a couple of days in her presence

"Just before Eartha Kitt steps on stage tonight at Hollywood's Roosevelt Hotel Cinegrill, Eartha Mae will be waiting in the wings with a nervous stomach."Don't laugh. I'm a terribly shy, terribly inward person. It's rejection. I'm always afraid of rejection. I'll be all glamorous and vomiting." That's our Eartha Mae. Eartha Mae is the force inside Eartha Kitt. It was Eartha Mae,..." Miki Turner, The Orange County Register, July 26, 1995

in the summer of '95 i had just wrapped up my first season of covering the los angeles lakers and clippers for the orange county register and needed a challenge. i found out eartha kitt was playing at the cinegrill club inside hollywood's historic roosevelt hotel, and decided it was time i crossed the aisle--again.

i went over to the features department and pitched a story on kitt to cary darling--a guy who really lives up to his name--and he agreed, but said to keep it short.

when i arrived at the roosevelt on that warm july day, i was told to go to suite 501.

i rang the bell.

kitt's manager, an older guy with an abundance of charm, opened the door. sitting on the floor about 10 feet behind him was a really old woman wearing a terry cloth robe with a scarf around her head. i was just about to ask where miss kitt was when the woman's eyes locked in on my own.

deep.

initially, i thought that the old woman on the floor speaking french to two white french poodles was eartha kitt. but as she got up to greet me, i soon realized i was speaking with eartha kitt's alter ego eartha mae, kitt's real name. i wouldn't meet eartha kitt until later that night at the club.

although kitt was best known for her sultry ballads, sex kitten persona and putting all four letters into the term "diva," eartha mae, who died today at 81 from colon cancer, was quite an animated character herself. during the hour or so i was with her we discussed a plethora of topics including the civil rights movement, that altercation she had with lady bird johnson, her daughter, her mens, race, playing catwoman, "santa baby," her dogs, growing up in the south, the ghosts of divas past and what had kept her motivated after all those years in the biz.

she was uniquely intriguing. and how ironic it is that the woman who cooed her way through the eternally sultry and seductive "santa baby" would pass on christmas day. that sister always knew how to make an entrance--and an exit.

i think the two of us connected because she realized i had done my homework and because i was really interested in her stories. there was no time limit on our interview, but whenever you're dealing with divas it's best not to waste their time with stupid or redundant questions. eartha mae seemed relieved to have an opportunity to reflect on the past--hers and eartha kitt's.

some of it was good, some of it was bad, some of it was ugly.

it was as though we were up in an attic going through old trunks. i was thrilled to help her sort through all of her baggage.

most of what was said that afternoon never made it into the paper. cary was gracious enough to give me some space in the register's weekly entertainment tab, but it was barely enough to say anything other than eartha kitt is playing the cinegrill. come. enjoy.

as i left her suite that day i told her i had just bought her latest cd and that i played her version of "moon river" every morning. she seemed stunned.

"You do?" she said softly. "thank you. thank you very much."

maybe the fact that i was actually listening to her music was some kind of validation for a performer in the twilight of her career. at thirtysomething i probably didn't fit the profile of the typical eartha kitt fan. later that night i realized i truly wasn't.

the cinegrill was filled with a lot of people who didn't look like me but i ended up bonding with a couple of guys from we-ho (west hollywood) who were seated at my table. these dudes could have been kitt's official biographers. they had books, album covers and all kinds of paraphernalia. they were positively giddy. also in the audience that night was ann miller--old hollywood royalty; and two-hit wonder freda payne, a delightful woman.

when the band started playing i was a little taken aback by eartha mae's transformation into eartha kitt. it was as if someone had clicked their heels three times and poof! the scarf had been replaced with a wig, the robe with a sequined gown and eartha mae now looked about 20 years younger in the proper lighting. it was a terrific show. kitt sang, purred, made a few jokes, acknowledged the celebs, interacted with a few fans and wrapped it up. afterwards i met up with her as she was taking photos with miller and payne. i have one of those shots.

i was so impressed with her show that i made arrangements with her manager to come back the next night with a girlfriend. when i tell you that i saw the same exact show i had seen the night before i am not exaggerating. it was like precision clockwork down to the questions she asked the audience. the only thing she did differently on that second night was smile when she spotted me at my table.

after that show we met again briefly. she grabbed my hand and said that she had loved the article i'd written. i hadn't been that happy with it--only because it was so short--but i was thrilled that she had validated my efforts.

i never saw either eartha again after that night. but when people ask me who are some of the coolest people i've interviewed, she's always at the top of the list. the time i spent with eartha kitt was memorable because she introduced me to eartha mae, a person not everyone got an opportunity to meet.

looking back

in the bible eight is the number of new beginnings so at the start of '08 i was looking forward to a great year.

it was.

despite all the challenges, the pain of losing loved ones and absorbing the pain of others as they struggled, i can't and won't complain about what went down in '08.

sure, i could have made more money but i'd trade it all just to see that little zulu boy in durban smile at me again, or hear the laughter of the kids i met in soweto.

priceless.

i could have worked harder, but if it meant having to miss spending precious moments with my folks i would have said no to an opportunity to shoot with annie leibowitz.

i could have prayed more and will do as the year winds down, but i'm thankful for the blessing of life, the love of my family and friends and for the $10.99 bottle of marquez de caceras at trader joe's.

i'm not one for resolutions really but i will enter '09 with a lot more clarity. i have what i need so now it's time to go after what is there for the taking.

the best of '08

travels: south africa, london, turks & caicos, tobago, toronto, new york
music: i was particularly fond of songs by alice smith, benjamin dube, the west angeles mass choir, beyonce, heart, amy winehouse, coldplay, keb 'mo and many others
tv: mad men, the l word, private practice, ugly betty, entourage, gossip girl, lincoln heights, cnn's situation room, unsung
movies: dark knight, the duchess, tropic thunder, notorious, secret life of bees, slumdog millionaire, rachel getting married, the boy in the striped pajamas, pineapple express, step brothers
worst: seven pounds, quantum of solace, the women, meet the browns, it's a great time to be black and sexy, cover, zohan
books: (unfortunately i didn't read a lot--no time) the legs are the first to go, passing for black, the last lecture
purchases: a big ass fan, a nikon lens, the felecity box dvd set, some custom jewelry in barbados, asics, computer bag on wheels, oakley specs, wine cooler, gps
worst purchases: a small ass fan
the jury's still out: iphone
best times: road trip with gaby, my birthday dinner in oakland, safari in south africa, reconnecting with old friends on facebook, dinners with cm in nyc, lunches with rrr in l.a., happy hours with jacks at kado, diving in tobago, dining in turks, exploring london, late-night calls with mam, surprise calls from jew and hanging with dd, the tremendous support i recieved from bl and btr, election night, giants' super bowl win
worst times: dad in rehab, mom's surgery, the deaths of pancrazio, nancy maynard, big frank and mr. white, the break-ups, gaining weight, hot flashes, any time i had to spend in vegas, new year's eve, severing ties with the doc crew, megabus, pappy's cancer
best interviews: james franco, kevin smith, rod lurie, rosario dawson, joe the tour bus driver in johannesburg, annie hathaway, colin farrell, taraji p. henson, nicki micheaux, sanaa lathan, kathleen mcghee-anderson, angela bassett/faith evans and my dad
restaurants: m cafe, kado, thai market, red bamboo, electric korma, taco loco, pink, ago, zen garden
best move: letting go and letting god and learning final cut

season's greetings

as many of you know i write and produce content for the entertainment and sports industries for a living. i try hard to relate to the peeps i cover, but as we all know that's very difficult considering we aren't exactly in the same tax bracket. that said, i discovered the one way in which i can connect to those whose every little movement we chronicle with mindless minute-by-minute updates.

