Trying to make it as a Somali actor

I think that the ethnicity that provides aspiring actors with the least opportunity for success would be Somali. Why, you ask? Well, that’s simple; there are very few roles in American cinema that provide opportunities for Somali actors. The following essay is meant to prove a point that has been bothering me for the past several years.

First of all, let me give you some background. I didn’t spend much time in Minneapolis until a little over two years ago. Up until this time, I spent almost all of my time in the city of St. Paul. Then two things happened that contributed to my gradual migration to the larger of the Twin Cities. The first event was my gainful employment with Minneapolis Public Schools. The second being less of an event, and more of a gradual process, is that my friends began immigrating to the lovely city of Minneapolis by the dozens. Both of these events led me to more common interactions with a group of people whom I had previously only known about in theory. Yes, I started meeting and interacting with Somali people on a daily basis.

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Man struggles with petty addiction

From crack to cigarettes, heroin to Hershey kisses, gambling to “girl on girl” action, vices to video games and many stops in between, addictions are as American as apple pie and NASCAR. With the invention of the Internet, newsgroups, and email, it has become easier for people to find help in coping with their own personal addictions. With support groups numbered in the millions, it is rare to find an addiction without a network for support. One of these rarities is support for a substance that until recently had never been considered addictive. We are talking about the newest addition to addiction; the almighty chip.

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The Origins of Skaff

In the country of Lebanon, 23 years ago to this day, the world changed for the better. On February 24, 1982, Nora and Jerry gave birth to a son named “Skaff”. When the doctor told them they needed to give this child a first name, they decided to call the child “Tim”

On February 25, 1982, young Tim had his first shot of Jack Daniels. This gave way to his first craving for a cigarette. Many believe that for this fact, it wasn’t until February 25 that Skaff was actually born.

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My Golf Story

I always golfed 7-10 rounds a summer since 9th or 10th grade. I was never any good, but it was fun. In college, when money was tight, I’d still golf during summers. It got to the point where I was frustrated at paying $25-40 to be bad at something, so I started playing less. One day, about three years ago, I went golfing at Manitou Ridge in White Bear Lake with my dad and brother. I had a poor round, and was getting frustrated. So, I proclaimed on the 5th hole that this was to be my last round of golf… EVER. The round continued to go poorly until the 9th hole.

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Wardrobe Malfunction

Apparently I didn’t remember a minute detail when I dressed myself this morning. It wasn’t until I was sitting at my desk when I noticed a pleasant breeze over my nether regions. Looking down, I noticed I had an excellent view of my boxer briefs. Now, if I wasn’t sitting at work, this would have been of little concern. In fact, I may have done nothing to correct this problem, due to it’s uninhibited nature. However, I wouldn’t be able to hide under my desk all day, so I knew I had to do something about it. I a few minutes for a co-worker to arrive and told her that my pants today had a tear in a place that was “work inappropriate”. After a solid laugh, I asked her to back me up while I went home. Then I went to inform my boss of my “wardrobe malfunction”. Apparently, he overheard my previous conversation, because he started laughing at me and said “get out of here”. Needless to say, I promptly drove home for a change in attire.

I hate the Local News

I hate local news.

And since I am down to two f*ing television channels that I am allowed to watch, I am forced to fill my craving for t.v. with thirty minutes of local news, and I must say that tonight’s 6 o’clock news was my swan song. The first fifteen minutes went something like this: “It’s really cold outside. I mean, seriously. It’s cold. Let’s go down to Steve Schmuck who is outside.

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Hit in the Head with a Heinie

So i went to a conference last weekend in virginia. It was soooooooooooooo great. Great lectures, great food and open bar every night. Very smart people were there, I met a nobel prize winner, made some new friends, and of course met a cute boy. The first day, there was a welcome dinner to start off the conference. Being the party girl that I am, I ended up going out afterwards with some people who didn’t want to go to bed at 10pm. The bar we went to had all sorts of things hanging from the ceiling and walls.

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Naming Conventions

What goes into a name?

Well, traditionally parents gave their children names based on something. Whether it be a family name, or the name means something in another language, children were named thoughtfully. Then came the invention of baby name books, and the whole world got screwed. Gone are the days when girls are named after their grandma Frances, Lenore or Irma, and boys are named after great grandpa Oscar, Roy and Mel; kids are now named after whatever shows up first in a baby book. I dare you to go up to a group of girls in their early twenties and not find at least one girl named Katie, Christen (Kristen, Kristin), Jenny, Ashley, or some derivative of these names.

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Random Thoughts on the mother of all holidays.

Why do we call it Thanksgiving? Who are we giving thanks to? Are we showing our thanks to our relatives by eating their food? Does pumpkin pie mean that you’re more thankful than pecan pie? If you go up for 8ths on green bean casserole, does that mean that you are the most thankful of all? If that is the case, then I am the most thankful person in the world!

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Valley Oaks Neighborhood Memories

You know what I hate? I hate the semi retarded kid down the street. You know what I mean, you’re growing up, you have the kids you play sports with, football, basketball, baseball, having the time of your life. Your whole neighborhood is a bunch of normal boys who just want to play some sports. I mean, I crapped sports as a kid. Well, there was always one kid in the neighborhood who didn’t share the same interests as the majority. He was more interested in helping his mom knit sweaters than playing tackle football. He’d rather cross stitch than swing a bat. Yes, this is the semi retarded kid down the street. All of the kids in the neighborhood hated him, all of the parents loved him. You’d avoid him like the plague by coming up with elaborate plans to ditch the degenerate. You’d ride away on your bikes on purpose. You’d tell him to meet you somewhere and go to another place. When he finally did catch up to you, you’d ask him “have you ever played smear the queer?” and then say “here, hold this football”. It made for hours of fun… at least until bones were broken.

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