Philanthropy Girl

Presenting…”SHIT MY MOM SAYS ABOUT THE SHOW ‘GIRLS’”

AFTER EPISODE 7, Welcome to Bushwick a.k.a. The Crackcident:

I was barely annoyed with Girls last night. 

The one thing that made me roll my eyes was the revelation that Marnie had made out with Elijah while Hannah was still dating him.  Bad enough we’re supposed to think Hannah didn’t realize he was gay, now we find out Marnie was attracted to him, too?  I mean Elijah sends out so many gay vibes that he’d even ping Liza Minnelli’s gaydar.

AFTER EPISODE 6, The Return:

E-mail Subject Line: Maybe I’m Closer to the Target Audience for Girls Than You Think

Not only did I recognize the song playing over tonight’s closing credits (“Helplessness Blues” by the Fleet Foxes), I own the CD.

Sadly, watching this episode struck me blind.  Perhaps you can add a riff to yourReal Sexbit [I’m a stand-up comedian and she is referring to a joke I have about the HBO treasure “Real Sex”] to address what HBO subjected the world to tonight.

SECOND E-MAIL REGARDING THE SAME EPISODE:

And the worst part is that I now realize that Hannah’s father is played by Peter Scolari who was on Bosom Buddies, one of my all-time favorite TV shows.  Now instead of thinking of him in a ridiculous drag get-up, I have to think of him like he was in the show.  Yuk!

Some kinda random thoughts on crowd work that I think are true

Crowd work is an art, folks.  Like when I called out the heckler for wearing a top hat (he was wearing a fedora).  When he corrected me I said, “I know, but I didn’t want everyone to know you’re a terrible person.” I AM AN ARTIST! Ok, let me go back to slitting my wrists.  Thanks.

stevecronincomedy:

Look, we need audiences, and they need us. Crowd work is important for any stand-up. It’s part of the deal, and here are some things that I’ve noticed are true most of the time.

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Rain’s Owner

This one is by Zainab.

Zainab was born in Kabul. She spent the Taliban years in Iran completing a pre-university program in Mathematics. She returned to Afghanistan and completed courses in computer and writing. Her goal is to share her knowledge and experiences with returning Afghan emigrants to help them understand the significant changes Afghanistan has undergone in recent years. 

When everywhere was dim like a grave,

When just the voice of a cricket was heard in the reticence of night,
I understood from the tears of the moon that there is no morning.

Even the moon was tired from shining in the inexorable night of the world.
And wanted to say goodbye as the sun left the polluted sky.
But it was surrounded by the circle of wild stars grinning and guarded
because they needed light.

There was no word about affection. No place for interest.
A child was running under the rain, screaming and dancing.
The purity of water became muddy like the eyes of friends.

His only mate was rain. He washed his pains by it and played.
But suddenly he became afraid. Even rain had an owner.

The sky roared, shouted and boasted of her ownership of the child’s pure heart.
He was afraid as he was afraid of that gardener.
He had picked up a red apple from the love garden
And the gardener followed, running after him.
The picked apple fell on the soil from his small cold hands.

He waited quizzically for God’s kindness, with tears tired of rain
and feet ulcerous from falls.

As God is great, he looked for Him in the sky.
But when the sky roared at him,
His hope died.

By Zainab

To donate to AWWP and learn more about the wonderful work they do, please check out http://awwproject.org because, as the website states, to tell one’s story is a human right.  Writing has helped me so much and I don’t know what I would do if the simple act of picking up a pen or powering on a computer put my life in danger. 

The Winter of My Country

A beautiful poem I performed for The Afghan Women’s Writing Project this weekend at Magic Futurebox in Brooklyn. Special thanks to Rachel Dratch for performing with us!  The writer of this poem, Tabasom, is in her 20s and is scared to work because her aunt was killed by the Taliban while working as a nurse.

Last night I asked the sky

 Hey why you are dry?

Sky told me:

I am angry with you and

your countrymen

They fight

They kill

They commit suicide

They are cruel

They love blood

More than water

So I am angry.

I looked at the sky, and I kissed her hands

and told her, Dear Sky

You know what you say,

I agree

I agree

But women are not cruel

And children are lovely

They love the snow

So Sky

Dear Sky

Please snow.

I want to make a snow-girl

I want to paint it in my writing.

By Tabasom