what we did, who we were, who we thought we were.
I owe a great debt to you, because I carry on what you did so beautifully, and I try to think, "What would Richard Pryor do?" Many comics follow in your footsteps, but you got the huge shoes to fill. I got some big feet, though, and I think I can do it. I am like a nasty Bigfoot Cinderella. Whenever I go on stage, I thank you, silently, in the dark velvet of the wings, because you gave me the blueprint of how to tell the truth and make it funny. You taught me to be a teacher, and I am there at school every day. Sometimes I get a shiny red apple on my desk. Humbly, my wish is to be the one who goes forth and continues your work. I want to carry your torch, and I will not set myself on fire. People who love you have said it. Seinfeld said to me once, "You are like Pryor at his best." It was a compliment I couldn't even get my head around. Who knew that this little, confused, sad, ugly, crazy, unwanted, unloved Korean American girl from the cloudy side of San Francisco could one day be compared to you? "I have a dream" are the only words that come to mind.
I am out of words. All that comes now is love and tears, and one last thank you.
Thank you.
the jeffersons
I had a fight with a man once when he said, "What everybody said about you is right. You are a selfish bitch, and you deserve to die alone." And what was strange about it was, I took it as a compliment. I was somewhat proud of the fact that I was selfish. Because to some men, the definition of selfish is that you don't think about them all the time. Well, then I am proud to be one selfish bitch. Why not hold your big, selfish hat with ostrich feathers and black net veil hanging over your face up high? And I don't care if I die alone. I'll probably be so out of my head that I won't even know who's around, so why would it matter if anybody's there or not. I'll just assume "anybody" is Sherman Helmsley.
I found
The Jeffersons
a particularly intense, subversively political sitcom that had quite an impact on me growing up, and still does to this day. I think my selfishness can be directly attributed to that show. The maid, Florence Johnston (played by Marla Gibbs), never did any work. Weezy Jefferson, the pampered wife (played by Isabel Sanford), with her comfy name, presumably a diminutive of "Louise," and her soft, generous body, led a life of leisure. Her silk jersey pantsuits and expensive furniture were a glowing advertisement for conspicuous consumption. For black America,
The Jeffersons
was a positive example of the new middle class, a first foray into formerly racially restricted territory. They were knocking down the walls ofclass and race, showing the possibility of the true definition of the American dream, "movin' on up." Of course there were conflicts, which were subtle yet loud bombs. There was an obvious yet unspoken competitive element between the Jeffersons and their neighbors, a racially mixed couple, the beautiful and elegant Helen Willis (played by Roxie Roker) and her white husband, ironically named "Tom" (Franklin Cover). Their style of living set the standard that the Jeffersons were constantly trying to meet, as even in friendship they were not immune to jealousy and envy. The Jeffersons, without examples of other people like them going before them, had to carve out an identity with the bits and pieces of what they knew of white culture and black upward mobility. George Jefferson, a self-made powder keg of inarticulate resentment, was constantly losing his temper and challenging the system, angry at the way upper-class African Americans were still not accorded upper-class privileges, even while paying upper-class rent. This raw angst was fueled by his own selfishness, which provided the axis of conflict within the story structure.
George rages at Florence, who no matter how much money he has made or what floor he has moved on up to, won't let him forget his