i could, like angelina, madonna, meg ryan and countless others, adopt some kids from an impoverished third-world country.

since the aforementioned celebrities have already "taken" just about every available and unavailable african and chinese child, i, of course, opted to adopt two poor little white boys from the west village. their names are carden and brandon and i rescued them from a private christian school in manhattan.they weren't actually enrolled there because they are, er, poor. they just showed up every day looking for someone to buy them a metro card so they could search the city for the parents who abandoned them and moved to brooklyn to be closer to the ghost of the notorious b.i.g. as you can see they are as sweet as can be and if i work it right we will be on the cover of peep-ho before you know it. then, i, too, will be able to afford better kids from more exotic locales.

but you know what, these little critters have brought more happiness to my life than my deadbeat baby daddy dwyane wade ever has. i'm so thankful that i've been able to experience the joy of parenthood just after getting my aarp card.

but, like i said, i am not as financially solvent as my celebrity friends and need all of you to contribute to this cause. look at their sweet, innocent eyes. they still twinkle when they see inspiring things like el debarge's mug shot or britney's crotch, but they rarely smile any more. and we can't afford prozac. all carden wants for christmas is a 60-inch lcd screen so that he can watch sex and the city reruns at night and feel closer to home. all brandon wants is an iphone so that he can keep in touch with his friends on greenwich street. so please, dig into your wallets and your skinny jeans and send us some C notes. tis the season of giving.

please send all contributions to:

miki turner
c/o the nigerian foundation for poor undesirable white kids
p.o. box 007
lagos, nigeria 4h3

i set up this special account for tax purposes. i'm not going down like wesley snipes.

but if you can't afford to send us any cash during these recessionary times, please know that we sincerely wish you a very ^%#$$^*@## holiday season. that goes double for you d wade!!

cheers,

miki, carden & brandon

i love new york--especially at
this time of the year

it's been more than 20 years since i lived in new york city. i came here from grad school with a simple plan and reconnected with a gracious friend. my plan was to find a job in two weeks or i'd go back to boston and give it another go. the friend was felecia kurtz, one of my best friends from the hampton institute days, who was sharing a studio flak in lefrak city, a lower middle class housing development in queens near laguardia airport, with one of her church friends.

looking back it's a good thing i had lived in boston beforehand. after being reared in an upscale suburb and attending an elistist black college on a very picturesque campus, the gritty streets of beantown helped prepare me for life in the projects. lefrak wasn't a bad place to live, but it did contain some "elements."

as luck would have it i got a low-paying job with the american council for the arts on day 1 of my search. giddy as a piglet in mud, i raced back to queens from midtown on the n train and cut a deal with my new roomates. fk said i could live rent free for as long as i needed. all i had to do was pay part of the ultilities and attend church regularly.

last thursday my shuttle driver took me past my old hood. it looks much bigger now than it did when i lived there. and it looked better all illuminated with bright and colorful christmas lights. there's something about this season that makes you all giddy inside, particularly when you can't help but fall victim to all of the external, electronic, energy-sapping yuletride trappings.

it also makes you rather reflective. i couldn't help but look back on those days when we were all twentysomethings making less than twentysomething annually. we were three women living in a cramped one-room, one-bath studio. we were from vastly different socio-economic backgrounds and had varying degrees of spiritually. the only things we had in common were our affinity for african men--shoutout to james and matthew--and the fact that we were young, seemingly gifted, black and broke.

fk very graciously allowed me to live there rent free for about six months. all of us got along wonderfully until we went our separate ways. i have no idea where edith is now and i saw fk for the first time since 1985 last year when i was on a shoot in her hometown of raleigh, n.c. we exchanged digits and email addresses, but its not like we're blowing up each other's smart phones.

breaking free from the pride back in the day, however, actually allowed me to discover my new york. i love the night life and i would often leave my spacious studio around 11 p.m. on a friday night and cruise over the 59th street bridge in my honda civic hatchback to see what i could get into. more often than not i ended up in the west village or times square, where i actually worked.


i loved racing up and down the avenues with minimal traffic late at night. i still do. once i got to the village i'd stroll into the west 4th st. bar & grill and have a drink. sometimes i'd meet randall kenen there. at the time he was an editorial assistant at knopf, a subsidiary of random house. we both started at the house on the same day. he was smart, gay, gulliable and reasonably good company. he's now an award-winning author of four books and a professor at the university of memphis. sometimes eric simmons would join us, too. eric was tall, gay and a little more streetwise than rand. he had the energy of a herd of wild horses. sadly, eric died years later after jumping into the hudson river to save someone was trying to commit suicide.

that somebody survived.

when it was just me and rand we'd usually eat at burrito loco on w 4th. that was our idea of fine dining at the time. these days neither one of us would be caught dead there. whenever i was alone, i'd usually go to washington square park, which at that time was bustling with activity well into the wee hours of the morning and watch the old men play checkers and the young men sell drugs. and, i'd always spend some time listening to this jazz guitarist on the corner of w 4th and 6th avenue. i'd put some change in his case and request my favorite song--"the new york city woman blues."

every time i come back to the city i go to that same spot at night. he's never there but i can still hear him croon.

if i stopped at times square i'd usually just people watch for a while and then go to curtain up, a cozy little bistro in manhattan plaza. i loved that joint. i once sat next to james baldwin there. bobby short was a regular and a lot of the actors from the negro ensemble company hung out there. lee chamberlain, who played debbi morgan's mother on "all my children" and ellen holly, who played al freeman jr.'s wife on "one life to live" introduced me to it. i followed them there one night after watching them perform in p.j. harvey's compelling play, "a long time since yesterday." it was staged at the henry street settlement house, another favorite spot. it was there that i had the priviledge of seeing beah richards' one-woman show and meeting ossie davis and ruby dee for the first time.

i loved being a part of that crowd and they didn't seem to mind having a green kid from the midwest around.

i wish they were all still here.

