And I'm feeling good

2010-09-28T21:06:00.001-07:00

Incubator of Creativity:
Reviving Lanford Wilson’s Balm in Gilead at NY’s T. Schreiber Studio
by Erica Lauren McLaughlin

When I first accepted the role of Bonnie in Balm in Gilead, I thought “this will be a breeze”. I should have known then I would be in big, big trouble. As an actress who had taken classes previously with our director Peter Jensen, I knew first hand that a role is never as simple as it seems on the page, and that there would surely be work to be done. Even with that knowledge, I had no idea just how challenging it’d be performing Balm in Gilead: Lanford Wilson’s intricate blues symphony about New York’s lower depths.

Balm in Gilead is a 29 character play, (down from the original draft by the playwright which featured over 50) featuring overlapping scenes and dialogue, and a famous monologue which lasts for the majority of the second act. Most of the characters are on stage all the time: living, conversing, doing drugs, rambling on to themselves, singing, prostituting, you name it–even when they don’t have written dialogue. This results in an underscoring cacophony of sound not unlike what you hear when walking down any street in Manhattan, and as the playwright notes in the play, “when it gets quiet… you almost think something is gonna happen”. As an actor, this requires you put some of your best acting training to use: relaxation, imagination, improvisation, character development, among other skills; and the play highlights one particularly important skill—listening.

Which is undoubtedly what Lanford Wilson did when writing the play, he listened. In a 2001 interview he says, “I found that the quality of my work improved immensely in New York because I was in this incubator of creativity.” Balm in Gilead seems to be a direct reflection of this, a young ambitious playwright; all at once consuming the sea of voices that surrounding him rather than to be consumed by them. It is not unlike how I often feel as an actress in the city, or more specifically as an actress studying at T. Schreiber Studio, performing in Balm in Gilead. I am constantly surrounded by a diverse group of multi-talented people, and in a nurturing artistic environment, rather than be intimidated, I am able to become inspired by and ride the wave of their creativity. Lanford Wilson listened to the rhythms of the city and responded with his pen. On stage in Balm, we listen to the melody of the script and respond through his exacting dialogue.

Speaking of exacting, the production is in the capable hands of Peter Jensen, whose last year production of Wilson’s Fifth of July gained critical acclaim and the seal of approval of the playwright himself, who visited with the cast at T. Schreiber Studio. Peter’s character exercises, place specificity, research, and commitment to attempt (at least once) the script exactly the way it was intended makes him a perfect companion to Balm in Gilead. Much of the work on the play is like figuring out a Rubix cube: rearranging the various interlocking colors until they all fit together in harmony. As an actor, this means doing your best research: Who exactly am I talking to? Where am I coming from? What do I really want in this moment? In Balm, the lines simply serve as clues. We are lucky to have Peter who guides this work and ensures it is done meticulously for every role.

The result of all of this is that the entire Gloria Maddox Theater at T. Schreiber Studio is transformed into a buzzing, bustling, café like the ones our playwright encountered upon arriving to New York City. The production becomes homage to the then avant-garde productions of Lanford Wilson at the beginning of the Off-Off Broadway movement. To me, after seeing most of last season’s plays on Broadway, this play, 45 years later, still feels revolutionary. The attempt at a new naturalism in his writing is far more experimental than that of say, David Mamet, who has been produced on Broadway constantly in the last few seasons. Which is not to say the two writers should even be compared similarly. With a Broadway revival of Talley’s Folly scheduled for next season, Lanford Wilson will return to the commercial world of Broadway. But in the right hands (hopefully ours are capable enough to fit the bill), his work seems to thrive best in that incubator of creativity that is Off-Off Broadway. I feel privileged to be a part of it, and can’t wait to share it with our audience.

2010-01-04T11:02:00.001-08:00

Celebrating at the Center of the Universe:
My New Year's Eve Experience at Havana Central Times Square

It's midnight. The band is playing and the whole room is on its feet, in tune with the bongos which wash away the roar from the crowd outside. You are surrounded by smiling faces and beautiful palm trees with soft, yellow lights strung up on them. You are so full you pray for forgiveness from your gluttony. Glass of sangria in hand, you feel the warmth from the red wine nestling inside your tummy. And, you are not even on vacation. This is how I rang in my New Year, Cuban style, at Havana Central's Times Square location.

When I was chosen as one of Havana's New Year's Eve Social Media Reporters, I originally told the coordinator Cecilia, that I would participate at any of the locations at which she needed help. When she offered me the Times Square location, my stomach jumped a bit. Not that I hadn't always wanted to see what it was like down there, but as someone whose job normally requires dealing with the Times Square tourist, I had previously avoided it completely based on the horror stories. I imagined being jostled around trying to get through a billion people with adult diapers and ten layers of pants on all waiting to make out at midnight. However, curiosity overwhelmed me, and as I do like shiny things, I wanted to be near that madness once again. So I put on my party dress, grabbed my video camera, invited a handsome friend, and headed down to Midtown.

Havana Central provided passes for access to 46th street, and to my pleasant surprise I was able to breeze through security and walk right down to the restaurant. My friend was already impressed with my VIP status, and when we arrived, the celebrity treatment continued with warm welcome and interaction with Eli, the manager on duty. We were early for our reservation, but he showed us to the bar where the wonderful Brooke served us two glasses of the Premium Sangria, made with Red Wine, Hennessey, and Grand Marnier. I chatted with a few of the bar guests who were all in good spirits, leaving the previous event as the restaurant transitioned to its Prix Fixe service.

We were among the first tables sat, and our server, Armando, greeted us with noise makers, beads, and plastic Fedoras with "Happy New Year" around the brim. A few seconds later, the Malanga Chips arrived, with a delicious avocado and mango salsita accompaniment. We left no chip behind. Next up, for appetizers I chose a trio of octopus, olive, and shrimp ceviche and my friend had chicharrones, chicken “lollipops” glazed with Havana's signature guava bqq sauce. All were delicious, but the octopus ceviche was our favorite, which Mondaire called "exquisite". For entree I chose the huge Cowboy ribeye and coconut rice and Mondaire went for the Mariscadade Langosta with Maduros, featuring a lobster tail and other seafood sunken in a tomato, garlic and wine broth. My steak was cooked to a perfect Medium Rare, and Mondaire didn’t speak through his whole entrée, just a few head shakes in his bliss. There was a lot of reaching across to the other’s entrée with a fork. We chilled out for a while and drank a few of Havana’s signature Mojitos as we tried to digest.

On my break, I met two girls from Australia in the bathroom who were enjoying their Cuban/American experience immensely and posed for the camera. I also chatted—the best I could with my limited Spanish—to the lively group in the corner who had been dancing since we received our welcome appetizers. While floating around the restaurant with increasing nostalgia induced by my oncoming food coma, I remembered all of the good times my friends and I have had over the year at Havana Central. I considered how it was truly a meeting point of varied cultures: from international tourist that meet here at the intersection of the world in Times Square, the many Latinos that filled the booths this New Year’s Eve seeking authenticity in their food and entertainment, to those of us who are not Cuban, like founder Jeremy Merrin, who are passionate for the rich flavors of Cuban cuisine. All over, you could feel the embracing of this diversity as the crowds outside continued to build down 46th street.

Returning to dinner, my friend and I had two espressos, hoping to fight off giving into that food coma and still be awake when the ball dropped. We then chose our desserts, Chocolate Rum Cake and my personal favorite, Tres Leches. We gave them our best effort as we waited for the ball to drop. As the tables around us finished their meals, all seemed to migrate immediately to the dance floor. The band increased their energy exponentially, aided by the beautiful Flamenco dancers who occasionally grabbed a guest out of their seat and onto the dance floor. As the final moments of 2009 approached, my friend and I danced all around in whirl of laughter, clapping, cowbell, and flapping ruffles of a Flamenco dress nearby. While I expected a flood out into the street to see the ball drop at midnight, most embraced a friend and shouted along with the monitor watching the confetti fall just outside the door. Hugging, horn blowing, kissing, smiling, laughing and dancing swelled for the next ten minutes as no one said anything: we just sipped our champagne and non-verbally showed our love for those around us, for another year, and for the magical night we had all shared at Havana Central.
Then, back to the dance floor.

MORE:
Check out Kim Parris' photos and videos from the event at Union Square location: http://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=234700717228&id=90800353649#/pages/K-Parris-Catering-Personal-Chef-Service/90800353649?ref=nf

Follow the twitter conversation here:
http://twitter.com/#search?q=%23HCNYE10

2009-08-31T20:42:00.001-07:00

Here is some more sleep deprived rambling if you would like to read it... this time on the topic of theater.
I think of it as a challenge for theater to become more inclusive in order to have as broad of an appeal as it did in Shakespeare's time, particularly in its representation of African Americans and other people of color.

