness that could be prevented.  It was for my sake as well as the pigeon’s that I needed to do something.  It walked under the seat of the man who had tried to grab it earlier.  The man didn’t realize.  A woman near me laughed.  I told her not to let him know the bird was there.  The bird went to the door as if it knew that the door would open.  But I knew on Burnside Avenue the other side would open.  The bird seemed to be a walker, and I was afraid that the time it would take would get it caught in the closing doors.

I got up and when the doors opened, I stood in the doorway holding it open and motioning the bird with my paper to come this way.  The bird decided to trust me, I guess, walked near me and out onto the platform which was still outdoors.  I felt good about that.

One of the things that felt good was I felt I had power to do something.  I struggle with depression, so feeling that way is significant to me.  During my marriage, asserting my personhood would inevitably lead to an argument or some passive-aggressive silence.  After a long time, living like that takes its toll.  So this experience was not only good for the pigeon; it benefited me too.

The reading was fantastic.  My friend didn’t show, but I was kind of ready for that.  The pieces shared were great.  One woman read about her mother’s thighs.  The closeness and love made me recall baths with my mother, me trying to count the freckles on her back.  The closeness with my own precious son.  I deeply miss the genuine relationship we had.  During the reading, I grabbed a napkin and my pen.  In the very dimly lit place, I drew.

A few days later, at the subway station, I stood in front of the booth to add money to my MetroCard.  When given a choice, I still prefer a person over a machine.  At my feet was a crushed bill.  I picked it up.  There was no one on line in front of me, so whoever dropped it was gone.  It was a $20 bill. 

See how connected this all feels to the last blog I shared?  More next week.

FYI:  I'll be performing comedy Wednesday, Sept. 21, 8pm at the Village Lantern (NYC), 167 Bleeker Street, in Sarah Garner's show!  No cover charge. 1 drink min. Would be glad to see you there laughing if you can make it.

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow By Rhonda Hansome

 I want equality with men,

but not male pattern baldness!

To See Rhonda Hansome  

Tell A Venue Near You Or The Organization You Belong To

 To Book Her!

1/2 Donut -- the first of several connected stories

I no longer have my second job which allowed me to survive.  My main job doesn’t pay enough if it’s the only salary in the house though I get medical benefits from there.  So my evenings are freed up, and I am available for paid comedy and acting gigs, proofreading on a freelance basis (have lots of experience), and posing for those who draw and/or paint.  Photographers, on a case-by-case basis.  Please keep me in mind.

So though I’ve had more free time, I have significantly less money.  Either way, it’s not easy. 

There were several times* a few weeks back that I felt the universe was letting me know to have faith.  One morning I went to Arthur Avenue (the Bronx’s “Little Italy”) to deposit two small checks I received in the mail that were supposed to be directly deposited but weren’t.  I went before work because I couldn’t risk a check I sent out to bounce.  I needed to hand it to a teller during banking hours so it would get credited right away.  I assumed the bank opened at 8am but was wrong.  I had to wait until 9am. 

I sat in a small park and had my coffee and donut.  I often eat small amounts many times a day.  At half a donut I was full.  I figured I’d take it home. 

It was obvious that a suffering economy has found its way to that area which once seemed to be able to stay above a lot of the city’s problems.  There were homeless people in the park.  One man was looking in the garbage for food.  I don’t know how our society has become numb to this.  I haven’t.  When I was growing up, rents were do-able even for poor working people.  We may have crammed a lot of people into the apartment, but it beat sleeping outside.  The occasional person who was homeless was referred to as a bum.  They often were napping on a park bench.  It was assumed alcoholism was the cause.  The churches and the Salvation Army were able to care for such folks.  It wasn’t a class of homeless people.  The struggling public wasn’t asked for money all day.  I remember as a kid reading about homeless people in Ireland.  By the time I was halfway through college, homelessness was everywhere in NYC.  The train cars smelled of unbathed bodies.  The homeless were blamed for their situation.  Those who cause this do not ride the trains and see the consequences of their deeds.

On my way out of the park, I went over to the man searching the garbage and offered him my little paper bag.  “There’s a half a donut in here if you want it.”  He looked surprised when I spoke to him which I think meant more to him than the half donut.  He thanked me and accepted it. 

I walked back over to the bank.  Still had to wait five minutes.  I looked in store windows.  Bought a five-dollar scratch-off instant lottery ticket.  Did my banking, then scratched the ticket.  It won me $20.  When very broke, that is very helpful.  If I weren’t so broke, I’d have given part of my profit to the man in the park.  It’s typically the poor who give to the homeless.  It’s not for a tax break; it's for a tiny break from the suffering.

* Since I am rarely brief, I will share the other special times in another blog entry.

It's Trump's Business by Rhonda Hansome

 

I'm good at comedy!

At business, not so good!

Since my return to comedy, minus management, I've been in pursuit of stage time. 5 years later I can say, with absolute confidence, that my texts, calls, emails and obsessive social media networking resulted in nationwide indifference from bookers. 

I’m an actress/comedian. This business demands I bribe, harass and hoodwink friends into being audience where I “showcase” myself for little or no pay. What could be better? 

PAYING TO MEET "CASTING AGENTS" WHO WILL NEVER HIRE ME 

So many ways to be humiliated, so little time.

I'm good at comedy!

Donald Trump 

is good at business.

4 bankruptcies? 

No problem! 

Politi Facts (Sep. 21,15) quotes The Donald, "I used the law four times and made a tremendous thing. I'm in business. I did a very good job.*

Personally, I don't know how to use bankruptcy laws or anything else to make "a tremendous thing" like GOP nominee Donald Trump.

This The Daily Caller (Aug 23, 16) quote is a great example of Trump's business acumen.

The Trump campaign’s rent at Trump Tower in New York City had been the same throughout the Republican primary. Since starting his campaign last summer, and ending in March, Trump paid 

$35,458 

a month for his campaign headquarters. Trump raised his rent in May to $72,800, and in June, the rent increased to $110,684. The month of the Republican National Convention when Trump officially became the nominee, he charged himself 

$169,758 

in rent for the same space, according to a report by S.V. Date of the Huffington Post published Tuesday.

I'm no accountant, but I know that's a MONTHLY net gain of a whole bunch of money. 

Donald knows his business. He's using all of his products in his campaign supported by the RNC. Yes his books, water, Trump Cafe, Trump Grill, Trump air craft. 

(3/1/16) The Daily Beast reported: 

The name that seems to come up most often on the list of businesses the Trump campaign pays is -Trump. Between June16, when he announced his candidacy through the end of 2015, his campaign spent $2.2 million patronizing Trump businesses. The majority-$2 million was spent on Tag Air Inc., where Trump is CEO.

Trump leaves independent contractors and vendors short changed or unpaid. He secures his management and licensing fees off the top of projects and never looks back. 

He 's accomplished at promising big charitable donations. 

IF his pledge is actually met, it's frequently with other people's money; and Trump gets the tax benefit.

Speaking of taxes, still not released, (May 13, 16) NY Times reported that when Trump was asked specifics on his tax rate he replied, "none of your business."

"Ain't nobody's business if I do."

That may be true, but he has no business in the 

White House

I'm on twitter, tumblr, facebook & a comedy stage near you -

if you call the venue and tell them to book me, Now!