Vacation -- The Afterglow

I just returned from a fabulous island/beach vacation. I was gone for seven whole days and Toni Braxton was right, that is way to long to go without getting in touch. So here's what I did while I was away.

I shot stuff with my new camera:







I drank stuff:

----- That's an Obamarita. It wasn't that great, but I drank it for vacation's sake

I ate stuff:

--- That's an apple fritter. According to the bakery, one is good enough to feed three people. I shared one with two friends, and it has taken me two days to finish the one I bought for just little ole me.

I beached, I read, I napped outdoors:

I watched other people exercise, without feeling guilty:




And most importantly, I was honored to see one of my oldest friends get married:





Tomorrow it is back to reality, and work. Playtime is over. Sigh.

The Second Time Around

I’ve never been one of those people who reads the same book twice. I go through it, I either enjoy it -- which means I’ll inflict it on my friends before going on my bookshelf -- or I hate it – which means I’m going to donate it to the library/give it away/sell to my local used bookstore. I rarely reread books. The most I’ll do is revisit an interesting chapter or scene, and that’s that. Sure, I have my favorite books, but they are usually books I’ve read ONCE.

My thesis researched has forced me to pick up an old favorite, Nathan McCall’s “Makes Me Wanna Holla.” It’s an autobiography where McCall talks about growing up in Portsmouth, Va, a prison stint, and eventually turning his life around to become a reporter at The Washingotn Post. I cited a chapter, “Native Son”, where he talks about how he read that novel when he was doing time. He related so much to Bigger Thomas that he cried when Bigger was sentenced to death.



It was such a good chapter that I started flipping through the book again. I remember being a teenager when I read it. Back then, I was so naïve that I thought one chapter – “Trains” – was going to be about his fascination for locomotives. (It’s soooo not) I couldn’t understand his trouble adjusting to the corporate world, and I was especially pleased with his confrontation with a coworker that caused the offending man to break down and cry.



Now that I read it again, I notice stuff like the book cover -- with its graffiti on the wall and the beat up chair he’s sitting on. I can easily relate to his workplace adjustment problems. He didn’t have the best taste in women, but sheesh, his life would’ve been easier if he treated them better.



Anyway, I’m not re-reading the whole book, just from the middle on. I like to revisit how he decided to change his life while in prison and how the outside world worked out for him. I learned from an old interview that there had been plans to turn this book into a movie. Nothing ever became of that, fortunately. I wouldn’t want to see a scaled-back/squeaky clean/hero gets the girl/Hollywood version of this story anyway. If you’ve never read this book, I highly recommend it.

A Moment of Poetry

As much as I love Alice Walker, I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't learn about this poem until today, when someone quoted lines from it on Twitter. I thought it was beautiful, so I thought I'd share. Enjoy!


Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts

by Alice Walker

Never offer your heart
to someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat
delicious
but not rare
who sucks the juices
drop by drop
and bloody-chinned
grins
like a God.

Never offer your heart
to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, overseasoned
heart consumed
he will sop up your grief
with bread
and send it shuttling
from side to side
in his mouth
like bubblegum.

If you find yourself
in love
with a person
who eats hearts
these things
you must do.

Freeze your heart
immediately.
Let him—next time
he examines your chest—
find your heart cold
flinty and unappetizing.

Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark
in your soul.

Now,
sail away to Africa
where holy women
await you
on the shore—
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts
with God and Song.

(Poem copied via http://people.tribe.net/artemisss/blog/39343320-b036-486c-abdf-293ff2f5a135 )

Discovering Greatness ... A Little Too Late

I didn't know the Undercover Black Man, but I wish I did. I was only vaguely familiar with his blog, but I've been going there reading the archives quite frequently after learning that UBM, an alter ego for TV writer David Mills, died from a brain aneurysm this past week.

His name didn't ring any bells with me as I read the various obituaries and tributes that ran in different newspapers. It's surprising that I wasn't familiar with him, since he did go to my alma mater, worked with David Simon, another distinguished alumnus, and was a writer for both Homicide: Life on the Streets and The Wire, which was one of my favorite programs. He was also set to work with Simon on Treme, an HBO show that seems to deal with life in post-Katrina New Orleans. He wrote his last blog post about the show, along with several others.

I'm ashamed to say that I've only been perusing the blog after learning about his death. But I do have some favorite posts, like the one where he lists recording artists who were convicted of murder; 'Run, N-gger Run', where he lists the lyrics of a catchy old time tune; and one where he calls out folks for pretending to be Indian. He also provided little known historical data, like giving a bio on the country's first non white vice president.