Remember mama always said: where there’s a will there’s a way
Well I know that I’m no Shakespeare-So where’s the Will of today?
If the bougies had their way, do you know what you pay-
To sit and watch a performance from the Orchestra in Aisle K?
But what’s confusing’
Is theatre’s supposed to represent the issues our time right?
But the real people like the ones on stage are still in the back of the line right
While somebody getting rich by putting street issues in the limelight?
Violated the hood’s copyright but they don’t ever get the lines quite. Right?
To tell the truth it’s really not much better on TV
Tyler P sold 300 mil of his DVDs but not a single one to me
I just don’t see me
Where do I fit in? Where’s my character in those scenes?
Why don’t they tell the truth and bring some character to those scenes
Every since black performers came upon this scene
We been keen not to be too harsh when we criticize one another, know what I mean?
But to be thankful that at least one another exist
Cause without that stuff I don’t like I wouldn’t even be writing this
I just feel there’s a need for us to see what we look like for real
And theatre can be that vehicle not like an automobile
But like a method for our madness
Show us our sadness and our gladness
We can see when what we look like when we are at our very wackest
And then maybe the theatre is just a dying profession
But they proclaimed hip hop to be dead and you can see its resurrection
Same thing with that pesky N-word that we claimed to be dead and gone
Like one of the Bebes kids it’s like it multiplies in every song
But I coulda told you all along- there are some things people’ve learned to love like their own
It aint right, but how long do you continue to bitch and to moan?
Don’t want to leave it alone, just want to keep it moving
When’s the last time you met anyone who said they were part of a “movement”?
With such strong identities these days
We are afraid to indentify
And associate with associations that we would have to justify
To our top friends on MySpace and Facebook
We stop in our place to imagine how their face would look
When we tell them we are making real changes
You cannot find this in a book
Not even the kind you find in a presidential campaign brochure
Trying to move people who don’t move from computers all day can drive you insane for sure
So what part of it precisely do we have to reinvent
For those too obsessed with nice sneaks for their feet to pound the pavement?
To the strategists and producers and those with money everywhere
I dare you to show them the truth and you will reach them anywhere
Undress the mess that has made the craft passé
Lower ticket prices and open the gates to the Great White Way
Laugh with us and not at us and maybe we can find a way
To reinvigorate the theater: each performance, each play.

2009-08-31T02:36:00.000-07:00

And suddenly it was the last day of the month, and she wondered where it went.
Been in the Apple for two years now, it was mostly time well spent
I’m well spent but still its 4 am and I’m awake
Nervous like on edge preparing for an earthquake
And tomorrow begins the month, but does it start a new day?
Wanting to see the finish line keeps her in the race, for today
But if we eliminate the race it’s just the running itself
We feel worthier with a cause than just doing it for the health
But she doesn’t feel too healthy without healthy insurance
Doesn’t feel too blessed without blessed assurance
When is the last time you prayed?
What about the last time you played?
What was the last thing you created and were proud that you made?
Would you like to journey with me to where the sidewalk ends?
Do something unconventional? Be more than just friends?
I should stop here
Not because I’m shy or that I fear
That everything just crumbles when I try to bring it near
Uh huh-
Off of me and you
And back to the world
Do it for the joy it brings
Cause I’m a joyful girl
And we try to keep it general
But then our feelings creep on in
In general the door is open for you to creep on in
And because its 4 am tomorrow I’ll be sleeping in
Well if I can cause the sunlight keeps peeking in
To my window like that Goodie Mob song
Some people know all along right where they belong
But for me I also like a little bit of trial and error
Take a leap of faith forward and maybe you’ll see it clearer
And it’s the end of one road, yet she wonders where she went
And taking the time to figure it out would be time misspent
Sure it feels like forever
But if you blink you’ll surely miss it
Try to live here in the moment before you knock it and you diss it
Go outside and just BE
Turn off your TV
Stop waiting for the revolution to come out on DVD
Love cannot be downloaded like an MP3
Can not be photo shopped like a JPG
It cannot be simply located with a few Google searches
It cannot be simply bought like an Amazon purchase
I should stop here
Not because I couldn’t go on forever with technology
Not because I’m thinking of what you and I could “prolly” be
Uh huh-
Change the topic of love
And get back to that girl
So these days everything is really changing in her world
Got the first black pres
But did you know Barack's daughters aint the First black girls?
Simply saying I was black before Obama was the POTUS
Its important that I support him
but yo you gotta know this
Is the first chapter in the history of our victory
So many causes out there
Just don't be forgetting me
Says my people who are still struggling in US
And beyond
Its beyond comprehension
How they can forget to mention
Genocide, AIDS Crisis, homicides with no convictions
Whole neighborhoods needing aid
But they got no conviction
Sick and tired of sick and tired
It’s like a different kind of itis
Not the kind that come from eating
But the kind that come from sleeping
On their issues
Extra extra just peep my latest issue
I’m concerned about citizens just being concerned citizens
and nothing else
If nothing else everyday just go learn something else
It’s not that I'm just saying grab a bootstrap and pull
Yea they’ll eat you alive
But everybody out there, they just trying to feel full
Not saying a lot of folk are not just full of themselves
But you just work hard as hell
If you do it do it well
If you come up against a wall
Give it hell until its fell
Dispel the mythical BS that will try to surround you
And if you need to come back down to earth
Come to me and I will ground you
So much talent is undiscovered
I just thank God that I found you
And like many I really don’t thank God enough and act tough
But no bluffing-I hope he thinks enough of me to hear my prayer
So now I bow my head, put down the pen, and send my thoughts up there

2009-04-02T07:51:00.000-07:00

It turns out, when I am hungover and depressed, I'm a pretty good writer. A song I cranked out this morning:

And such
by Erica Lauren McLaughlin
4/2/09
Not sure when I started the lies
And not looking people straight in the eyes
Not sure why I let you get in my heart
Not sure how to fix this mess
Don’t know how to pray but I want to blessed
Anything, I’ll try to keep from falling apart

Please don’t get that close to me
Please don’t say those words to me
Not seeing that whole truth, I’m perfectly fine
They say that ignorance is bliss
If I didn’t know you then
I wouldn’t be missing
Hardly anything, most of the time

They say to know you is to love you
Well, I know you very much
I shoulda ran that day ya touched me
Then I wouldn’t be missing your touch
They say to know you is to want you
And hell, I want you very much
But we’re not gonna get a fairytale ending
La, la, la, ever after, and such
La, la, la, ever after, and such

Not too sure when I first ran away
Since I been running since that day
Get out of my way, ‘fore you start slowing me down
Not too sure I wanna be free
Kinda sure I want you holding me
You can anchor me, but please don’t pull me down

Please don’t shoot that look at me
Please don’t throw the book at me
I don’t need a lecture on how to walk the line
They say that ignorance is bliss
If I didn’t know you then
I wouldn’t be missing
Hardly anything, most of the time

They say to know you is to love you
Well, I know you very much
I shoulda ran that day ya touched me
Then I wouldn’t be missing your touch
They say to know you is to want you
And hell I want you very very much
But we won’t get a fairytale ending
La, la, la, ever after, and such
La, la, la, la, ever after, and such

2008-11-09T08:16:00.000-08:00

Pocket Change You Can Believe In

For months now, I have been disillusioned by politics and so called activism. A former die hard civil rights crudsader, I found myself disgusted by all these "causes", all of the propaganda, and all those who finally came out of hiding this campaign season, to simply wave the bumper stickers of their favorite partisan candidates for a few minutes a day, only to then return from the bandwagon to shuffling papers from desk drawer to desk drawer, not actually activating any of this newfound passion into their daily, mundane lives. I watched the debates with such cynicism, I brushed off political pamplets being handed out on subways, I avoided calls from friends who knew my political leanings and looked to me for inspiration. I was almost an anarchist! Had they found me with a subway pamplet, who knows.

I watched the campaign of Barack Obama closely although distancing myself from it. It was almost like seeing someone you loved so long and so much finally in front of you, and being afraid to touch them, afraid to embrace them- almost as if to do so would ruin or tarnish them in some way. Or like painting the background of a picture, and wanting to add additional layers but not being able to because of the wet paint. I guess looking back, I was in fact terrified of an Obama success. I suppose I was indeed having a bit of fear about the power of such a campaign and how defeating a failure would really be.

But peering out of the sides of curiously slanted eyes, I watched as ordinary people not usually involved with the political process dug in their designer knockoff jeans and gave 5 bucks, 100 bucks at a time to the Obama campaign. I sat in a sports bar in the middle of baseball season and watched young New York hipsters cheering louder for Obama accepting the democratic nomination as they would have if the Yanks could have managed to make the post season. I walked to drop off my prescription at Rite Aid only to be instantly interrogated about who I was going to vote for and given the latest poll information by an avid yet homeless and ragged Obama supporter who planned to vote for the very first time, all of her belongings dangling there off her personal shopping cart.

I didn't expect to care. Not be cynical, but I believe change is much greater than one person winning the world's biggest popularity contest. So it was the morning after the election when I barely had the money to pay my rent, and gathered all of my coins together to cash in when I realized how significant this change was. I watched all my brown pennies and silver nickels sift through the coin counting machine and I was amazed at how each little individual one added up to so very much. (And I was able to my rent.) Now that's change you can believe in.

Obama has re-inspired the individual. His message, though the fulfillment of its promises are yet to come, has taught those of us who are average that we count, that when we add up what little we think we have to add, that we are then powerful beyond measure. And on a more personal level, he has proved to this country that black men are capable of being articulate, powerful and not intimidating, gracious, in love, and have family values. God, I was thinking, when is the last time I have seen a black man and woman in love on tv, not on some sitcom? He has even re-awakened me, and I once again believe, like I used to for so long, that everything is possible.

