getmygoat

A couple weeks ago I read the choreopoem for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf by Ntozake Shange. It consists of several poems of varying lengths, compiled together in the form of a play. Each story is told by a nameless “colored girl” who is identified by the hue of her dress. Some tell several stories, some only one or two; some tell sad stories, others stories of triumphs. It’s only 64 pages long (excluding foreword), so I plowed right through it.

Reading for colored girls affected me immensely; I laughed, I raged, I called out “You go, girl!” I made note of segments I want to quote on my social networking page, and I recommended the book to friends.

Then in my Black Women Writers class, the teacher showed us a video. The order was mixed up, and the settings were more elaborate than the instructions in the text indicated, but I also enjoyed that, and I reacted a little more strongly to each piece.

Finally I got the chance to see a local production of the piece. I did not actually cry at the end, but I came very close. By far, the live performance was the most moving, and it was very different from the film version (and both, in turn, were different from my interpretation as I read).

As a white woman, these stories are not about me. Shange intended this piece to be of, for, and by women of color, but she recognized that many of the struggles black women encounter on a daily basis are ones that women of every walk of life come across as well. Even though I was a spectator to this outpouring of emotion and honesty, I felt very much included when each actress fixed her eyes on mine. It was truly cathartic, and I drove home enveloped in a sense of serenity I had not experienced in a very long time.

I said it. Now is the worst time to be a twenty-something college graduate. I’ve been unemployed for a year, and I’m beginning to get desperate (not desperate enough to sell my body or work for Wal-Mart - I still have my principles). I’ve been thinking about the best ways to make my skills marketable.

I could tutor, proofread, edit, etc. Jobs like that are a dime a dozen, though, so it’s hard to make myself stand out. I could cut out the middle man and just write the papers for money, but again, I have my principles. How can I make money from my skills without abandoning my ethics?

A friend of mine jokingly suggested lap-dance tutoring. Although this idea is hilarious and far-fetched, I wonder if he’s not on the right track. My goat and I were considering some ways we could combine our skills with existing occupations.

Some seem more run-of-the-mill than others:

• tutor/nanny (Too average? Let’s move along then.)
• proofreader/office fish feeder & plant waterer (Have you SEEN some of these office memos?)
• proofreader/housekeeper (I’ll check your homework during the spin cycle!)

• tutor/professional driver (Give me the rundown on the way home from school, and I’ll try to explain the errors before we hit the driveway.)
• editor/bookseller (I fixed all the mistakes in this e.e. cummings book!)
• editor/party planner (If you party enough to need someone to plan it for you, you MUST need someone to look over your work…)
• tutor/dog agility trainer (This just sounds like fun.)
• editor/beekeeper (What? I’ve always wanted bees! Why not combine my passions?)

No, this will not do at all. Perhaps instead I should begin a campaign of vigilante proofing. I see spelling and grammatical errors everywhere I go. Perhaps I should carry a red pen to correct their ways, then demand discounts at these various, barely literate establishments.

Perhaps I should just pack it in and realize that I probably won’t use the skills I learned as an English major until I have completed at least one graduate degree. Academia is fun, and it provides a neat little excuse for being unemployed (since old people don’t generally accept my response of “Are you serious? Have you looked at the economy lately?”). I’ll try the job hunt dance again in about six years or so.