the one man who is still around is harvey, the elevator man, at 570 7th avenue. he worked in the building that housed the aca offices back in the day. harvey has to be 90 by now so i was overwhelmed with emotion when i was walking by the building one day three years ago and discovered that he was still there. he still remembered me. i also saw him there earlier this year.

i'm not so sure he remembers me now.

when i jokingly told him it was time to retire he flashed that famous sammy davis jr. smile and said: "why? what would i do?"

since this trip was more about work than enjoyment i didn't get the chance to see harvey or many of my other friends and former co-workers. i did, however, manage to squeeze in a visit with linda, my sister-in-law from cincinnati, and her nephew, my friend nate, from cali. they were in town visiting linda's parents up in harlem. late friday night they came down to my swank eastside hotel and had a drink. i then suggested we go see the tree at rockefeller center.


ironically, i don't think i ever saw the damn tree when i lived here. nor did i ever see the macy's parade, spend new year's eve in times square or even visit any of the iconic tourist traps like the empire state building or the statute of liberty. and sadly, i never did step foot into the twin towers. i thought it would be around for a while, ya dig?

since i've become a vistor i have hit everything except the statue and the parade. the latter will never happen. little miki loathes a parade.

friday was actually my second time visiting the tree. the first time was a few years ago with my then boyfriend. it was so beautiful that it took my breath away. it was so romantic.

this time it was with people i love and it was still glorious. i normally loathe being around tourists, but i loved being in the midst of that crowd. after capturing a few digital moments we headed over to times sqaure--mostly because i love the lights and the vibe when the theater crowds hit the streets after seeing a great show. also, it was something i wanted to share with nate, a wide-eyed surfer dude from orange county.

after my mandatory stop at virgin records to check out the dvd racks and the m&m's store to get my favorite candy (chocolate, no yucky peanut), we headed back to the east side. i put linda and nate in a cab heading uptown and i called it a night. normally, i would have hit the streets again but the frigid temperatures curtailed my desires.

on saturday, after putting in a full day of work, i headed uptown on saturday to visit nate and linda at linda's mom's flat on 148th and 7th. she has the most magnificent view of the entire manhattan skyline. it's just awesome. they were putting up christmas decorations and i was reminded of what a wonderful place this is to spend the holidays.

and these giant ornaments are just the coolest!


i spent about 90 minutes with the fam and then headed downtown to do dinner with CM. i always look forward to these meetings because the conversation is always so stimulating. we met at a thai joint on the yupper west. the food was great, the wine was better and the conversation superb. it was a very good time.

again, i would have hung out after we parted because it was still early. but with the windchill cutting through my gloves like a knife, my hands felts as though they were broken. so, i hopped my chilly ass on the 1 train, transferred to the e and headed back to chelsea, a part of town that i'm madly in love with now.

i love the cobblestone streets, the bars, the bakeries, the shops and the people. it reminds me a lot of london. i stay at this place called the jane, an old residential building that once housed the survivors of the titanic. the rooms are all designed like a ship's cabin (i.e. small) and there are shared loos. i like it here for several reasons. one, the location; two, it's clean and quiet; and three, it's $99 a night.

last night, however, i thought i was going to die. the rooms have no thermostats and the steam heat was on full blast. to keep from melting i had to turn on the air conditioning, which offered little relief, and pat my self down with damp cloths.

sometimes, you really do get what you pay for!

i'm also digging the bk. like chelsea and the east village, there was never any reason to go to brooklyn unless someone you know had died. wow. that's no longer the case. the bk is seriously what's up. i discovered this a couple of years back, but it was reinforced on a recent press trip i took retracing the steps of the late biggie smalls. it was hosted by his mother, viola wallace (below), who was cooler than she ought to be!

although i had originally planned on staying in new york longer i'm leaving tomorrow night. the cold weather and the stress of the past three weeks have made me weary and hungry for my own bed, my bike, my car and the southern california sunshine.

i'll definitely be back here, however, when the seasons change. you can catch me having a pinot noir at bar 51, chowing down on the soy soul chicken at red bamboo in the west village, purusing the stacks at strand and virgin records, making sure harvey is still in the building, hooking up with CM and exploring new culinary options.

spring can't come soon enough!

always keep close friends on speed dial

given a choice i would have preferred not to have gone through all the drama i went through last week. that said, i wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

as a result of having to damn near cuss one of my mother's doctors out, i'm actually a kinder, gentler more rational person than i was a week ago. i know that sounds contradictory, but it's true. given the circumstances of last monday morning when my 82-year-old mother was undergoing gall bladder surgery, i could have easily gone off on her i-am-better-than-thou-because-i-went-to-medical-school m.d. instead, i maintained my cool and avoided becoming some neck-rolling stereotype from a bad '70s network sitcom.

when i was told by a really kind and supportive nurse that my mother's doctor had ordered her to go home on the same day as her surgery, i immediately pulled out my iphone and rang a pair of former college classmates. to say that they kept me out of jail that afternoon is perhaps an understatement.



first i rang my soror, homegirl and friend rhonda from dayton (she's the one with the red hair in the photo). she got her j.d. from howard. then i rang my soror and friend mary from the atl. she went to unc med school. normally, these aren't really my go-to people for more emotional issues, but on monday i needed advice from a doctor and a lawyer. thankfully, they were both reachable when i rang and asked, "what should i do?" they prepared me well to deal with the ensuing BS.

rhonda reminded me that the doctor was working for me and not vice-versa, so i treated him as i would an employee. mary (below) reminded me that doctors from his "cultural background" tend to look down on people who look like me, so i had to school him on who i was in order to get the end result.


so, when i told the charge nurse that we needed to call the mofo m.d. and chat about my mother being admitted, he had the audacity to tell her that he had already discussed it with me and that he wasn't coming to talk to me even though he was still in the hospital.

breathe. one, two, three, four...don't call him a mofo, don't call him a mofo...

calmly and kindly i said: "either he can talk to me or he can talk to the three lawyers i have on speed dial. it's his choice. she's not leaving this hospital today."

he was there in 20 minutes.

when he started babbling about how the insurance might not pay for it, i again remained calm and said: "don't let these sweatpants fool you. i'm a hampton magna and i know that you can write it in such a way that we won't have any issues with the insurance company. so write it out like you would for your own mother."

he cowered and started telling me what he was going to write.