2008-08-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

I saw a butterfly today. It suprised me, I haven't seen one in a long time. It was nice to see something blossoming and fluttering along in brooklyn.

I also saw the cat I have been fighting with who lives/meows loudly/ shits on my balcony. As soon as I saw it approach, I went to the sliding gass door to shoo it away. It backed off, but stayed hovering close, as we were in the midst of a virtual showdown. It peered at me with half opened eyes that were constantly changing color in the sun, and I admired its black coat with a small patch of fur missing and... We just couldn't take our eyes off each other.

I think that sometimes god provides us metaphors up close so we can see the things we cannot see. I also am a free wheeling butterfly in brooklyn, a brave cat with quite a few scars looking for someone to care for me. We three, roam free. I wonder what will happen next.

2008-07-01T06:33:00.000-07:00

And the living is easy...

I do realize it's the morning of July 1^st, but I finally feel as though the summer has begun. Waking up to the soothing, melodic sounds of the digging Brooklyn cranes, wearing a ex-boyfriend's t-shirt and no pants—yes, in that outfit and still sleeping alone—I breathed in the humid NYC air and thanked God to be alive. Between rehearsals in Maryland for my upcoming puppet show, mother's 50^th birthday in AZ, and working double shifts at the bar, I missed a whole little month some like to call um, June. So it was on the last day of the month I overcompensated with a few adventures: with friends on the rocks with a splash of love.

I've never regretted my decision to leave all, penniless and love-less and head to New York City, but the harsh winter in this town tends to make you homesick and longing for something else. The mantra between my friends and I became, "It's going to be so awesome in the summer when we can finally (fill in the blank)..." Yet many a midsummer night's dreams later, I was too busy to live and too hyped up to rest. So I found myself in one of any three of Times Square's dive bars (yes, they exist) after work, blinded and hypnotized by the flashing lights, sipping and waiting patiently on the world to change.

After my adventures yesterday, I realized NY is like that. It's like you are trying desperately not to blink, but if your eyes are open too wide, it will still all pass by in a haze. I was in need of a more relaxed stance. So from a little Italian lunch at an adorable outdoor patio with a new best friend, to standing on the rocks at the Williamsburg shore of the east river, to leaning over the edge of the top deck of the South Street Seaport peering at the Brooklyn Bridge and its new waterfall (in a dress that the wind so sweetly embraces), to finally becoming crown princess of karaoke while making new friends at the local gay bar... Somewhere along the way I confirmed, "Yes. This is the life for me."

Yes. It's going to be so awesome in the summer when we can, finally.

2008-02-11T06:37:00.000-08:00

Top 20 Brooklyn Songs of All Time

Ah I love Brooklyn so much. I am a born DC gal, and still will forever rep the DMV (for those of you who are culturally illerate thats DC, MD and VA), but I have found my home in NYC. Brooklyn is the little slice of NY I can deal with. It has inspired many people to create awesome art, especially in music, and I have taken the liberty of giving you in my opinion the top 20 Brooklyn songs of all time.

20) KRS One (f/ Bounty Killa, Buckshot, Cam'Ron, Keith Murray, Killah Priest, Prodigy, Redman, Rev Run and Vigilante)- "5 Boroughs"
Ok so this song is not totally about Brooklyn, which is why it comes in at number 20, but Buckshot's verse is definitely hot:

Head back to Brooklyn in the Expo
Back on the block, I see the cops everybody clockin
Buckshot, when you see the rocks, me I got you shocked
Why not? You see the recipe
Buckshot, I represent Brooklyn and my n*gga Biggie

19) Jetho Tull- "First Snow on Brooklyn"
Those of you who were here yesterday can really feel this one, a Christmas song from the British blues/rock band:

Some things are best forgotten... some are better half-remembered.
I just thought that I might be there on your, on your Christmas night.
And the first snow on Brooklyn makes a lonely road to travel -
cold crunch steps that echo as the blizzard bites.

8) Death Cab for Cutie- "Coney Island"
Sometimes I forget with all the wonderful stuff packed into BK that Coney Island is here, too.

I can hear the Atlantic echo back,
rollercoaster screams from summers past.
and everything was closed at Coney Island
and I could not help from smiling
Brooklyn will fill the beach eventually
and everyone will go except me.

17) Stetasonic- "Go Stetsa (Go Brooklyn)"
You can't really go wrong with early hip-hop. It's positive, it's original, it's just for fun. Loves it.

Brooklyn, New York is our home town
That is the place we always go down
And every night a party goes down
And when it starts, it never slows down
We boogie to the DJ's non-stop
To the sound of the Brooklyn hip-hop

16) Taking Back Sunday- "Brooklyn (If You See Something, You Should Say Something)"
This ode to the MTA announcements (and to my friend Laney who dressed as a suspicious package for Halloween), is definitely list-worthy.

To Brooklyn, I'm homebound
A trap to the east
Marking miles of martyrs
With better men, with better men than me
And I wanted to tell you, I just didn't know

Genuine and unprepared
If you, you see something then you should say something

15)Neil Diamond- "Brooklyn Roads"
I always think of Neil Diamond as something I could do without, save "Sweet Caroline". But, the man is from Brooklyn and wrote a good song about it:

I'm wonderin'
What's come of them
Does some other young boy
Come home to my room
Does he dream what I did
As he stands by my window
And looks out on those
Brooklyn Roads

14) Matt Pond PA – "Brooklyn Stars"
This mellow groove reminds me of the seemingly deserteness of BK. Never knew much about this guy or his band, but he has a cool website.

at 5:15 the sky has changed
from black to blue
still hardly day
these brooklyn stars are small and strange

13) Ol Dirty Bastard- "Brooklyn Zoo"
This was higher on the list, but got demoted when I realized although ODB is an icon, this song still isn't very good. Still, with a catchy hook, it makes the list.

Shame on you, when you step through to
The Ol' Dirty Bastard, Brooklyn Zoo!

12) Frank Sinatra- "The Brooklyn Bridge"
Now what would NY songs be without Sinatra? I love this little excerpt from this song causes it teases Manhattanites:

All the folks in Manhattan are sad
'cause they look at her and wish they had
The good old Brooklyn Bridge

11) Digable Planets- "Flyin High in the Brooklyn Sky"
From the makers of "I'm cool like that" comes this chill song with nice beat, creative lyrics and repping Brooklyn, of course.

fly to travel the cosmos as pure black thought
i travel the world with my chronic pimp walk
i travel through brooklyn in constant lounge mode
yeah but all i seeing doodlebug supreme being
simply g'in, bein the best that i can be in
a world of negativity, i stay true
from brooklyn to uptown
see no place to background

10) 9^th Wonder (f/ Mos Def, Jean Grae, Memphis Bleek, DJ Premier)- "Brooklyn in my Mind (Crooklyn Dodgers III)"
Jean Grae's verse alone puts this one on the list. The best female hip hop artist out there. I am still trying to find some printed lyrics from this one, but from listening to it a couple times, here goes:

Brooklyn in the mind
Not Brooklyn I was born/But In Brooklyn I was storin
Not Brooklyn I was raised/But Brooklyn I was taught to form a young woman

Man Brooklyn gave me confidence
With them Brooklyn boys with dem, with dem compliments
When my mind slipped Brooklyn gave me conciousness

9) Crooklyn- "Crooklyn Dodgers"
The first in this series that was released in conjunction with Spike Lee's movies. It features a clip from a radio broadcast of a Dodgers game with Jackie Robison which is definitely cool.

Peace to C.I. and the Bush
Might even see Ruck
And the Rock giving the push
Straight from Crooklyn
Better known as Brooklyn
Never taking shorts
Cause Brooklyn's the borough

8) Roy Ayers- "We Live in Brooklyn Baby"
Bring on the funk, baby. I love this song because it has so much drunk-singing potential. And it's a gives me the perfect reply for anything I will want to write off to the fact I live here. Also, check out the Smif-N-Wessun remix to this song...

We live in Brooklyn baby
We try to make it baby
We live in Brooklyn baby
We gonna make it baby

7) Beastie Boys- "No Sleep Till Brooklyn"
I'm definitely sad I missed the Beastie Boys in my backyard (aka McCarren Park Pool) last summer. I'm ready for this summer in BK for sure! This play on the word's of Motorhead's rock song by a similar name comes in at number seven.

We got a safe in the trunk with money in a stack
With dice in the front and Brooklyn's in the back

6) Da Bush Babies- "Brooklyn Movements"
Ahh this song is soooo hot. I love the reggae style hook reppin the "Brooklyn walk, and the Brooklyn talk"..

This is dedicated just for Brooklyn
It sounds so out of sight I got the blind people lookin
So check out the sound from the Flatbush underground
Mr. Man the Acrobat/ I ride the "B" downtown

5) Jay-Z f/ Biggie- "Brooklyn's Finest"
Aight you knew I was coming. Jay takes 3 of the top five spots on my list. First lets start off with his collabo with late great Biggie. Biggie would be shot later that year, but left us with this an many other lyrical masterpieces.

