A story about celebrating everything.
“I’m listening to a song called “For Andre” by Tank and The Bangas. I discovered them over the past few years in passing and have completely grown to love whatever experimental groundbreaking display of music they provide. I’m basically trying to say that I enjoy them, but I wanted to put some extra flare on the statement, even though I feel like I may have confused some people. I’m sorry if I did that. I think they are dope.
It took me a long time to commit to writing this blog, and so far, I’ve been consistent with it. More consistent than I’ve been with my podcast, which I’ve been doing since 2011. I get more reward from writing than I do from simply riffing off the top of my head about things that come to my mind. I feel like I’m wasting time while I’m killing time, which happens to be the name of my podcast. But just like podcasts, everybody has a blog. I wanted my blog to be different. I wanted to write about something that no one else was writing about. But in order to write about something different, I had to decide if I was willing to be vulnerable. And for the longest time, I didn’t want to be vulnerable. For some, vulnerability is viewed as weak. Everybody’s upbringing is different, and your upbringing determines who you become. One of the problems that I have with cancel culture and society is that nobody wants to allow the person who is being seen as bad the opportunity to rehabilitate so they can rejoin society. Sidebar: Some of the writings in my blog may find their way into my book when I finally finish it, so please don’t try to come for me by saying, “Ugh! I already read this on his blog. He’s full of shit.” Be kind, people. I personally struggle with being vulnerable, because a vulnerable person has only been viewed as someone who is weak, in my experience. I’ve also learned that if you show weakness, life will eat you.
It’s 10:03 PM on a Friday night. It’s Juneteenth for black people and for some non-black people who genuinely appreciate black culture. However, for others, it’s an opportunity to appear as though they have always given a fuck about black culture, but clearly, they’re joining in because it’s what’s trendy right now. Sort of how everybody embraced the movie Black Panther. For everyone else, it’s just fucking June 19 th . I don’t know if I’m more annoyed by all the Black Lives Matter conversations or by how much white people are trying to outdo black people in supporting Black Lives Matter. I find myself writing because the comedy clubs are still closed. Ordinarily I would be on a lineup at one or two, quite possibly three, comedy clubs. That hasn’t been a possibility for me in about four months, since somebody went to the Las Vegas of exotic foods in China and ate some bad bat pussy and now everybody has bat chlamydia. This week is a very emotional one for me. Some days, I wake up and say to myself, “How much longer do I have to keep doing this shit?” And at that very moment, I force myself to imagine the WB frog singing, “Hello my baby, hello my honey,” in my bedroom doorway to distract me from having those types of thoughts. Now, to the blog.”
I’m was thinking to myself the other day that there’s no law that says you can’t celebrate things repeatedly, the way you annually celebrate a birthday or a holiday or a self-appointed anniversary a woman makes up about the relationship she’s in as an excuse to celebrate one more thing a man has to pretend to care about. I’m aware that my last statement may have come off a little misogynistic, but in no way was it meant to be offensive. I feel like the word ‘misogynistic’ is thrown around and used excessively to describe a great deal of men’s behavior. I have come to believe that any thought a man has that does not include thinking of a woman as an equal or in a positive light is deemed misogynistic. I don’t think it’s fair that we can’t create other words to describe a man’s thoughts when he’s trying to search for the correct way to express himself about women. It’s also not fair when a man is viewed as misogynistic because what he says may not agree with a woman thinks and how she would like to be seen. What I’ve discussed above is a conversation that men often have.
“I’ve tried very hard to stay neutral so that I don’t tread upon triggering topics that may result in losing a female fan base, in case any women feel attacked by me simply trying to talk out the issues that divide us. Back to the blog.”
I did The Tonight Show in 2011, back when Jay Leno was still hosting the show, and I didn’t take the opportunity to celebrate that accomplishment the way I should have, because I was caught up in making sure the moment was perfect. A lot of things were happening in my life around that time, which was distracting me from being present. At the time I was involved with someone that I was not willing to go public with. I didn’t refuse to go public with this person because I was ashamed of her; it would have simply been a bad look because of who this person was. Nevertheless, I was at this person’s house when I received a phone call from the booker of The Tonight Show. Lucky for me, I had my ringer on, because he called at 6:30 am to ask if I wanted to do the show that night. It took me a few moments to gather myself. I didn’t completely comprehend what I was hearing when he first told me they wanted me on the show. “Can you repeat that?” I said to the voice on the other end of the phone, even though I had already said, “Yes” in my mind to whatever he was offering me. I strongly believe that’s how most deals are made with the devil. The booker said, “The Stone Temple Pilots have dropped out, and we need to fill the slot.” He added, “If you’re comfortable. We want you to do it,” to which I said yes to, just out loud this time. The guy gave me specific instructions about what time the limo would be at my house to pick me up and other information that I would need in order to get onto the lot where I would be taping my performance.