"cheers," i said.

i'm not afraid of a challenge nor do i shy away from confrontation if it's all up in my face. but if it hadn't been for rhonda and mary talking me through that situation, i may have allowed my temper get the best of me and that would not have been a good thing. "the others" need to learn that you can't mess with black folks and their mamas. you will lose every time and quite possibly get your feelings hurt. as a result of my kinder approach, my mother was admitted and the nurses in the outpatient surgery unit at bethesda north actually applauded me when i left that night.

they know what time it is and i must give them big ups. they totally rocked and had my back every step of the way. they were rewarded with fine chocolates and a dozen cupcakes from graeter's for their efforts. a small, but yummy token of my appreciation.

healthcare in america is scary people. and as much as i adore barack obama, i think it might take the next five administrations to straighten this mess out.

last year on a flight to london i watched michael moore's "sicko." although i already knew that healthcare in the U.S. was pathetic, i really had no idea how bad it was until last monday. if i had been forced to take my mother home she could have had all kinds of complications--especially with her high blood pressure fluctuating. and if it hadn't been for mary telling me ahead of time that all of that could happen, i wouldn't have known any better and probably would have taken her home on Monday evening.

after leaving the hospital last monday i had a long conversation with mary. she's an amazing nethrologist who routinely works 19-hour days running her own office, making hospital rounds and being the primary caregiver for her invalid mother. we usually talk two or three times a week--mostly when she's driving home after yet another long day. just before we hung up that night she said, "i think i've given you the wrong impression of doctors. most of them aren't like me. the difference between me and most of them is that i didn't go to med school right out of college. i waited until i was 30. this was something i wanted to do. many of them are slaves to their income and their bottom line."

she's wrong. i didn't have the wrong impression. i knew there was a vast difference between her and some of the doctors i've dealt with personally. many of them don't possess mary's compassion for their patients. it's hard to find one that puts the patient above the bonus check. that goes for lawyers, too. although rhonda doesn't practice law (she owns a college prep academy), if she did, she'd run her law firm in exactly the same way that mary runs her medical practice.

the right way.

since i was unable to reward rhonda or mary with any artery-clogging pastries, i'll do them one better. i'll give them my most precious possession. my words.

Poitier-Carroll Love Child Surfaces!

One of the things that Diahann Carroll left out of her recent revealing biography, "The Legs Are the Last to Go," was the fact that she and ex-lover Sidney Poitier had a secret love child who was conceived during the filming of "Paris Blues."

The child, let's call her Baracka, tracked down her bio parents at an A-list Hollywood event in the '90s and watched while Mr. Poitier and Ms. Carroll argued about her paternity. A bystander at that Women in Film event honoring Ms. Carroll reported that the actress accused Mr. Poitier of being a "Calypso-loving, brown-bagging ho" who knocked her up in the prime of her career.

Upon hearing himself described in that way, Mr. Poitier claimed that sisters like Ms. Carroll were the reason why "black males gravitate toward the white women who adore them."

"It got pretty ugly," the source said. "And I felt so bad for their daughter. She didn't even have enough money to valet her car and had riden her bike."

While Ms. Carroll did spend some time talking with Baracka--telling her she should stop dressing like she shopped at a "Compton Flea Market"--Mr. Poitier totally ignored his alleged child and began chatting up Jane Fonda.

Today Baracka (who preferred not to reveal her real name) spends a lot of time on the couch critiquing her parents' early films. Peep-Ho magazine tracked Baracka down at The Grove recently where she was perusing the sale racks at the Nike store. Dressed in Nike sweat pants, a hoodie and last year's Ugg boots, Baracka said that she was hurt that her mother didn't mention her in her new memoir.

"She spent half the book trashing my father, a man who did her so wrong," Baracka said wistfully. "Yes, I am hurted. I could have brought her so much joy. We could have done a mother and daughter spread in Essence, or a photo spread in Ebony standing in front of our big house with our 10 cars. Instead I have to stand in line at Book Soup just to see her.

"I'm not bitter though. My adoptive parents did the best they could. Last year they gave me a 1967 Ford Country Squire station wagon for my birthday. I was cruising. This year, they forgot to call, but that's OK. That night I had sex with an old head I met at Lucy Florence and he left me some McDonald's coupons in the morning. He didn't have to do that."

Baracka says that she has no plans to reach out to either of her parents in the near future. Instead, she plans on writing her own book.

"I'm going to call it 'The Parents Are the First to Bolt: Dirty Diahann and Sorry-Ass Sidney."

Yes We Did

When I was a little girl growing up in Cincinnati, Ohio, every Sunday my mother would transform me from an ashy-legged, nappy-headed tomboy into a Sunday morning debutante. She’d press and curl my hair, dress me up in the obligatory uniform—starched dress, anklets and black patent leather Mary Jane shoes so I could watch history unfold while sitting in the pews of the Mt. Zion Baptist Church.

The man who had a dream was a frequent visitor as were Fannie Lou Hamer, Andrew Young, Fred Shuttlesworth and other icons of the Civil Rights era. On Tuesday, in the hours preceding what is probably this nation’s most defining moment, I thought a lot about them, along with my wheelchair-bound 93-year-old dad who has voted in 18 presidential elections dating back to Franklin D. Roosevelt and couldn’t wait to get to the polls to cast his vote for a man who really wasn’t supposed to be on the ballot.

As a child I couldn’t really grasp the importance of that parade. I knew they were special people because whenever they’d stop by to tell us that we were on the verge of overcoming, we’d have a few nervous white (reporters) visitors, too, lining the back wall. I had no way of knowing, however, that those journeymen would be part of the relay team handing off the baton to Barack Hussein Obama.

As an adult the importance of this moment in time is not lost on me. I get it. Yet, several hours after Obama was elected to become the 44th President of our diverse and complex nation, it still hasn’t sunk in.

It’s not that I’m surprised, I’m not. I’ve been predicting an Obama victory for more than a year. It’s just that after bearing witness to the struggle for so many years Obama’s victory is something that must be realized in every fiber of my being.

Right now it’s just a little difficult to comprehend this reality because in America sometimes it’s hard to believe what you see. It’s like a wow, wow, wow moment that has yet to resonate.

A true African American has become the first President of color in the United States.

For those of us in my generation Tuesday night was the culmination of centuries of opportunities deferred. After watching Obama stroll on stage with his family to make his acceptance speech at Chicago’s Grant Park, I had to wonder if the Middle Passage, the habitual exclusion, the abject discrimination, the dogs, the fire hoses, the bombs, the horrific lynchings, the loud cries and the silent tears were all worth it.

Was that what it took to get to this point?

I’m not sure because those were ungodly acts orchestrated by ungodly people. Evil, as those who experienced the horrors of the Holocaust know all too well, does not discriminate. But here’s one thing I’ve learned about being black in America. We have a natural resolve. Despite everything that has happened to us since arriving on these shores, we still smile.

And the one thing that all of those years in Sunday school taught me was that sometimes God takes you through some storms so that you can truly appreciate the sunny days.

Tuesday was a very sunny day.

On Tuesday night America, a nation of immigrants, elected one of its own to unite it so that this country, which has yet to achieve its true greatness, could perhaps rise above the internal battles that have been raging here for the past 221 years.

Yes, those of us who cheered Obama’s victory last night can see brighter days ahead but it would be foolish of me to suggest that just because a black man will occupy the White House in January that those who harbor hate in their hearts will immediately embrace those who don’t look like them. Or that the economy will bounce back by Jan. 20, and the war in Iraq will be over by Valentine’s Day.

Not going to happen.