My Bed-Stuy flow's malicious, delicious
F*ck three wishes, made my road to riches
from 62's, gem stars, my moms dishes

4) Jay-Z f/ Little Wayne- "Hello Brooklyn"
From the new "American Ganster" un-o-fish soundtrack. This song personifies Brooklyn as the most amazing woman ever. It also talks about the NJ Nets coming to BK courtesy of Jay-Z.

Hello Brooklyn, you bad influence look what you had me doin
But I ain't mad at you, look at my attitude
It says my life too real, check out my ice grill
Baby I'm cold as ice, like I'm from Brownsville
But my Bed's in the Stuy so I won't I Flatten your Bush
Till we smoke a C.I. what up to the boy B.I.
You know I handle B.I. I dont half step on a Kane
Ask the dreads 'bout I, how you gwaan so?
She like it hardcore, So I grind slow
Iller than Albee Square Mall back in the 9-0
My fine hoe we got some victims to catch
So in a couple years baby I'm a bring you some Nets

3) Mos Def- "Brooklyn"
Few people love BK as much as Mos Def. You can see his Brooklyn bred style and originality in everything he does. I love that he takes care of the community he came from, with buing the Nkiru center with Kweli, to performing at BAM this week! Plus, he is a great actor. And of course a great lyricist:

Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner
Sometimes I feel like my only friend
Is the city I live in, is beautiful Brooklyn
Long as I live here believe I'm on fire hey
Cuz it's the B-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
L-Y-N is the place where I stay
The B-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
Best in the world and all USA
It's the B-to-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
L-Y-N is the place where I stay
The B-to-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
Place where I rest is on my born day

It's real yo but still yo, it's love here
And it's felt by anybody that come here
Out of towners take the train, plane and bus here
Must be something that they really want here
One year as a resident, deeper sentiment
Shoutout "Go Brooklyn!", they representin it

2) Lil Kim- "Lighter's Up (Welcome to Brooklyn)"
You gotta love all 4 feet of Lil Kim. I much prefer the BK version of this where she shouts out only the neighborhoods including of including Lottie, Dottie, and Everybody.

Ya know who ya f*ck with
Brooklyn don't run we run sh*t
Roll up and just bum rush sh*t
We don't play that out in B.K not at all
4 pound leave ya face on the wall
R.I.P in memory of
Never show thy enemies love
We get it on where we live
Better have a pass when you cross that bridge

1) Fabulous f/ Jay Z & Uncle Murda- "Brooklyn"
If the first five seconds of this song don't tell you that it is all about love for Brooklyn, I don't know what will...I mean they don't even make a hook, they just say Brooklyn 20 times. This song comes in first because it offers us a myriad of products all reppin BK: being Bed-Stuy Fly, or Bushwick Sick, Coney Island Stylin, Crown Heights Tight, Canarsie Flawsy OR having the Fort Greene Lean, the Williamsburg Swerve (that's mine), The Clinton Hill Chill, The Flatbush Push, The Red Hook Look, the Cypress Hill Feel or The Park Slope Dope. Priceless!

I'm Right here Big
Ya Boy Sit'n On Top Like A Hair Wig
Bed-Stuy Fly, Bushwick Sick
East New York Walk
The Brownsville Grill, ill
You see I got a Fort Greene lean
Clinton Hill Chill
Red Hook Look, maan
Aint no shook hands In Brook-lyn
Son, your life could get took man
Threw off bridges
One hard top
Two soft b*tches
Ride through the borough with two .4-fizzes
I'm makin change To New York digits
From 718 to 187/ Da 212 to 211
Ya boy's back with a new one son

BROOOOOOOOOOOK-LYYYYYYYYYNNNNNNNNN!

2008-01-12T07:42:00.000-08:00

I am so proud of myself this week.

I say this week because it has been a little while since I have felt this kind of purpose. "Purpose". That is a heavy word right there. What is a life without it? Just breathing, eating, napping and shitting. But this week, I am on my grind once again folks. And I'm still scared.

I've been so focused on my acting this week its kind of insane. I went to an audition and rocked it so hard I got offered the part on the spot while another hopeful was on her way. I made a decision to and then mastered a foreign dialect--something I had never attempted before for fear of failure--in two days. I performed a piece in the first day of class at my new acting studio with renewed confidence, and left my professor speechless. I have read more scenes in the past few days than I have in the past few months, and have a whole plate of things I am going to be working on in the next few days, and all that amounts to a huge helping of the "p-word".

But this week only happened because I gave up a few things. I was scheduled to work on Wednesday and gave up in the shift in hopes of finding a way to visit my parents in Arizona, or my boyfriend-esque person in Maryland, or Katie in Connecticut. After none of those things worked out, I went to this audition on Wednesday and landed one of the most amazing roles I might ever get to play. But if this week had gone as planned, I had responsibilities to keep me from doing these things. I had to make money! I had to see my family! I had to visit my friends! I needed to clean my room!

I got a cheesy email invitation yesterday to some financial lecture called "Pay Yourself First". I thought, well if anyone else could teach that class it would certainly be me, cause I spend my money on all kinds of stupid stuff for myself. I don't pay nobody else! Shoooot! But let's pause for a moment to examine my recent shopping experience:

A friend of mine is of moving to NY and calls me. I'm excited because now I am her "Alli House" or "Paco-Chris" ( My names for the two friends who finally convinced me to move here). I convince her to stay on my couch, and then the next day I take her all around my hood to show her NY-slash- show her all the cool stores in my neighborhood. We spend money, she is overly impressed, I am happy to see her happy and ready to move. I have a new coat and three new sweaters. And a pair of boots. All bargains, mind you, but only the coat I really need-needed.

So kids, what do we learn here? Was I paying myself, or paying my girlfriend by showing her a good time? Because she moved to NY, undoubtedly somehow affected by our experiences that day, and I was broke-ish and unable to pay for another acting class. Happy, yea. But without a clear commitment to my own purpose. It was really about making someone else happy, which to my own chagrin I love to do.

So the moral of this class, "Pay Yourself First"--even though I am not going to it-- is to make sure that your mental inventory is stocked before lending yourself to the supply/demand of others. Yes, its okay to buy fabulous boots (I could never advocate otherwise), but buy them because they will fulfill YOU. Don't buy them because the hot guy at work will think your legs will look amazing in them. They will, for sure, but is that hot guy a casting director? How does he fit your purpose?

On second thought, my physical inventory is missing someone to say my legs look amazing in those boots...

2008-01-09T21:01:00.000-08:00

So over my time in NYC I have developed something that I think is very typical to New Yorkers and makes me feel like I am a true citizen of the city: an innate ability to look at people do dumb stuff, or to feel personally under attack, or to view homelessness and to display no signs of outward verbal or physical reaction whatsoever. I mean, after a while, you just are like, "Ok, like I haven't seen THAT before in this crazy city". It's almost like nothing surprises you anymore. But for me at least, it's still surprising, I have just learned how to continue through Times Square and not be late for work because I am tempted to take a picture with Spiderman or the Naked Cowboy. However, since I have been holding all these reactions in, I have a few things to get off my chest, and so I present:

To New York with Love
Volumne 1

Dear Bloody Lipped Guy Begging for a Quarter in Popeyes:
Just because the white man in the corner did not give you a quarter to use the payphone to call the cops when you got "jumped", gives you no reason to rip his biscuit from his mouth and call him the "white devil". At least if you are going to take the biscuit, eat it. Don't throw it on the ground!

Dear Fake New York Theatre Companies:
You are not allowed to say "Some pay" and "Travel Reimbursement" in your audition notice if that includes a Single Use Metrocard and a check from your company which won't exist next week after the show closes! And stop calling me back and keep me for hours and teasing me! Actors are people too. See Supporting evidence: " Porn Actors are People, too"
Ok so that's all I could find to support my case.

Dear Real New York Theatre Companies:
*sings* How come you don't call me......anymoooooooooo *end singing*

Dear Hipster Dude on the L platform at Union Square:
1) Your jacket doesn't fit. The back flap on your Peacoat is not supposed the same size as those little handy dandy flaps on the pajamas with the feet. Your whole butt should not be exposed.
b) Stop jumping up and down in a circle while waiting for the train to come! I got to pee too!

Dear Myriad of Hot Hispanic Guys:
Soy practicando mi espanol para ti! Llamame!

Dear Homeless (Yes all of you):
Ok so I filled my pocket with change at the beginning of the day to disperse among you. I don't have any more! I will give you some more if you promise to give me a lil bit next week because I plan to broke then.

Dear Breakdancing Guy at the Times Square Stop:
Ok, I think its fabulous that you said you would carry my babies. I'm just not ready for all that right now. Also, breakdancing in the station is an awesome job, but I don't know if it will support my kids. I am looking for a man with goals. Also, stop trying to holla at me and get back to breakdancing. Breakdancing is cool.

And Finally
Dear New York,
I love you.

2007-11-28T20:29:00.000-08:00

I do it just because I want to

Since the moment I decided to move to New York, I have been an on adventure. Leaving my parents to move to the desert on their own, leaving my perfect boyfriend with more time to focus on work without me in the way, leaving the theatre community I know and am comfortable in, leaving most of my family, and most of my friends. Leaving it all to go into the wild, to take a bite of the big apple. Apples never really were that filling. I mean sure in a pie. I mean, but when you think of it, when you are hungry, the apple will only give you a taste of feeling full, but it leaves you empty and thirsty for more. New York is rightfully named.