I've been late in discovering greatness before. I was an adult before I read 'Go Tell it On the Mountain' and 'Giovanni's Room', the latter helping me realize how much I loved James Baldwin. And just last year, my guitar teacher has got me playing songs by the Beatles and their tracks are in constant rotation (John Lennon was THE TRUTH). I'm now learning 'Don't Let Me Down', which faces stiff competition from 'My Life' for being my favorite Beatles song. (I've become so enamored with them that a friend has nicknamed me The Ladybug)

I had already known I was going to watch Treme when it premieres in a few weeks. But now I'll do so with the UBM, or David Mills, in mind. Rest in peace, Mr. Mills.

"These Hips Are Magic Hips ..."

I was saddened to hear about the death of poet Lucille Clifton recently. Poetry is very hit or miss for me. Generally, I enjoy it, alot, especially when the writer is the one doing the reading. But I don't go out of my way to read poetry collections (Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni and Georgia Douglas Johnson are the exception) or attend readings. This could be a side effect from a few years before when I thought I was dropping in on a brief spoken word event, which, instead, turned out to be THREE HOURS of someone screaming, then whispering their words. I'm still recovering.

Anyway, I was familiar with Lucille Clifton because she lived in my old neighborhood. However, I wasn't exposed to her poetry until maybe a year or so ago during a fiction class. My professor gave us a copy of her poem 'Here rests', which basically summed up her sister's life and personality in a few lines. The poem resonated with me because in some ways her sister reminded me of my Aunt BG, who is now in a nursing home raising all sorts of hell. (Let's just say that one nurse learned the hard way about telling my aunt to put out a cigarette.) Here's the poem:

here rests

by Lucille Clifton

my sister Josephine

born july in '29

and dead these 15 years

who carried a book

on every stroll.

when daddy was dying

she left the streets

and moved back home

to tend him.

her pimp came too

her Diamond Dick

and they would take turns

reading

a bible aloud through the house.

when you poem this

and you will she would say

remember the Book of Job.

happy birthday and hope

to you Josephine

one of the easts

most wanted.

may heaven be filled

with literate men

may they bed you

with respect.

With poetry, I'm a big believer in hearing it READ by the writer, versus reading it yourself. So here's some audio of her doing a 'Homage to my Hips', which is where the title for this blog post was taken. But don't stop there. Please check out 'Miss Rosie', 'Blessing the Boats' and 'Wishes for Sons'. And take a moment to see her in action. Rest in peace, Miss Lucille.

He's Out of My Life

This was going to be a post about all the other cds I stumbled across while searching for Michael Jackson’s HIStory Book 1 cd. I have a ton of cds and there are some that I haven’t played in years. I flipped through the entire Jodeci collection, Boyz II Men, Shai, SWV and a copy of Xscape (fyi, this group includes Tiny of Tiny & Toya fame). I thought about writing about my thoughts on each of these groups and muse about 90s music in particular.

That was what I planned. But as luck would have it, I found HIStory Book one placed in a pile of cds that I looked through the previous day. MJ released HIStory years ago and it’s a two-disc set that includes old and new music. On disc 1, there are hits like She’s Out of My Life, I Just Can’t Stop Loving You and Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’. Disc 2 has newer (well, they were new then) tracks like Scream, They Don’t Care About Us, Come Together (John Lennon’s tune) and Money. Good stuff.

I’m happy to also have the cd booklet, which contains lots of valuable information. For instance, did you know R. Kelly wrote You Are Not Alone? Or that Teddy Riley wrote Remember the Time for an old girlfriend? There’s tons of information in there, including lots of pictures of MJ performing or posing with other celebrities. There’s also a scan of a 1994 letter from 7-year-old Dominic to the president that reads: ‘Dear President Clinton – Please make guns against the law. Make there be no pollution. Make countries stop fighting. Make there be lower taxes. Stop the reporters from bothering Michael Jackson. Make there be more laws. Sincerely, Dominic.’

Now that I’ve located my HIStory music, as well as MJ’s Invincible cd, I’m going to go into an MJ music coma for who knows how long. I can only hope that my neighbors will complain. Then I can point out that I hear the sounds of their love(?)making several times a week, so they can at least cope with my constant playing of Dirty Diana and Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough.

Appreciation: Musiq ('So Beautiful')

Have I ever mentioned that I heart Musiq? Well I do. I love Musiq's music (hahahaha! i couldn't resist saying that!) and his overall vibe. If I could summarize my type of guy into one person, it would be him. He's got that quirk factor that is oh so special to me. Anywho, check out one of my favorite songs by him on his new album.

Appreciation: Phoebe Snow (Or, Great Finds by the Coffee)

One good thing I can say about my job is that it comes with perks. The best perks are back by the coffeepot. That is where people display their yummy leftovers, the top dawg leaves bottles of wine and occasionally, you can find a good coupon here or there. Things that are placed near the coffeepot go very quickly, so I learned any food item that has sat there for more than a half hour must be pretty nasty and to stay far away from it.