What Obama will do, however, is challenge the way people think. He represents change, hope and progress. He will inspire all of those who dare to dream and draw upon those who died while trying.

After hearing his acceptance speech tonight I’m pretty sure that Obama knows why he’s here and what it is he has to do. He said he needs our help and he surely does. In this new America we are the bricks and he is the newly appointed bricklayer. The America that Obama is inheriting is a troubled nation that seems more intent on being politically correct than just simply correct.

Brother Barack has some serious mountains to climb.

But you know what? I have a feeling that he’s going to find a way to get over—just like the others who ran the good race before him on Sunday morning.

the view from the couch

honestly, the week that was kind of wore me out.

it wasn't because i was abnormally busy because i wasn't. it was just that most days i couldn't get up off the couch because i was so mentally exhausted. so, when i had to write stories on deadline, i wrote them in a slumped position on the couch with my laptop, uh, on my lap, and with my feet up on my teak coffee table. when i had to edit video, ditto. when i had to deal with my dad's doctors and caregivers, i sat up, put my feet on the hardwood floor, held the phone in one hand and my head in the other. and when it was time to eat, i pushed my computer to the left and repositioned my masai coffee table book to make room for the tray with my homemade vegetable soup and pita samwich.

i know, it sounds kind of pitiful, but it really wasn't. i was surrounded by my books, my cds, photos of friends and family, my masks, my art in a room awash with sunshine. it made me feel kind of warm and fuzzy in a one-flew-over-the-cuckoo's-nest-kind-of-way.



one day i watched three un-riveting hours of a pbs documentary on the royal family--because i had to--and then another six hours of cnn while my musician neighbor downstairs banged away on his drums. on another day i took a short nap, waking up just in time for "gossip girl," which has quickly become more than just the gulity pleasure it used to be.

when friends rang, i'd sometimes get a little animated and start pacing around the couch. at least i got up!

and on the day he rang--surprise, surprise--i got up--again--grabbed a bottle of wine out of the cooler, sat back down, put my feet back on the table, giggled and joked my way through a 40-minute conversation and then went back surfing the web for plane tickets to london.

ok, i did have fleeting thoughts of going on sabbatical (from the couch), hopping in the saab and heading north on the 5. but that would mean i would be without a couch for at least five hours.

i knew i couldn't deal with the separation anxiety in my fragile state.

then there was the day a friend from cincinnati rang and said she was in san francisco. that news caused me to jump up from the couch because i realized that i was supposed to be in SF, too. not to see her--i had no idea she'd be there--but to attend the "milk" premiere in the castro.

alas, since the film was starting in two hours there was really nothing i could do. i began pacing again, but was lured back to the couch by the couch.

"miki," the couch said. "come back. i am here for you. there's no need to worry about all those 'senior moments' you've been having lately. your career will survive. come. lay down. relax. have more soup. watch 'krazee eyz killah' for the 35th time. baby steps."

yes, i was indeed the prototype for the couch potato this week. but considering that i had day-long headaches nearly every day the week before, it was time well wasted.

i'll do the laundry next week.

boolshyt!!

my sister-gurl charlene sent me this strip today and it literally brought tears to my eyz! click on the strip to make it bigger. laughter is so good for the soul!

lottie & lucille

i was walking around my neighborhood today trying to shake off the remains of a sunny, but blue monday when i was suddenly touched by an angel.

make that two.



i was 5 years old when judy garland and barbra streisand sang this melody on garland's old cbs variety show. i don't remember if i actually saw the show that night but i have always loved this collaboration.

garland and streisand, however, are not the angels i was referring to. that distinction belongs to two very special women who helped mold me professionally and personally.

lottie knight was my former hampton institute professor and mentor who passed away two years ago this fall. i never made a career move without consulting her. lucille deview was my former writing coach who would always take my good copy and make it great. she died just two weeks before mrs. knight.

losing them in such close succession was extremely jarring but oddly inspiring.

still is.

they never met and that's really a shame. mrs. knight was all pepper while lucille, who was about 10 years older, was the salt of this earth when she was still breathing. had their paths ever crossed they would have had some amazing conversations about life, craft, politics and perhaps, me.

maybe they're doing that right now.

maybe that's why i thought of them today when i heard these lyrics.

the sun is shining c'mon get happy
the lord is waiting to take your hand
shout hallelujah c'mon get happy
we're gonna be going to the promised land

thank you ladies. rest in peace. the meaning of your lives is still unfolding in me.

today

today i realized my dad's dementia had gotten worse.
today jennifer hudson learned that her mother and brother had been murdered and that her 7-year-old nephew was missing.
today i consoled my dear friend whose older brother was found dead on sunday at his home in new jersey.
today i apologized to the same friend for not getting her gift basket off in time because apparently you can't ship wine to maryland.
today i told my hampton classmates that i probably wouldn't be making it to homecoming despite my best efforts.
today i stayed in bed hoping to shake this cold or whatever it is.
today i spoke to a friend who was administering pain meds to her husband with inoperable cancer.
today i wrote two meaningless stories on the stars of "zack and miri make a porno."
today i woke up with a sinus headache at 4:50 a.m.
today i told a total stranger i would critique their clips because i'm a maynard baby and we must always pay it forward.
today i had vegetarian orange chicken and vegetarian tom yum soup delivered from bulan thai.
today i spilled chocolate syrup on my "sex and the city" nightshirt and never bothered to change it.
today a family member got on my last nerve.
today i listened intently while a dear friend shared the milder details of a recent sexual encounter.
today the man whose radio show i did yesterday called to thank me for coming on.
today i was challenged, but less stressed than i had been all week.
today i realized yet again that one should never put their faith in man because man will disappoint you each and every time.
and today i feel blessed that i can now lay myself down to sleep, thanking god for today and tomorrow--for the good times and bad.

bye-bye levi

i'm not going to lie. when it comes to '60s boy bands i am all about the temps. back in the day i was totally mesmerized by the late paul williams. his voice was so smooth, so haunting--particularly when he performed "for once in my life" on that "tcb" tv special featuring the temps and diana ross & the supremes. that boy felt every lyric of that song.

and he was fine.

but i also loved levi stubbs, who passed today at age 72. paul died young when i was just a kid. i grew old, however, with my other crush, the lead singer of the four tops. i loved levi's vocals on "reach out (i'll be there)." remember that as the closing theme in "cooley high?"

decisions, decisions

why is it that sometimes you get really freaked out when your prayers are answered? maybe that's why the old-er folks always say "careful what you pray for." 

change, albeit both refreshing and challenging, is something that you can never really willingly accept as its happening in any form--spiritual, physical, geographical.

i bet most babies would prefer to remain toothless; that some inmates have separation anxiety when they are finally released; that a lot of kids who can't wait to leave home miss it more than they thought they would and that 90-year-old parents would be much happier if their conflicted 50-year-old kids didn't have to make decisions for them.