I did something not safe. And it felt great. For a while. Then the homesickness came, then the masturbators on the train, then I got fired for the first time, then the loneliness, then I didn't have a place to live, and then the word "career" made me want to puke. Then I prayed. I hadn't done that in a long time. It's not very easy. I feel like God sees me naked. He sees my scars, my love handles, my pain, my secrets. Especially those. And recently I didn't like God very much. But I can't lie to him. Cause I can't lie to myself, not when praying out loud. So then I did something else kinda crazy. I faced reality.

Today on the train Ani Difranco whispered on in my ear and the train clanked along the tracks and told me something she told me before but I had never listened:

Cause the world owes me nothing, we owe each other the world...

And I realized I had a responsibility to get off my whining ass and go an participate in the world and fail for once in my easy little life. That I owe that to every person who has looked at me and thought I had everything. That I will never have everything until I truly experience what it is like to have nothing at all. And finally that joy sometimes is a reward greater than success.

I do it for the joy, it brings...

So, I'm a real starving actress now folks.

2007-06-02T08:45:00.000-07:00

6 months and a day later

This weekend I will finish the run of my first Equity show (as an actress- I've been backstage on these things). It feels great. I will definitely miss the green room, the dressing room antics between the two amazing black equity actresses in the show and myself. Even though I have been paid for performances before, this is the first time it feels like being a real professional. Today, I mailed my application for an acting fellowship at one of the most prestigious theatres in the world. (I won't tell you which one just in case it is an embarrassing mess) On Monday, I will begin a new show, and for the for first time, I have gone from one show to the next twice in a row without a break. As I was writing the previous sentence, I got a call from another Equity theatre I had called to set up an audition. I will teach a puppetry workshop in July, and likely begin coaching the Columbia Ravens again in the fall. I think I am going to sig up for another Shakespeare Theatre course this summer. Over the month of June alone, I will do at least 6 auditions, for almost 100 companies(two are cattle calls) and a graduate program. Yes, a graduate program! I am finally back on that wavelength. In about ten days I will be visiting Arizona State University's MFA program, showing a few monologues while I am there, getting a tour and maybe seeing a show. Why ASU you ask? Well that's probably one of the biggest surprises yet.

My mother's company is closing down at the end of month as the business owner decides to pursue a new career- one of the problems in working for a small business owner. My mother is looking for a new job, and bam, she gets recruited by a wonderful company who loves her and clearly wants her and is expected to make an offer sometime soon--- in Arizona! Yipes. I am visiting with my mother for a few days as she does her final interview, real estate consultation, and some mo stuff. We will be staying at a resort (Hello!) right near her potentially new office. Do we really want to move to AZ? The answer is probably hell no. Will we? Quite possibly. It definitely won't be fun packing up all our goodies. My shoes and my mother's elephant collection alone will be a task all in itself. All this is happening as I get more responsibility at work and on the bar staff. However, D&B is opening a new store in Tempe in September, which may be a perfect fit and easy transfer.

The point of all this is, most recently I have realized that I was in a major slump, like a serious year-long hangover from partying from the ages 21-22! Before the last two shows, before I began taking classes again, I really hadn't done a damn thing for my career. I am thankful for so many things that helped this transition: finding Aaron, taking a class last September instead of getting a DVD camcorder for my birthday, doing the community theatre Midsummer out of a cafeteria, making new friends and sorting through old ones, etc. Today, as I walked to the mailbox to mail my application, I thought, "Damn. I am really on the grind." Thank the lord! I am ready to get my lazy butt back in gear (and in shape) and move on! Whether it be in AZ, or here in MD/DC, or NYC or Chicago (all of which still might happen this year), I realize that nothing will happen if I continue to sit still. You all better hold me to this! I would have made all this a New Year's Resolution but I was still hung-over from my 23rd birthday.

This reminds me of a conversation I had with my friend the other day when we were drunk ( I know I know this already sounds bad... ), and he told me that he was where he exactly was supposed to be, career wise, and that he was supposed to be serving others. I adamantly screamed (drunkenly), "No! What about you! When are you gonna serve yourself!" Ok, now maybe my friend was right, it's not my career after all, but I think why little drunken Erica was taking so much issue with this is because I knew that's exactly what I had been doing. Telling myself I was happy doing what I was doing now--because if I couldn't do what I *really* wanted to do, this was the best thing I could. But then I realized, I could do what I really wanted to do, so why the hell am I working at the bar all this time!?

Anyway, these are my midyear resolutions, six months and a day late. And I promise to fulfill them for at least half a year. Or at least half-assed for a whole year.

2006-08-18T23:09:00.000-07:00

Can’t sleep.

Wish I wasn’t sleeping alone tonight. Don’t know if I am lonely, or just growing, or just used to being up really friggin late now. Either way, lately I have just been wishing for consistency, for settling down a bit.

Let’s speak a little more coherently.

Ok. Wow, well a lot has happened this summer. I began the summer by graduating UMBC, I mean walking across the stage and making it all official. I mean, mentally, I graduated that place about 16 months ago. Actually, I just got my degree in the mail a couple of weeks ago in a little white tube. It still doesn’t have a frame. Following graduation, I blew most of my graduation money on a camera (which I ended up breaking), and a trip to Seattle for a week and a half to visit Anthony. I had an amazing time, one tough day, but a wonderful time and a much needed break. Being there, hanging with Ant, exploring the city alone, gave me a renewed sense of purpose and clarity.

But unfortunately I had to come home. Luckily I had plenty to do when I got here. I began rehearsals for OM, my upcoming puppetry show, and quit two jobs in the course of like a month. I headed to the NAACP Convention in DC, got to lead over 700 young black people to the halls of Capitol Hill to demand protection of their rights, met the President of the United States, introduced Dick Gregory and met a number of other celebrities (including Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, Lisa Raye, Hill Harper, Mario, etc etc etc), presided over a convention of 3,000 or more people (more than one time), and experienced celebrity status as random passersby recognized me and wanted to know all about me. A week or so later I managed a trip to the White House lawn to watch the signing of a bill into law. The following week I got ready for the next thing.

The next thing was more than just a footnote in the summer I had been having. The next thing was having my play performed in the first annual Capital Fringe Festival in Washington DC. It made (I found out today) almost 1700 dollars in 5 performances (mostly weekdays). It got some great audience feedback, a couple of serious groupies, a weird not-so-hot review, and one really great shout out from someone who actually read the press release I wrote. I took everyday of my fringe festival week to go to DC, out my blood sweat and tears into getting people to see my show. If nothing else, the fringe festival for me was the test of my endurance as an artist. It said to me, “No matter what it takes, if you love it enough, you can make it happen”. That is inspiring.

After the fringe, I had to get a new job (which I did), get a new thing to keep me busy (the upcoming show and a dance team coaching job), and take a nap (which I did). In between all that, I got a tittle drunk (a tittle which is between a tad and a little), spoiled at least one friendship, and tried to make at least one new friend (which didn’t really happen, I don’t think).

So anyway, it’s a surprise I can’t sleep. Just hashing all that out made me hella tired. But still there is this feeling that there is much left yet undone (which there definitely is). For example, I already said it: I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. However, really the issue is that I don’t want to sleep alone for many more nights ever. I know that there is much undone in that department. And yea, I put blood sweat and tears into getting people to see a show I wrote, but what about a show I am in? I want to perform, I always have, I still do. I will. Much undone. I did sign up for this class at the Shakespeare Theatre I am definitely looking forward to....

Anyway it all boils down to this. I know now what I love. I do not know exactly how to get it. I do know I want it and I can see it and feel it all around me and down inside and behind me propelling me forward. Welcome to life as a twenty something, Welcome to life after easy.

Now to bed.

2006-06-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

Hey! I started this new blog so I could save some of my favorite writing and pictures, and to share some of my adventures recently. I backdated some of the entries, you could take a peek at what brought us to this point. Enjoy!

2006-06-22T12:14:00.000-07:00

She dances. She sings. She entertains you, whateveryou want. The rest is shadows. The rest is secret.

Tonight, I watched Memoirs of a Geisha.

What an enchanting piece of film. I mean, just completely spellbinding. I did not cry my usual, I’m-alone-watching-some-movie-that-sadly-reflects-my-life tears, I simply sat up straight and watched. I didn’t quite know what to make of it. It was so interesting when I began to watch the special features and I saw that the man, Arthur Golden, who wrote the original story in his novel. I just thought to myself, “What the f---?” (Yes, in my head I am allowed to swear, not in real life) I mean I guess my first response was, “How does he know?”

Then I thought about it for a minute and reflected on the story someone might tell if they had encountered me at the height of one of my—let’s call them performances. Wait, let’s go back for our viewers who have just joined the Erica McLaughlin Show. I can be a little... oh while we are about the business of naming things let us call it....dramatic. I once told a tall handsome man as I cried into his chest I was surely in “the right profession”. I am studying to be an actress. Well, I have completely as much formal study as I can get at the moment, but everyday, each moment is a study. Like the movie, the thing I found the most compelling is that as Sayuri pursues her quest to become Geisha, the definition of what she is longing to become is constantly changing, and is being defined for her in a unique way as a product of her own pursuit. So as I think about a man sitting down to study me, to write the story of me and my “pursuit” (if you can even recognize it as that these days) of becoming an actress.... What I am saying is I think this man did a pretty good job.