I waited for the guy to say goodbye to me so that I could reply back with an extremely appreciative goodbye and over-thank him for the opportunity. As soon as the call ended, I hopped out of bed screaming as softly as I possibly could, so that I wouldn’t draw attention but loud enough so I could let my soul express and experience joy. The person I was with joined me as I called my mother to give her the good news. It was a bittersweet phone call because I had always planned to fly my mom out so she could be in the audience when I performed on The Tonight Show. I honestly didn’t think the moment was ever going to come. I had auditioned for them eight months prior and never heard anything. I was hoping they would have at least given me a days’ notice to make the part of my plan with my mom come true. I guess the universe didn’t want that to happen for me.
Next I called my barber to see if he could cut my hair that day. I thought to myself, that there’s no way in hell I’m going to go on national television without my hair cut. The black community would disown me if they saw me on television unkempt. Culturally, I would have let my people down, and I imagine most barbers would have been angry with me for not enlisting the services of someone from their brotherhood for assistance. Once I was able to lock down when I could get my haircut, it allowed me to think about everything else I needed to do. It became uncomfortable when the girl I was with invited herself to the taping of the show. I’m assuming she felt that since we were involved with each other, she was entitled to experience a once-in-a- lifetime thing with me. I didn’t know how to tell her that I would rather her not attend. It gave me so much anxiety to think that something that I’ve always dreamed of doing was going to be shared with somebody that I didn’t plan on being with forever. Once we established what time she would meet me at the studio, I left to go to Banana Republic. That’s my go-to store when I want to look nice and I don’t have money for more expensive designers but would like to look like I do.
“I try to ignore the song that’s playing in the background as I write, but I can’t. There’s nothing wrong with the song. The song is by an artist named Kay Young and it’s titled “Going Through.” The song has this tone of somebody who has been through a lot of pain but has control over it now, to a point that they can talk about it without it bothering them. So good! I’ve been wrestling a lot with doing the things that I feel will make me happy versus doing things that I think people expect will make me happy. It’s hard telling myself it’s okay to not be okay. I do want to be better for me, and I am working towards that. I don’t allow myself to be happy. I even expressed this to someone earlier today. It’s a problem. Another problem I have is that I constantly feel like I’m missing personal deadlines in my life and so I lose enjoyment in my accomplishments when they do happen. Back to the blog.”
After I finally found an outfit at Banana Republic, I shot over to the Burbank mall to check out one of my favorite franchise sneaker stores, Shiekh, that, on occasion, will carry a limited-edition sneaker. I wanted to buy myself an original pair of Jordan Ones. At that time, I had never actually owned a pair of original Jordans. I’d bought retro Jordans but never original. Some people may say Jordans are Jordans. But as a sneakerhead, you could be called out for not having original shoes.
Sidebar: For the past ten years, my driver’s license has been suspended off-and-on more than 30 times. Most of the time, I’m driving around with a suspended license. It’s a long story that I’ll explain in a different blog at another time. Just know that money is at the root of it all. I’m sharing this information so you can have an idea of how much I do in a day with a suspended driver’s license. I can’t imagine what life would be like for me if I didn’t have to worry about the possibility of getting pulled over and going to jail. I can’t argue with the cops if I’m ever pulled over, because technically, I’m guilty. I just block it out and keep going.
Now by this time, I’ve talked to my mother at least three times. I did my best to post on social media that I’m about to go make a dream come true, but something in my heart didn’t have the desire to share these detailed moments with strangers. I felt like the universe wouldn’t allow me to capitalize off making a dream come true because I didn’t post about my upcoming appearance. We have such a twisted contract with social media.