i know i would.

i've been through a lot of changes in the last 12 days i've spent on the road. i've struggled to find common ground with those who share my DNA and those who don't. i've witnessed old parents get even older. i was mildly amused when a woman at a thai restaurant in upper manhattan insisted that i was whoopi goldberg even after i repeatedly told her i was not. i was absolutely stunned when my favorite cousin--who owns a porsche convertible--picked me up from the bus station in philly in a mini van with her two kids in tow. and i was often at odds with myself because i couldn't answer any of my own "whys?"

now as i lie here in bed in my flannel jammies waiting for the nyquil to kick in so that i can breathe again, i'm oddly looking forward to the bumps in the road that will undoubtedly trip me up in the coming days, weeks and months. sure, i can't afford to make a wrong turn at this point in time, but even if i do--again--it's oddly reassuring to know that there's some billionaire hedge fund dude in greenwich, conn. who is trying to make sense of it all, too.

the lady in black

one of the highlights of my career was the opportunity to work for and with bob and nancy maynard at the oakland tribune. i say "with" because it always felt as though the "trib" was such a collaborative effort that no one really worked for anyone else. we were all in it together.

perhaps that was because it was so important to the maynards that their newsroom reflect the community we served. at the trib it was not unusual to have a black city editor send an asian photographer and white writer to cover a latino funeral in east oakland, which would then be edited by an irish catholic assistant city editor.

that was life at the trib, the best place i ever worked.

one of the worst things about working there was also the best. there was no money. but that just made us work harder. the maynards, along with eric newton and roy aarons wouldn't settle for mediocrity, so even though the trib didn't have the numbers or the cash flow, we had the talent, the commitment and more importantly, the desire to be the very best.

that was something nancy, particularly, insisted on. she was such an accomplished woman with sterling credentials. to this day i've never ever met another journalist with equal parts style and intelligence.

the first time i met nancy was in 1989 at the opening reception for IJE's prestigious summer program for minority journalists. honestly, she scared me just a little. she was so glam and graceful. it kind of felt like having an audience with the queen. i think we all secretly wanted to be her.

as luck would have it i was placed in the sports department at the trib following my completion of the program. although i was still somewhat scared of nancy, my fear dissipated once i got to know her.

nancy always wore black. nancy always looked good. nancy was not a hands-on kind of mentor, but she always had time for you and praised your efforts when you had done well. nancy was a great mom. nancy's home office was solid red and was the coolest room i'd ever seen. nancy always smiled at me and spoke when she walked past my desk, but i'll never forget that one time when she rolled her eyes at me.

it was my 34th birthday and i was bemoaning the fact that i was six years from 40--as if that milestone would mark the end of my life. nancy was like, "baby, please."

the last time i saw nancy was at the memorial service for roy aarons here in l.a. at USC. i literally fell into her arms because i tripped on a snag in the carpet. although i hadn't seen her since Bob's funeral in '93, seeing her there felt like i was back in that dusty old newsroom on the fourth floor of the tribune tower in downtown oakland.

it felt good.

i always loved being around her. she was smart, straight-forward, cosmopolitan, somewhat vulnerable and knew her way around a joke. the more i got to know her, the more i adored her. you really couldn't help but look up to NHM.

about 13 years ago i was asked to write a tribute speech to nancy at an event honoring her career. i was in cincinnati at the time and missed my plane and was unable to get to oakland in time. i was crushed because i'd never actually had the opportunity to tell her how much i appreciated the influence she had on my career and life. i knew then i might never get another chance to do so.

the irony.

i think, however, she knew. maybe she got a clue when i started wearing more black than usual.

nancy, thanks so much for letting me ride on your shoulders.

falling

sometimes i make really stupid decisions based on my inability to realize that i'm no longer 20.

last week i foolishly agreed to take a redeye flight from l.a. to toronto so that i could have a full day to do whatever i wanted to do in one of my favorite cities in the world. it seemed like a good idea at the time since i had no way of knowing that i'd have one bitch of a headache during the 4.5 hour flight from lax to yyz.

translation: i got NO sleep.

regardless, i was determined to accomplish one of the goals on my bucket list once i arrived in canada. i had to see niagra falls. my parents had been there, all of my siblings--even my grandmother who passed away in 1981. i'd been to TO many times but had just never gotten around to making that 80-mile trek to experience one of the planet's most breathtaking natural wonders.

i was determined this time because i've come to realize that tomorrow really isn't promised. if you wanna do something, you have to do it now.

so, with my knapsack on my back and my camera equipment stored in my roller bag, i walked up to the rental car counter, handed the clerk my driver's license, credit card and new mantra.

i need a car right now dude. i'm living for the moment.

at 6:30 a.m., he so didn't care.

it was a lovely drive. sensing that i was going to need some body fuel, i stopped once to get an egg mcmuffin and a hot cup of tea. half of tea spilled out when i was trying to re-open the car door because i was too out of it to realize that the roof on my WTF kind of dodge is this was slanted.

about 35 minutes later i was driving through ontario's unimpressive wine country--i'm sorry, give me napa, tuscany, the rhone or my cousin arnie's homemade wine--and less than 40 minutes later i arrived in niagra, a little resort village that is about 200 miles beyond cheesy.

the canadian side of the falls looks like disneyland threw up on las vegas, circa 1967. the only thing missing was the rat pack.

ironically, once you get into that crazed maze of chain restaurants, casinos and tacky tourist traps, signs and arrows directing you to the falls are nowhere to be found. fortunately, i've been blessed with a good sense of direction. i looked to my left and there it was--god's eternal shower.

since i had gotten there so early i got to park for free in a lot that would have otherwise cost me $8. the streets were empty and i only saw a handful of people strolling along the edge of the falls.
the mist was so thick at times that you could barely see through it, but the raging currents cascading over that ledge were a sight to behold. suddenly my fatigue dissipated, my head stopped pounding and for about 20 minutes all was right in the world.

my only regret is that i couldn't share that dance with laura, rhonda, mary, pappy and all my other friends who are bravely fighting through some of life's inevitable challenges. hopefully, these visuals will strengthen them, too.

A Victory That Had Been On Ice

Thine eyes saw the glory on Thursday night.

From Jennifer Hudson's stirring rendition of the national anthem to Martin Luther King III’s powerful tribute to his dad on the 45th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.’s iconic “I Have a Dream” speech to the tremendous ovation Barack Obama received when he strolled onto the stage in front of more than 80,000 people on the closing night of the Democratic National Convention at Denver’s Invesco Field.

These same eyes, however, have seen 50 years of momentous events in America. But perhaps none were as significant and memorable as this one. It was, as Elder Bernice King said, “One of our nation’s greatest defining moments.”

All day long I had listened to the pundits go back-and-forth on what Obama would or should say as he accepted the nomination of his party for President of the United States. All day long I listened to various politicians, commentators and common people say that he needed to hit it out of the park if he wanted to close the gaps in the polls, unify his party and convince America that he had the ability to lead. I knew, however, that at the end of that long day, it really wouldn’t matter what he said.