Pursuit is such an evasive thing. I mean for one, your desire to pursue hides and reappears and often buries itself in your heart. I wanted badly to go to graduate school to study acting this fall, though I may have waited too late to want it badly enough. I used to want very much to be a starving artist and to do whatever it takes to make this thing happen, and now coming close to starving the desire has changed to just wanting to make enough to pay the rent every month. The past few months have been made up of these interesting, life threatening experiences. No, no one has tried to kill me, but by life threatening I feel that what has happened to me has forced me to change. Yet still I have been resisting, because it is hard to remain true to the art of pursuing your dream, if you are forced to change, to give up things. This is a difficult task because change is inevitable, or so someone said, but dreams are also everlasting. This is the trouble with blind, everlasting pursuit.

Can't you see? Every step I have taken, since I was that child on the bridge, has been to bring myself closer to you.

Back to my portrait. Paint me, Mr. Novelist. Tell the story of the saddest girl in the world because she is so in love with life and people and dreams. Just from looking outside in, you can see me. You can see how I am willing to risk it all only in the most irresponsible ways. I dance. I sing. I entertain you, whatever you want.

Someone very important said this to me recently, “it’s like you are expecting something to happen.” It made me very angry at first, I supposed because it got through, it broke through the white painted face, permanent expression and layers of kimono. (ok, I know I am not a Geisha, and it’s a little heavy on the symbolism, but roll with me here.) Pretty much since I “finished” school last May (which is not when I actually graduated by the way which was May 25, 2006), I have been expecting something. Waiting. (Quite literally actually, think Waiting the movie, now there’s something that makes me wanna cry... cause it’s true life!) Alright, alright let me focus. I have been expecting something magical to happen, but not really taking any steps, since that day on the bridge. Sure, I have done dramatic things—most recently quitting my job in a hysterical way I can’t even explain anymore—but nothing daring that will truly get me closer to what I want.

It’s also different now. It helps now that I have had my moment on the bridge, staring at the life I once had and becoming the woman I will be until the next pursuit begins. It helps now that I know what I am chasing, that I can see the things I want more than anything else in the world. I better spell them out just in case you can help me get them:
Applause
Love
Family
Prosperity
Peace
And the rest... is secret.

2005-06-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

Ends and beginnings

This has been, umm, some journey? It's strange when you come to a place and you are not sure what direction you were going in to get there, I mean forwards or backwards and such.

Listening to the UMBC graduation speaker talk about his useless degree and how he was going on to get a Ph.D. in said frivolousness. Watching a slide show at my best friend's fancy graduation party with pictures of us through the years and silently crying into my fancy water glass. Running into an old friend at Karaoke night at the Phoenix and saying I didn’t know what I was doing with my life and still seeing green envy in her eyes. Being at UMBC graduation and then putting my behind right back in summer class. Random beautiful ridiculous forbidden pointless sex. Being broke as hell and making more money than I ever made. Being at the potential highest point of my entire life and feeling so low and clueless.

Funny thing about success, it is pretty damn lonely.

Future parents: Alert! Be careful telling your children that they can do everything. There are additional provisions. If they are like me, the can do everything, and most of the time that is the problem. You can’t friggin do it all at once, and you have make decisions and deny those that you love. You have to prioritize, which has definitely become one of my least favorite things to do and which always seems to cast a shadow of failure. But, yea. Encourage your kids and all that. They will grow up to be whatever they want to be.

I haven’t been in good shape lately. I don’t know why. I mean physically, I lost 4 pounds with my new program... emotionally, everyone still loves me and thinks I am a funny person... mentally, well I dunno I mean am getting smarter everyday, at least my mom’s pocketbook says so...economically, well let’s not go there but at least I have a job right now... and ummm is that all of them? Socially... ah yea, socially...oh boy... let’s just suffice it to say it would be really nice if some people would call me or simply answer when I call or send me an short im saying “Thanks hey I got the nice things you sent me”... yea some of you should be my friend again, cause through some of these times, all I needed, all it would have taken to cure me, was your smile. Speaking of which, I was down in College Park today walking into the Performing Arts Center where I am taking a stage makeup class and in passing this professor looking guy made eye contact with me. He looked at me as a person, smiled, and greeted me as if he was happy to see me. The moment was very penetrating; I couldn’t help but to smile myself as I walked away from him, out of the bleak weather and into the enormous building which consumed me.

Matt McGloin says to me last night, as I was doing him a small favor at 11:00 at night after work and school all day, “I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here to save my life.” I laughed, impulsively, and continued doing my duty. He said, “I guess I’d be dead.”

I replied, “And I guess I’d be at your funeral feeling sorry that I didn’t save your life.” That just stuck with me today for whatever reason.

The things I can do for other people are things that I mostly can control. I try very hard, not superficially, but I do attempt to please, to impress, to astonish those around me in all things everyday. So here I am always conscious, and afraid of standing still. Afraid of stopping to check the script because I will lose the captive audience. Afraid of asking for help. I’m afraid of letting you just live your life without me cause I am mostly afraid of living my life without you. I stand here afraid of looking behind me for fear I have already seen where I am going to end up. I am terrified of what lies ahead and refuse to stay here and let you have a piece of me without me finding out. But I feel, well I have been taught, to take action. To continue to make decisions and drive forward because it is the only way I will ever know. So I am not sure how I got here. I don’t know what this place is. But I won’t be here for long.

It was a fine affair,
But now it's over.
And though I used to care,
I need the open air.
You're better off without me,
Mein Herr.

2005-03-15T22:47:00.000-08:00

Religion

What I meant to say was
For a long time I could only find
Religion in the church bulletin board signs
Outside on the road
Telling me which way to go and what way to lead my life
What I really mean is
Underneath it all I only found
Religion in your smile
But you've been gone more than a while and so I've been sinning
What I really mean to say is
Sometimes I want to go for long walks away
But I won't
You prey on me with religious temptations
I've lost myself
I don't mean to stay
But I can't tread away from the altar in your eyes
Thoughts tumble down green hills
Into the shallow naked valley that is my mind
Mine that you unwind and yet contracted
I want to go back and spend
All my offerings unto your lap in friendly recompense
What I had been meaning to say is
Some day is
Too soon and I know
That day is near
And I fear I won't have my salvation before then...when?
I'm scared
But what I was really saying is that
I deposit my soul into your plate
And I will wait
And Well
Wait
Until you notice that it is gone
That is to say
What I really want to say

-Me.
All fights reserved. And rights too.

2005-01-15T23:01:00.000-08:00

My great aunt died this morning. On Monday she was diagnosed with cancer, and the doctors said it had by then spread throughout her whole body. It was all very sudden.

I remember on Christmas Day Aunt Hilda was walking around, just as active as can be, defiant... She didn't want to sit at the table where we put all our "elders" every year, she wanted to sit in the living room with everybody else: there among all the great grandchildren that were playing, among the presents, across from the white guy nobody recognized but assumed was a family friend and welcomed into the family anyhow, next to the piano where later on we would all gather around to sing, next to the piano where my cousin would play kneeling on his knees and my aunt Wanda would, singing, search frantically for songs we used to sing through Grandma's old piano bench, surrounded by her brother's (my grandfather's) family...

Aunt Hilda's hands were shaking.

Wait, lets go back a bit.

I called her something more like "Ain't Hilda" since she was my great aunt. But she was the only Hilda I knew.

So Aint Hilda's hands were shaking as she carried her plate filled with all the home cooked food my mother and her sisters had prepared for the whole family. I was scared she would drop the plate and the sweet potatoes would get all over the rug. We all looked out of the corner of our eye. She paid no mind, just kept on, determined. There was other chatter about her around Grandaddy's small, Bowling Green, VA house:

"You know they found a spot on Aint Hilda's brain."
"What?"
"Aint Hilda say, whatever it is on there, she is taking it with her when she go."
"Hmm."

Aint Hilda thanked everyone for the delicious food. It was exceptionally good this time too. Later on Christmas Day found her listening to us sing gospel songs around my grandma's old piano, cousin Reggie playing the way she used to play when she was alive. The keys are all messed up now. I did it when I was a little girl, wrote on the keys of the old piano with a chinese marker, wrote the notes down, stuck tape to the keys with the notes written on them so I could remember how to play. A few years later, my mother bought me my own keyboard. I still never learned to play either one of them. There are alot of things in my life like that. I even sold my trumpet for cold cash, because I was too shy to join the band at my new school. My cousin Reggie taught himself how to play the piano and several other instruments. My aunt, who had not been herself for quite some time, whose son and his troubles have seemed to take a huge pound on her, opened up and sang with a voice like Mahalia, the rest of us harmonized, and my grandfather added some base every now and then. Aint Hilda shushed my great Uncle Mel and Granddaddy, her brothers. The house was filled with song. It felt like family for real again.

The funeral arrangements haven't been made yet but I assume they will be this weekend or so. A strange piece of me feels excitement to go, I haven't been to church in a long time, and something about the bonding together of family in the time of mourning just sounds good to me. I have been very fortunate, so many wonderful things have been happening to me recently, nothing truly hurtful has happened to me in a long time. Or perhaps I am getting stronger. I look out at the world around me, and compassion pours out from me, sometimes involuntarily, for those whose suffering mine cannot compare. I cannot help but love the world against my will. Otherwise I feel I too have died.