The limo arrived early, but I was ready, so I went outside. I wished there were more people outside to see me get in the limo. As trivial as it may seem, having people see you get into a limo carries weight in certain arenas that will get you things. Things like respect or having doors opened to you for conversations that wouldn’t ordinarily take place, if not for the person you’re conversing with having seen you get into a limo. If you think this is shallow, then you’re correct, it is. I took several photos of the limousine and the driver. I asked the driver if he would take pictures of me in front of the limousine as well. I hated that nobody was on the street to witness my moment, but it didn’t stop me from making the most of it. Normally, there’s a drunk person or a homeless guy walking around who I would have been able to ask to take the picture, but for some reason, on this day, they decided they wanted to stretch their legs elsewhere. So, I was forced to take a selfie with the driver. After a few more photos, I hopped in the car, and we were on our way. I always help myself anytime I get into a limo because I want people to know I’m a down-to-earth person, despite the fact that somebody sent a car to pick me up.
I arrived at the studio, where I greeted by the aforementioned woman who had invited herself. She was an extremely controlling individual and took the role of self-appointed publicist by answering and asking questions on my behalf, just to let me know that she wasn’t new to this environment. At the time, I didn't like it, but I understand now that her heart was in the right place. She was just making sure I received all the same perks that the biggest star on the show would receive. However, it makes me uncomfortable when people fight on my behalf when I feel like I should know to do it on my own. I’m escorted to my dressing room where I’m given a few moments to enjoy the green room by myself. Moments later, Jay Leno came into the room to introduce himself to me, as if he’s been waiting to get me on the show. The dream was starting to feel real. Jay Leno was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in this business. I wish we could have been friends. It would have been nice to be able to call him and say, “Hey,” or “Happy birthday.” Jay himself did the walk-through of what I would have to do on the show. I’m still mind-blown by that. By the time I ended the walk-through, my manager at the time, whom I was not happy with, had showed up. I resented him so much. He did wrong by me, and I will not allow myself to be convinced it was anything different. He carried himself as if he was fucking responsible for me being there. He was so smug and deprecating about everything that I did not enjoy his presence.
“I want to feel something new. I want to feel happiness in a pure way. I want to believe that I can enjoy something and no one will take away whatever it is that’s making me happy. Back to the blog.”
The stagehand came by the room to let me know how long I had before it was my turn to go on. For the first time in over six months, I went over the jokes in my head that I had planned to do on national television. I wasn’t completely thinking before I left my house, and I had forgotten to bring my Bluetooth speaker so I could play music in the green room to get excited. I like to hype myself up before a performance. It’s equivalent to the way Eminem gets jacked up when “Lose Yourself” comes on in 8 Mile. They offered my guest the option to watch my performance off to the side with the rest of the stagehands, producers, and crewmembers. Everybody wished me good luck and told me how proud they were of me before leaving the room. The stagehand came to get me, and I tried to warm up by making him laugh. However, he was so caught up in his job that I don’t even believe he heard me. He simply smiled and said, “Good luck,'' as I was waiting for a reply to my joke.
“I’m thinking of putting a link on my site where people can donate if they find what I write helpful or entertaining and would like to show their appreciation by tipping the writer. I don’t know if that is a thing that people would want to show appreciation for. I’m going to cross my fingers and pray that it is. Back to the blog.”
The funny thing is, from there, everything else is pretty much a blur for me. Once they called my name to step into the moment I had always dreamed of (which was coming from behind the curtain of a late-night show to perform in front of millions of people sitting at home watching me on TV), I think I left my body. What was happening was so unbelievable that I couldn’t grasp what was going on. Everything that you’re reading in this blog is about as much as I can remember from that day. I wish I could go back to that moment and be a little more present. I distinctly remember having to force myself to show the level of happiness I felt everyone expected of me. I wanted to avoid having to explain why I didn’t actually enjoy my day, which was due to the negative things around me. So, I plan to celebrate the day I performed on The Tonight Show every year for the rest of my life - as a gesture of self-love and so I can also acknowledge the accomplishment of something I have always dreamed of. Everyone should do the same thing if there’s something that has happened in their lives that they are extremely proud of. Why not celebrate it every year on the date it was accomplished? There’s no rule that says you can’t.
I write as a form of healing for myself and others. If you enjoyed what you read, “tip the writer” by donating to Venmo or zelle @maronziovance