You see, it’s already been said.

It was said in 1955 when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat and Mamie Till insisted that the world see her murdered son’s mangled corpse.

It was said in ‘63 when Martin Luther King Jr. stood in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln and challenged America to dream.

It was said a month later when four young black girls died in the basement of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Ala., showing the world that America was not the great nation she purported to be.

It was said again in ‘65 at the Mt. Zion Baptist Church in suburban Cincinnati when Dr. King took my tiny 8-year-old hand in his and told me I could be anything I wanted to be.

It was said again on April 4, 1968 when Bobby Kennedy told America to chill out after King’s assassination; and when Shirley Chisholm became the first black woman elected to Congress that same year.

It was said by the defiant acts of Thurgood Marshall, Fannie Lou Hamer, Huey Newton, Bobby Seale, Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, Dorothy Height, John Lewis, John H. Johnson, Muhammad Ali, Nikki Giovanni, Angela Davis, Cesar Chavez, Barbara Jordan, Jesse Jackson, Tupac Shakur, Spike Lee, Al Sharpton, Dave Chappelle and countless others who sang “Yes, We Can,” long before will.i.am made it the national anthem for change.

Finally, it was said again on a cold, blistery day in 2007 when a dreamer stood on the steps of the state capitol in Springfield, Ill. and announced that he was running for President of the United States.

And again last night when that same dreamer said, “Enough. This moment, this election is our chance to keep in the 21st century the American promise alive…In defining moments like these the change doesn’t come from Washington, it comes to Washington.”

Barack Obama, the son of an absentee African sperm donor and a nurturing Caucasian mother, is simply riding the wave. Therefore, it really didn’t matter what he said on a balmy Thursday night in Denver. He’s just the anchor on the relay team. He’s picked up the baton and is racing toward the finish line.

I’m not saying that Obama doesn’t deserve his due because he most certainly does. What the 47-year-old senator from Illinois has accomplished in the past 19 months has been extraordinary, historic and evolutionary. I’m sure the ghosts of dreamers past are rejoicing in this moment.

This victory has been on ice for a very, very long time. My hope is that we can all bask in this moment despite our varying agendas and regardless of what was said or not said.

Celebrating accomplishment is at the very core of humanity. It rises above race, gender, political affiliation and one’s socio-economic status. As Americans we should just be proud that one of our own done good.

Obama’s speech might not have been as stirring or as lyrical or as prophetic or as inspiring as Dr. King’s was on that hot August night 45 years ago. It won’t be recited by generations of elementary school kids from Spokane to Silver Spring in dusty auditoriums, and it may not do anything to improve race relations or effect tangible change in this country.

On Friday morning there will still be folks who hate people who don’t look like them—just because.

It will, however, be remembered because it was delivered during this very special moment in time by a man who believes that he is truly his brother’s keeper; that these defining moments are not all about him. I believe from this point on that me, Obama and all the other dreamers,
past and present, will now be able to raise their collective voices and sing a new anthem.

“Yep, We Did.”

a new kind of addiction

i've really broken out of my box this week. i've actually shared my opinions about the upcoming presidential election in two columns and in nightly conversations with friends.

i've been so caught up with the democratic national convention coverage that wolf blitzer's voice is the last thing i hear when i fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, and soledad o'brien's is the first one i hear hours later.

it's crazy.

i've been watching cnn 24/7 and i like it.

i love james carville's home-spun i-told-you-so wisdom. i dig suzanne malveaux's professionalism. that sister knows what she's doing and it shows. i admire the way donna brazile makes her points without raising her voice and i like the way anderson cooper just chimes in with his intriguing little anecdotes.

they all live up to their mantra as the best political team on television.

tonight is the last night of the dnc and i fear that i'm going to have some sort of separation anxiety when i have to go back to watching "soul food" reruns instead on bet j with all of those annoying penis enhancement commercials.

as if!!

of course, the best part of this new addiction has been watching history unfold in living color. as someone who is old enough to remember the post-jim crow camelot era, it's been thrilling to see a black man rise to this level. i'm part of a generation that grew up thinking a black man in the white house wasn't exactly impossible, but it was highly improbable.

the highlights for me this week included the tribute to teddy kennedy, a man i met once backstage at the kennedy center in d.c. i loved every second of michelle obama's speech. it wasn't about her making me proud to be a black woman--my mom, grandmother, great-grandmother myra, aunt hat and all the mcdonald women that came before them that i never knew, are responsible for that. i just dug that she kept it real. political speeches--such as the ones joe biden has been making--are so, so scripted, filled with all of that old school political rhetoric.

rah, rah, rah.

i think michelle must have written hers all by herself. she made it personal and no one else would have been able to record those emotions on paper.

isn't she lovely? indeed she is.

and billary, they did their thing. i never bought into bill being the first black president and i'm not sure i entirely trust their motives now, but i do give them credit for sucking it up and putting the party before their massive egos.

but more than anything else, i've enjoyed talking to my friends. they've seen a different side of me this week. i've been up for the debate. every night before or after the speeches i've been on the phone with bo, bren, charlene, mary, mary and darcea discussing what was said, dissing the republican responses and trashing that sister who was crying after hillary clinton's speech the other night. i've also been engaging in online chats with my facebook buddies.

all of this is highly unusual. for me, talking politics was akin to getting a root canal.

painful.

barack obama's candidacy hasn't made me more patriotic. i was one of those kids who refused to say the pledge of alligence and i still won't stand for the national anthem because the words don't resonate with me--at all. and i'll never wear a flag pin. but it has made me buy a few t-shirts and formulate some strong opinions about where we are as a nation--and where i think we're going once president obama is in the white house.

it's a start.

20 really cool things about getting older

it's been one of those weekends in which old friends have resurfaced--thanks to facebook--and older friends have reached out because my girlfriends and i are at that point in life when we know what we're doing but don't quite know what we want.

translation: your phone rings at 3 a.m. and before you know it, it's 6:30 a.m. and you still haven't gotten to the point.

making all the right moves in what is essentially the last half of your life cycle can be stressful at times, but there's still something incredibly liberating about reaching this milestone--even when you make stupid mistakes.

the recovery time is much quicker than when you were younger and even more stupid.

here are some of the reasons why:

1. you're more inclined to preface everything that comes out of your mouth with "wtf "or "at the end of the day..."
2. you aren't too vain to use those lovely aarp discounts at l.a.'s trendiest restaurants.
3. your eyes, rather than your mouth, become the windows of what's really going on inside of you--especially when you have to go there...
4. you can drop bombs of wisdom on younger folks, watch them roll their eyes and dismiss you, but it no longer bothers you because you've come to realize that they need to make their own mistakes and learn from them just like you did.
5. you no longer have to question authority because you are now the authority.
6. you no longer freak out when your man doesn't ring because you realize that life is getting even shorter so you are no longer sitting around waiting for him to do anything.
7. you have more in common with your girlfriends than ever before because you are all going through similar emotional and physical changes.
8. you really don't sweat the small stuff any more because it's like small.
9. you're more willing than ever to take risks.
10. you no longer allow yourself to be an "option" to anyone who doesn't really care about you, regardless of the way you feel about them.
11. honesty is no longer a novelty.
12. you no longer feel all that compelled to hide your toys.
13. you no longer care what people think about you're wearing.
14. you develop the strength of sampson because you have so much more to deal with.
15. you stop counting calories when it comes to a bottle of good wine.
16. you really begin to comprehend what the good times are all about.
17.getting older is the least of your worries--especially when you consider the alternative.
18. there's no more morning-after guilt.
19. you forgot to shave your legs and...? oh well!!
20. and the one question you always ask the fools you never suffered gladly--"and your point is?"

phew! that felt really good. c'mon monday. let's go!

photo credit: hot muddy fun in calistoga. who cares if you look like crap? wheeee!

issac: all is forgiven my brother

i've got to be honest. issac hayes was not one of my favorite entertainers growing up.

to be clear, it was nothing personal. i wouldn't meet him until later in life and he'd never really done anything to offend me. i had the "black moses" fold-out cross hanging up on my wall right next to my coveted jackson 5 photos.

my beef with hayes was rooted in my mother's obsessive musical tastes. once she liked something she played it to death. and it wasn't just hayes. i feel similarly about roberta flack and marvin gaye.

every morning for about six months she blasted his "black moses" lp while she was getting ready for work downstairs and i was trying to savor those last few zzzzs before getting ready for school upstairs.

it was years before i could listen to anything hayes recorded. i loved "shaft," but i used to pretend it wasn't him. besides the version we played in the wyoming high school marching band sounded more like "we are the champions" than hayes' oscar-winning track with the funky beats.

but today, after learning of hayes' death at his home in memphis, i grabbed my iphone and played "by the time i get to phoenix"--the duet he did with dionne warwick--again and again and again some more on my way to the virgin megastore in hollywood. and before the night's over, i will probably play it a couple more times.

love that track.

mom was understandably shaken when i rang her this afternoon with the news of hayes' death at age 65, but i think that lp is probably too warped by now to be played on the old dusty magnavox in the basement. oh but wait, that album is now in my possession!

oh well.

i only remember meeting hayes a few times. the first time was on the set of "girlfriends." he used to play jill marie jones' father and it was the day they were shooting her wedding out at a rented home in malibu. i was so busy talking to the girlfriends that i barely noticed hayes standing over in a corner by himself just chilling.

"black moses," i whispered to myself. at that point i wasn't really sure whether i wanted to throw him in the pool--redemption for all those years his voice woke me up prematurely--or embrace him for the genius he was. i wisely opted for the latter. he was nice, but kind of on the quiet side.

that old school cool. sexy.

my most vivid memory of him, however, is protesting his nomination for an naacp image award for his portrayal of chef on "south park." i was like, does anyone realize he's voicing a cartoon character and maybe shouldn't be up for best supporting actor in a comedy? well, that's what i wrote and my readers agreed. thankfully, he didn't win and was never nominated in that category again.

crazy.

i also remember that he was bald before it became bold and sexy and that he had a flair for wearing some outrageous stuff on stage. none of that mattered, really. the man could sing and play. the last time i saw him was shortly after his stroke and he had to be wheeled into the banquet room. as luck would have it, he was seated at my table. he was wearing african garb and was really, really friendly.

i think he was just happy to be there--anywhere.

like bernie mac, who reportedly passed away saturday morning (ironically, mac and hayes will appear together on screen in this fall's "soul men"), hayes' legacy will live on in cds, dvds and on whatever new media they come up with next. i'm thankful for that. i have a feeling that too much of hayes in the coming days will surely become a very, very good thing.

maybe i'll sync up my ipod/ihome alarm so that it plays "hot buttered soul" nice and low. that might be nice to wake up to.

so long you bad mutha... i wish you nothing but good mornings up above.

king bernie mac always

kept it real and original

the first time i met bernie mac i said, "what's up." he said, "chicken butt." from that point it was on with me and one of the original "kings of comedy."

in the ensuing years i would interview him at least a dozen times and it was always a pleasure. mac was always present in the moment, consistently dressed to impress and so eternally lively and engaging that i thought we'd be teasing each other for years to come. perhaps that's why after all the rumors of his death that surfaced earlier in the week, i thought i was dreaming when i actually heard that bernie mac had died. in fact, i had fallen asleep watching CNN early saturday morning and subconsciously picked up the tragic news.

and now mac is sleeping, too, at 50 years young.

the last time i saw mac i was interviewing him for his role in "pride," the true story about a black swim coach in philly who trained a championship team. mac played the gym janitor, a composite character. the thing i remember most about that interview is mac's claims that he really could do some damage in the water.

"i'm a SCUBA diver," mac said in a voice that made you want to half believe him. "i can go down to 60 feet and do some things."

talk about your double entendre.

later, his costar terrence howard said the only thing mac could do in the pool was jump in and "splash all the water out."

i also remember how healthy he looked despite the fact he was "just getting over something like pneumonia," he told me. there was a period when the chicago-born comic didn't look so good. toward the end of "the bernie mac show" run mac had developed a condition called sarcoidosis, a lung disease. his face was bloated and he'd gained a lot of weight, an apparent side effect of the meds he was on. he freely discussed the details of that disease with me during the press junket for "mr. 3000," a comedy about a retired baseball player who returns to the game to reach a career milestone. according to early reports that affliction, which had been in remission for three years, had nothing to do with his death this morning. mac apparently died from complications of pneumonia.

what I always most appreciated about mac as a performer was that he had the ability to elevate even the weakest material--if only for a second. he was able to hold his own in starring vehicles like "guess who?" and also in supporting roles in which he had very little to do like in the "ccean's" franchise. but it was his television show that gave his fans the greatest joy. from the moment he uttered, "I'm gonna beat them till the white meat shows," America finally had the first TV dad we could relate to since cliff huxtable.

and, on the real tip, bernie was far more real then mr. bill.

what i dug about him most as a person was the connection he was always able to establish with people from all walks of life. he was one of those celebrities who always made you feel like you were a cherished cousin he hadn't seen in a while. and, the brother could brag. according to mac he was the best at everything from cracking jawbreakers to playing hoops.

maybe he was.

mac will live on in reruns of his show and in his last film, the upcoming "soul men," a flick about an estranged duo who reunite at the apollo to pay homage to their recently deceased band director. i'm totally excited about the potential comic possibilities between Mac and his costar Samuel L. Jackson.

i'm just sorry i'll never have the opportunity to chat with him about it.

r.i.p. bernie mac.

allmylove,
chicken butt