But the best perks are the music and the dvds. In recent months, I’ve been able to walk away with free dvds of several Bravo reality programs, including Paula Abdul’s show and the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I didn’t have a pressing desire to watch any of them, but I had to grab it because of the free factor. There has never been something by the coffeepot that I just HAD TO HAVE. Until now.

The other day, I went to the coffeepot to fix some more tea, when I saw a cd. It was !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!PHOEBE SNOW LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I grabbed it with my hot little hands and tucked it into my bag. No one would be able to understand my excitement, so I grabbed an astonished coworker and told her the story that I’m about to write about now. *Ahem*

Years ago, I read this great book called ‘Butterscotch Blues’. It was a love story, but not your typical boy-meets-girl kind of tale. Let’s just say I laughed, cried and had a whole lot of other reactions that would give away the plot, so I’ll keep ‘em to myself. Anywho, the story revolves around Sandy, a dark-skinned Black woman, who falls in love with Adrian, a light-skinned man from the Caribbean. As their relationship progresses, he introduces her to new foods and new music. ‘Harpo’s Blues’ by Phoebe Snow was their favorite song.

After I finished the book, I wondered if Phoebe Snow was a real person and what this song sounded like. I learned that she was this awesome singer in the ‘70s who pretty much gave up her career to focus on her daughter, who was born severely brain damaged. (Her daughter, Valerie, died last year) Over the years, I grabbed what music of hers that I could – ‘Poetry Man’ (song is the truth!), ‘Two Fisted Love’ and ‘Harpo’s Blues.’

“So I was REALLY happy when I found this,’ I explained as I waved the cd in my astonished coworker’s face. She smiled at me politely but I know she was probably thinking that I was a nut. Ahh well.

Anyway, I’ve played the cd several times since then and I have some new Phoebe favorites: ‘Something Real,’ ‘The Other Girlfriend’ and ‘Rockin Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu.' Good stuff!

Photo from http://www.allaboutjazz.com/photos/profile/PhoebeSnow.jpg

Appreciation: Toni Morrison

All my life, I’ve been a big time reader. But there were two writers who always scared me – Alice Walker and Toni Morrison. Perhaps it was the subject matter in Walker’s “Possessing the Secret of Joy”, the creepy cover of “Beloved” or the graphic nature of “The Bluest Eye”, but for a long time, I did whatever I could to avoid their books. They were heavy.

But then, things changed. I’m not sure how or why, maybe it was my ongoing obsession with The Color Purple (I have every line memorized), that made me want to give ol’ Alice a try. I still haven’t read the book version of The Color Purple in its entirety, but I know how it differs from the movie. I think the first book of hers that I read was ‘Temple of My Familiar’. I thought it was engrossing at times, weird at others and had one part that I struggled to wrap my mind around. Still, I became a fan and started reading every Walker thing in sight. (I still haven't read 'Possessing the Secret of Joy' though)

So then I took the big step with Toni Morrison. I started with ‘Song of Solomon’ and read eagerly about Milkman Dead. Then I moved on to ‘Tar Baby’, the love story of Son and Jadine. I remember it having a very ‘heavy’ opening, but I got through the rest fairly easily. The book literally had some lines I had to read aloud, just to make sure they were as good as they sounded in my head. They were. I finished ‘Tar Baby’ only a few years ago and it was easily my favorite book. Yet when I flip through ‘Song of Solomon’ again, I’m torn between the two.

I say all of this to mention I am now reading my third Toni Morrison book, ‘Sula.’ I’m ahead of the reading schedule for my class this semester. So, while everyone is fretting over finishing Ann Petry’s ‘The Street’ (I already read it), I’m getting a head start on next week’s reading.

There are about 70 pages or so left before I finish ‘Sula,’ but it is having the same effect on me that ‘Tar Baby’ did. The cast of characters are truly memorable – I’m partial to Sula’s one legged grandmother, Eva – and her one liners are amazing. There’s one part where Eva is criticizing Sula for not having children. Sula says: “I don’t want to make somebody else. I only want to make myself.” Don’t even get me started on the part where she describes black men as “the envy of the world” because “white men spend so much time worrying about (black men’s) privates that they forget their own” and “white women think rape as soon as they see you.”

I have a feeling that this book will be on my list of favorites. When I reach the last page, I may embrace my inner Clay Davis and simply say ‘SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.’ (That’s from The Wire, for those that didn't know)

(Photo from http://www.cob.montevallo.edu/hatchercl/Sulacover.gif)

Uncle L

Most mornings, I start my day the same way. I have a cup of green tea and flip to the Entertainment section of the newspaper. I read off the celebrity birthdays to my coworker and she reads me my horoscope.

