My pot of coffee and I are fighting writer’s block. We are losing. Pretty badly, in fact. Writer’s block is more of a foe than it used to be. But before, I had the luxury of writing only when I felt like I had a great one in me, one of those where I’d sit down and almost black out to write. Sometimes, you get on rolls with this where you can close your eyes and 1,200 good words will come out.
This ain’t one of those days.
Anyway, I took a break to check out an old TV One re-run of “It’s Showtime at the Apollo.” I ran down there to see a supremely wack dance routine. Them cats weren’t bad dancers necessarily, but they sure didn’t need to be on television. Shit, they surely didn’t need to be in a theater where they boo famous people passionately. Random folks from the block? Ohhh, they get it.
But riddle me this–why go on Apollo now? Is any talent scout really watching Amateur Night? When’s the last time a star said, “well, who knew where Amateur Night would take me?” I know Lauryn Hill lost on there. A few other people, too.
So if you’re not gonna be famous, is a potential run with the Sandman–and the embarrassment that comes with it–worth all that practicing and rehearsing?
Lemme know…