2004-09-29T23:05:00.000-07:00

3000 miles

he is the greatest navigator
so when he left i was lost without him
he has the sharpest brain
so when he left i thought i lost my mind
he has the warmest heart
so when he left my bed was cold
his smile shines the brightest
so when he was gone my days turned gray
he has the safest arms
and when he left i felt unprotected
i have an empty space
so when he returns
he will fit
right
in

2004-08-20T23:09:00.000-07:00

Take a good look.

There my friends, is a ~~girl~~ ~~young woman~~ woman.

There is a woman, home from her first professional film gig.

There is a woman, who will rest well tonight after her first professional film gig, and wake up in the morning, yawn, and then go wait tables from dusk to dawn.

There is a woman, who is good at what she does.
There is a woman, who is bad at being good.
There is a woman, who is good at being bad.

There is a lonely woman.
There is a woman wishing she was someplace else.
There is a woman wishing she was noplace else.
There is a woman who wants to be loved.
There is a woman who thinks that she already is.
There is another woman who doubts this.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is a woman with goals.
This is a woman wandering about.
This is a woman going in know particular direction.
This is a woman who knows where she will end up.

This is a red woman.
This is a black woman.
This is a woman in red.
This is a blackie.
This is a whitey.

This is a woman who talks all day about issues.
This is a woman who works all day and has issues.
This is an issue free woman who works all day.
Here is a woman who likes to run away.
Here is a woman who likes to stay and play.

There is a person who wishes you would call.
There is a person who will never call at all.

There is a person who doesn't like to rhyme.

This person is a song.
This person is plain.
This woman always changes.
This woman stays the same.

2004-06-10T23:19:00.000-07:00

"So how long have you known you were a..."
"A mutant?"

Oh, X2.

For some reason I feel like I just came out to my mom.

Don't get too excited ladies, I still (for better or worse) am hetero in all sexual tenses, but of course as you have always known there are some of you I would marry in a second. (Soon as we go legal) No, my sexuality has remained the same, but in alot of ways my orientation has been flipped all upside down.

Just a few moments ago I pretty much blamed my mom for being at the heart of the black complacency problem in America. I caught her off balance when I told her to "watch what she said" when making some comment about the crazy folks in my organization. I told her unfortunately those are the only kind we can get, and that people who look us up and down and then sit at home and do nothing are the worst kind of enemy we have. I told her that I would leave the NAACP if I had somewhere else to go. If there was an organization with enough balls and enough of a proven track record to go to I would go. I'm still waiting.

She said that everything I was saying was true and that she agreed with me 100%. I don't know what came over me, or what has been coming over me for the last few months, but it has seemed like a progressive "coming out" or rather an unmasking as I encounter the world as an educated adult.

Maybe it began with dinner at with Chris' parents in New York. Me, Chris, Sarah and his parents all crammed together in the favorite little Italian resturant on the corner, drinking wine, feeling fine. As the night got later, the wine and the atmosphere seemed to grow darker simultaneously, and even the tomato sauce seemed to grow thicker. We talked photography, New York, Chris' amazing portfolio, the scam artists at my job, Sarah's involment with SoWeBo, and

"you wanna do something on the children's stage?" "oh sure..."

and "where are you kids going tonight?" "Out dancing! WOO!"

and "What else are you doing this summer Erica?" "I have a little traveling to do, you know the NAACP sending me everywhere..." "Wow! The NAACP!" "Yes I am a member of the Board of Directors" "WOW! That's great, how'd you get that?"

And so I go into my spiel. And what a spiel really. I have gotten so good at it, I almost feel guilty about it. It's like a routine. Tell them how good you are doing in school, tell them about all your accomplishments, tell them about the civil rights "movement" so they feel a part of it. Show them what a good example of your people you are. It really hurts me to write this, but its true. I play they game just as well as everyone else who shares my burden of wearing the permanent undergarment of brown skin.

And so somewhere in the middle of the conversation we got to talking politics and civil rights. Somewhere in the middle of the second bottle of wine Mr. Chris' dad, father of my best friend, father of a gay eccentric photographer who despite himself attempts to remain conversative in his own views, began to really hurt my feelings. Like a papercut, I didn't realize that I was hurt and how bad it hurt until later. He began to introduce random statistics that said that racial profiling in fact does not exist, that said that studies have shown that blacks commit more crimes, speed more on the highway, don't acheive well enough to attend the best schools so to hell with affirmative action, that he used to work in such and such school and this is why he thinks that black community makes themselves out to look like victims. That this is essentially our problem, and we, like him, need to just pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and stop looking like someone is hurting us all the time, like we are victims. In alot of ways, I agreed with him. It wasn't until I got home that I realized that although there isn't someone out to get us, sometimes there really is.

I don't think it was then when I changed. I don't even know that I have changed or woken up or if I have always been. I just know that lately there have been parts of me that are crying out and that realize that this is not the world I grew up believing in. Maybe it was little things here and there, and maybe just an abundance of things recently, like sitting in the back of The Spectator for the second time, alone, watching, wondering where young semi-militant, rainbow-colored-glasses wearing, almost-colorblind people like me fit into that whole picture. Or hearing that there might actually be a chance of me being cast in a substanstial role in the fall show about Asia because the makeup will probably be all white-face. How acting, my school, my friends, hell even the president have made me feel blacker than I have ever felt before. How coming home to Racial Utopia Columbia seems faker and ever and out of place, more shallow, more real.

I read the obituary of a young black boy in the newspaper today and I was sitting at the kitchem table trying to keep my breathing from getting out of control. His friends on the basketball team said they would wear his picture and number on their warm-up shirts at the national championships. And I couldn't help thining about how I had seen that before, when Dre died senior year, when my friends wore armbands at their basketball game, friends from both teams. And how the rivalry wasn't between the two teams playing on the court, but between those kids and the rest of the world. I though about senior year, and how I went to three funerals within about six months, and how I spent alot of my time organizing a community forum about the violence and demanding better guidance counselors. I told my mom I was amazed at how all that happened, and I still managed to do well on the SATs, hold a steady job, get good grades, participate in the NAACP, choir, Poms team, drama club, direct a show, write a few plays, choreograph, dance company, perform in Disney World, etc. People always ask me how I can do as many things as I do at one time. We faced so much trouble, so many people killed, locked up, or even worse, being successful at the horrible things they were doing to themselves. We had it real rough for a while. I told my mom, "After all that, this stuff is a breeze."

2004-03-27T23:27:00.000-08:00

Yesterday in Baltimore was a glow of a city I knew before
There were power lines hung in the sunshine
Trees there draped in dew
Yesterday I thought I saw a city I once knew

Blending with the stop light was a man who had no home
There I was with my bag gathering pennies of my own
I must have walked past ten of them before my day was through
Gave him mine cause he remind me of someone I once knew

Walked across the city blocks and peeking into stores
Catching my reflection in the dark on the closed doors
Wanting to know where abouts that girl was going to
A little more but she looks like the someone I once knew

-Yesterday in Baltimore
Erica L. McLaughlin, 3/27/2004

2004-01-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

She drove back and forth on side streets that were not large enough to accommodate the unnecessary monstrosity that was her SUV, and that were not cheery enough to take her out of the inescapable slump that was right now. Prince blasted on the radio, and the shrieks of the guitar perfectly accentuated the hum of her subconscious. She was lost. She had been here so many times before, in fact not a day had passed since the last time she was her, yet she could not find her way out. The suburban houses, the stops signs and the Christmas lights all looked the same now, and even if she had not had all those drinks she still would have felt trapped. Or rather -- caught. For on this morning, she was running away.

That morning when she woke up she found herself on one of four couches in a crowded living room. She looked around at all the bodies spread out like corpses across the furniture. She remembered why she was here, and why she was not where she wanted to be. She felt alone but careless, and secure but nauseous. Very nauseous. Her heart was broken and apparently it was contagious because her stomach was broken too. She wanted to go home. Well not really. She just wanted to be anywhere but where she was right now feeling the way she was. Yes. Because she knew were she wanted to be. But home was the only option.

When she got there, the place was still a bustle and hustle from the night before. Actually the place was asleep, but like the place she just ran away from, there were lifeless bodies all over these rooms too. She imagined they were all dreaming of New Year’s resolutions that would be made and would not be kept. She stood in the hallway, turning away consciously to avoid looking at herself in the mirror. And she began to tell her story to anyone who would listen. And she could tell that they could see the hurt she was wearing all over her, in the last remnants of mascara from the night before, in the way her back was cramped from the hard, lonely couch. One person listened, followed her into her room. She told her everything. The words flowed out of her involuntarily, and when they were done, then everything else started to do the same thing.

Ten minutes later she found herself bowing down in front of the porcelain goddess, giving her all the praise. She tried to keep some of the umm... “praise” to herself, but the greedy goddess wanted it all. She couldn’t keep anything in her body, even water seemed to flow directly back out. She had not felt this sick in a long time. She continued this worship service until about three in the afternoon, when she finally remarked, “I’m empty. I am completely empty.” She couldn’t even cry about it because the alcohol had dried up all her tears.