But this morning, my day was thrown into a tizzy after reading one particular entry. Under "Today's Birthdays", it said: LL Cool J, 40. LL!!!!! 40???? FORTY???????

See, LL was my man from day one. I think his Bigger And Deffer album was the first one I bought. I listened to "I'm Bad" repeatedly and when he got to the part where he said -- "Don't eat Oreo's , eat Cool J Cookies" -- I begged Mom to buy me these new cookies next time she went grocery shopping. I credit LL for giving me my fetish for dimples. Whenever he smiled, I became intrigued with those holes in the side of his face and knew I had to have them.

I'm not so much a fan of his newer music as I am for his ..... well, other assets. But 40??? I mean, I'm sure that's his real age -- heck, he might even be older than that -- but dang. That man is not human. He is a work of art.

Happy birthday, Big Ellie. You're something like a phenomenon.

(Photo from http://www.palmbeachpost.com/shared-blogs/palmbeach/swan/media/LL-Cool-J-and-the-Fatal-Attraction-2.jpg)

Don't Ever Wonder (Or, Appreciation Pt. 2)

Sometimes the moment hits me harder than others. There have been times when I'm driving in my car and a certain song will play on the radio that makes my shoulders shake. Other times, like today at work, I just want to shriek, "WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME??!!!"

I am talking about Maxwell, who I had the pleasure of meeting in 2001. Okay, it was a concert, with thousands of other people there, but I'd like to think it was just the two of us in the room. This was back when his last album, Now, had been released and I was playing it nonstop, particularly "Lovers Only." A new singer by the name of Alicia Keys opened up for him and I spent the rest of the show drooling over Maxwell, or Max, as he lets me call him.

Max and I have a complicated history. Back in college, two of my roommates were crazy about him, but I just didn't understand. His music was alright, but I thought he was rather odd looking. His hair was all over his head and he was always doing something bizarre in his videos. I liked his music, but he wasn't on critical levels.

Then a few years later, I saw him do an interview on BET. I don't know what it was -- the sunglasses he wore, the tone of voice or his outfit -- but it was then that I got it. Dude was special. I was sold.

Because I worked (still do) in a creative environment, I was able to display the poster I bought from the 2001 concert near my desk. Of course my colleagues wanted to talk smack, particularly the men. One guy in particular always had something smart to say -- Maxwell's overrated, his music sucks, when is he coming out with a new single? I kept my head high and ignored the naysayers.

That was years ago. Now it's truly time to ask, 'When are you putting out a new single, Max?' I've been patient -- Lord knows I have been. I give him a fair dose of Google and I saved him as a friend on myspace, which includes a sample from his "upcoming" album. Other than that, I sit tight and check the new releases each week.

The problem is -- I am not a patient woman. I listened to one of my stations on Pandora.com the other day and they had the nerve to play Max's "Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder)." It took everything within me not to keep from falling out of my chair. Oh, Max. It was so good to hear his voice again.

Now I'm back to checking his website and Google, to see if I can get even a mention of a cd release date. Hopefully, I'll get some news soon. It's so hard to be dedicated, especially when there are so many men out there who deserve my appreciation.

(Photo from http://z.about.com/d/randb/1/0/Y/5/-/-/Maxwell.jpg)

Appreciation

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I have many men, many imaginary men, that is. Countless celebrities that I refer to as boyfriends who don't know they're my boyfriends. So what if Access Hollywood says he's dating some new actress, that's just something we tell folks to keep the paparazzi off our trail. What, he got somebody pregnant? That's totally innocent -- we asked that chick to be the surrogate mother to our child! As you can see, my stories tend to be a bit on the elaborate side.





Today, I want to talk about the cuteness that is Coby Bell, pictured above. I remember the first time I saw young Coby. I was in the suite of my dorm watching ER with a few of my roommates. We were barely paying attention to the TV until Coby appeared. He played a patient who was an athlete with some kind of prostate problem. We decided he was cute and got a little closer to the screen as his character became embarassed over the erection he got when the female doctor prodded him. As we remained transfixed to the screen, we wondered whether he was a brotha, hermano or gringo. In the end, we decided that it didn't even matter -- he could get it.





Over the years, I followed him onto various TV shows -- "Third Watch" and now "The Game." I always thought he had this rare cute/innocent quality about him, until I caught a glimpse of him on CSI Miami this week. I only saw enough of it to grasp that Coby was the bad guy and that he had killed someone. He had this nice little soul patch just below his lip and he was admitting to the murder with such bravado. It made him seem so dangerous ... and appealing. Gotta love a man with determination. Yum.



Yeah, there are rumors that he's married with twin girls. That's just another one of our schemes to protect the anonymity of our love.











(Photo from http://images.tvnz.co.nz/tvnz_images/tv2/programmes/third_watch/Coby_Bell_d.jpg)