She thought she was dying. Or rather, she knew she wasn’t, but wished that she was. She was depleted, she felt like an invalid, and everything was passing by really slowly. She thought about how she felt that morning when she left, how powerful she felt-- despite the fact she was fleeing. For she thought had made a bold decision to just leave that shit, to not let it catch up with her. She was leaving them all there to clean it up. Which is why she wanted to die. Yea. So they could clean it all up.

But she did not die. And it was New Year’s Day. And for some reason she had managed to live another year. So she went and began to nurse herself back to health and clean up her own shit. And even though she didn’t have time to start all over again, she knew she would make some progress.

2003-11-06T23:36:00.000-08:00

Un-entry

Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box

I remember speeding around in my SUV last spring, windows down and sunroof open, singing with imaginary others beside me: "Jai Guru Deva, Om"...Crooning to the heavens or out to anyone in the cars beside me who would listen... And I remember my heart was just about to jump right out of my chest, and my voice was full and deep and reached out from all the way down in my belly.

I thought at those moments I was invincible.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes

And I remember walking with him on an usually bright day, around a tremendous circle of water- the mirror the clouds looked down into as they adjusted themselves above us, and I thought the path would never end... But then we walked, to the end of the world, and I saw that it was glorious. And then he asked if I would like to have it... And I said yes, please. And then a week later he put it in my hand.

The problem is I don't think anything else after that could ever top it.

Pools of sorrow, waves of joys are drifting through my open mind

I remember sitting at tables, across from faces I love, being showered with presents... and realizing I had everything, feeling so full, and feeling done. I got everything I wanted... there was nothing left to impress, to plead for, no more reason to suffer.

At these times, I felt lucky. I also felt lost.

So then I undid it all. Tore down my happiness, complicated feelings...

I guess... I just don't like to feel done.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup

I used to tell my mother I didn't know how she could ever settle for her boyfriend. I mean sure, they got along well enough sometimes, but sometimes I just wondered if it was really enough... I just wondered if she could do better. She said she was happy with what they had. I never asked her again. Now they are married.

Successes scare me.

Cause after the struggle, the longing, the wondering if he and if i and if we will ever tell each other... well after all that... then what? What next?

In acting class we have been talking about avoiding going to neutral in our acting scenes, in other words -for you "civilians" as one of my professors likes to call non-actors- always be going for something as your character, always be trying to get something from the other character. Know what you want from that person, and then do everything you can to get it. It makes the scene more active, and more exciting as you as the actor have to try a variety of ways to get what you want from the other character. Many actors go to neutral after they have actually gotten what the want, or loss the battle completely. This often results in losing the audience, as we become uninterested in the action on stage because there is no longer a conflict.

So there ya go.

Which is mainly to say, I am scared of going to neutral. Because if I stay too happy, too settled... I guess I am afraid I might just disappear into the background. My life will no longer be interesting to my audience. I get to these highs... and I feel great... and then I continue pushing everything in some other direction. So it seems there always needs to be some obstacle, some conflict. Most of the time in the struggle for greatness I am the cause of that obstacle all by myself.

2003-09-18T23:46:00.000-07:00

Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me

So I sat there on my bed, waiting for the wave of guilt to crash down on me. And I sat for another few minutes, and sat... and nothing happened. In fact, I felt about a million pounds lighter, and I breathed as I sat there still silently expecting the residue of it all to creep back into my skin and humble me. But nope, nothing.

Whoever said breaking up is hard to do was an idiot. And possibly a singer.

Well, maybe it’s only easy if you are a drifter like me. See cause drifters, like me, don’t really get “in” relationships in the first place. I mean sure, all the signs are there, the visits, the movie going: whatever it is people in real-ationships do, however, the drifter rarely commits oneself fully. For the drifter, I mean err... me, to settle down one solitary significant other must have all the qualities of ten significant others, and be supportive of the drifter’s wandering nature. For this soul, love alone will never be enough. It must always search and find perfection in the total aspect of life.

So I finally answered the phone. On the end was an angry, explosive, guilt-dishing man hoping to save a non-existent real-ationship. What he would find is a blunt, relaxed, half asleep woman who had already been liberated from such spells, who had already found salvation in the kindness of strangers.

See because there I was, bitching, discussing the latest of voicemail messages designed to make me feel like a monster, humble myself and walk back into the trap. After hearing all this, “Erica, where are you? What is going on? What is your problem? I’m concerned about you. You need to quit playing and call me. You know you are wrong....”, instead of feeling guilty I got selfish. I got angry. After all, since when is living your own life such a crime? I am really good at it: playing the loving and faithful companion. I am really good at giving him and all the others whatever it is they want, seldom a selfish moment when I ask for something of my own. But if I give everything else, why shouldn’t my hours be mine to distribute? Shouldn’t my time, at least, belong to me? Actually you know what, that is not up for debate. I need my own time. Sometimes. And that’s it.

Let’s get back to the point. There I was, bitching, and in through the door walks an angel. It had to be an angel because the timing and delivery was so perfect, and I have always believed that irony is at God’s disposal. And there he was, white sweater draping over his jeans, totally oblivious as to how he was being used at that moment, about how he would, in ten minutes, change my entire life. And then he showered me with joy, with happiness and strength in the form of game board pieces with pictures of my smile. He laid out friendship right there on the table in front of me, in the form of personalized monopoly squares and Shop for Peace currency. He gave me a tangible love in the form of little Monkey Besos, an inspiration and hope that could only be attained by the memory of doing the Cha-Cha under the moonlight. Inspiration. Hope for something better. Faith that something better does exist. Exactly. I found faith in Eric.

And all I could do is stand there, laughter and tears spilling out me organically, from somewhere really down deep. I felt as if it was the ultimate catharsis, and as emotion poured out of me like a river I couldn’t say anything. Well anything except, “Eric, you have no idea.” I fell into his arms, and my mascara ran down his white shirt, and I felt so impulsive, and so alive. Something that had been missing for a long time. I wanted to run off and feed a village, or have a passionate love affair, or... whatever. I just felt alive.

So I answered my phone. I answered the questions that needed to be answered. I wiped my hands clean and am ready to start anew. If you ask me, it must have been the neatest breakup on the face on the planet. Because I wasn’t holding on, lingering there, afraid that if I left, or if he left or we parted, that nothing else would fulfill me. Or fulfill him. No wave of guilt attacked me, I didn’t even really explain everything to him. Cause maybe if I let him go, he will find his very own faith. And see that doesn’t make me feel guilty at all, it makes me smile.

2003-09-15T23:55:00.000-07:00

Raindrops on roses, etc etc

I never throw anything away. My room at home is piles and piles of letters, songs, unfinished poems and boxes full of pictures. But everything I hold onto is not as romantic as that. I also have tiny t-shirts from kindergarten classes, a Fred Flintstone figurine that I squeezed into a Veryfine juice bottle (this contraption may in fact be the 8th wonder of the world... I thought about giving it away as the prize for the homemade present contest), and other assorted phone numbers, clothes, shoes, unpaid bills, etc. I used to have this fantasy that I was saving it all for when I was famous, so that the president of my fan club could auction it all off on EBay and give me a hefty percentage. But it has been getting slightly out of hand; I have become a collector of other things too, of friendships, of jobs, of men. I keep holding onto all of these things because hey, I might need them one day, and if I throw them away I will look for them, they will be gone and I will be lost.

I get so attached to all of my things, they somehow begin to define me. When I am walking down the street with my brown tinted sunglasses and favorite flowing jean skirt, I feel more confident, and happy with the me that I present to the world. I like it when people admire all of my stuff, or my tastes, or how I manage to work two and three jobs and take twenty-one credits a semester. And its true, I do get known by these things, these labels that I have taken on because of the physical things I like to surround myself with. Maybe its just not a label either, perhaps it actually affects my personality, perhaps I am truly what my exterior presence displays to the world. Then again, it’s probably more likely that I not all those things, but parts of me would certainly like to be.

So where does that leave me? Lately I have been throwing things away. Trying to. There is a constant struggle to break free of the emotional attachment to these objects of old that represented to the world the way that I used to be. I remember when I painted over my dresser this summer, I painted right over all those names and messages that though they would last forever, that I thought would serve as a solid record of people who cared about me, who were once a big part of my life. Something to look at on the hard days to remind me that I was not always alone. But still, I got out my paint, and took specifc, warm joys in running my brush over the smooth surface, gently coating the memories of the past with new ambitions for the future. And I think that’s really what this is all about.

Ironically I remember when he came over later this summer and saw the dresser, painted in black, adorned with gold, covered in new things that are of new importance to me, and he bitched about his name being covered up. Well I thought to myself, “What the hell does it matter? It’s still there; it’s just not on top anymore.” And that right there, is EXACTLY what this is all about.

I never stopped loving my things. I never traded them in for newer or better ones. I just used them as foundation for loving other things. As I grow and my interests change, the image I begin to project gets bigger and badder and more adult and closer to where I want to end up after it is all done and said. So, I have been tucking away some things for EBay, the things that can’t really be painted over, that have to stay as a memory in themselves. Like Fred*. Holding onto only the necessary as I stumble along the narrow path.

*I meant Flintstone. Ok so the boy’s name just happens to be the same.