londontown

i am so happy right now. i've just spent an evening at a restaurant called bistro in covent garden where people were dancing, shouting and kissing each other randomly. where am i? i be in london luv and per ususal loving every freaking second of my visit.

but more on that later.

this is a town that i've loved since the first time i came here in the late '90s. i love the vibe, the people, the portobello market, covent garden, notting hill shops, ken high street, the west end, soho, picadilly and all the rest. unfortunately, this trip will be shorter than most, but this time i will leave london with more clarity and purpose than ever before.

london has given me myself back.

i know that sounds a little crazy and that sentence is way cryptic, but those of you who know me well know how tough the past 10 months have been on me. on top of the recession cutting into my income, one of my best friends lost her husband, one of my other best friends died suddenly, as did someone else very special to me. additionally, i lost a mentor and a slew of relatives including my beloved father, the one person who always had my back no matter what. any tinge of happiness i've experienced during this time just pales in comparison. it's been rough navigating the grief.

there's no road map for that.

but friday night, i put all my grief in my back pocket and went for it. i hung out with my bff kolton and some of his friends and by evening's end i had no worries at all. we drank mojitos on the corner of dean and greek in soho literally surrounded by tigers, bears and pussycat girls.

tonight, i went out to dinner with my friend steph, who has graciously put me up in her flat for the past couple of days. bistro--and you should all check it out-- is one of the best dinner bargains in a city where food, clothes and everything else are notoriously overpriced. you can get a starter, entree and dessert for 10 pounds, which is roughly $20.

initially, we sat there and ordered our dinner and chatted. thee food was good but we did send the house wine back--an italian red--because it was weaker than grape juice. we opted for a suitable south african pinotage instead.

and then the mayhem started.

after having carried my heavy camera around for two days and two nights, i decided to leave it at home this time so i could just blend in with the locals. but when a guy got up and started dancing to some '80s oldie with one of the eight women at his table (he was the only guy), it was on. everyone in the tiny dining room started clapping and singing along. the people sitting next to us became our new best friends and by the end of the night we were all facebook friends.

when "play that funky music white boy" came up in the rotation, the same guy got up and was dancing at the head of his table. at that point i'd had enough and just had to join him. i rolled up behind him, rubbing my pelvis into his backside and it was on. everyone cheered us on and his female companions began snapping pictures of us. me, the ugly american in the obama t-shirt and cargo pants; and he, the bawdy brit in his striped button-down and jeans.

a motley pair, indeed.

and then when they played gloria gaynor's "i will survive," everyone in the house rose to their feet singing, dancing and liberating themselves from whatever shackles had held them down all week. i don't think i've ever witnessed a more joyful scene in a public restaurant and felt compelled to shout out: "i love this town!"

much to my delight, someone shouted back: "we love that you love us!"

make no mistake. i've been prone to these types of spontaneous outbursts before, but this was a different kind of release. i actually hadn't been in a very good mood all day. my back hurt and i was still jet-lagged. but right after dancing with mr. guy all the frustration of that day and all the pain that had been heaped upon me throughout the year dissipated.

yep, it all went away. if only for a night.

my dad

The day after my dad passed away a newspaper reporter asked me, “What are some of the most precious memories you have of your father?” I didn’t hesitate in my response.

I said I loved his sense of adventure, how he was always excited to experience something new. I said I loved how loyal he was to his friends and how committed he was to the organizations he belonged to. He was a real go-to guy—always willing to help.

I talked about what a great multi-tasker he was. He would try to fix a leaky pipe, a flat tire and install the TV antenna, even though his skills in each of those areas was lacking. I recalled how he supported my love for athletics, taking me to see the Bill Russell Celtics, Lew Alcindor in his rookie season with the Bucks, the Big O and Wilt. And I mentioned how he always supported my athletic endeavors—even though it really wasn’t the popular thing to do at the time.

Those times, along with packing my 250 Barbie dolls in the back of the Country Squire and traveling around the country are among my fondest memories of Dad.

But, I think the most important thing I revealed was this. As a daddy’s girl, I might have had my father wrapped around my little finger, but in turn, he had me wrapped around his heart.

I owe him so much. It was he who actually jumpstarted my journalism career by ringing me at 6 in the morning to tell me he had read about a summer journalism program at Berkeley. There was a catch, however. The deadline was that day. But we all know what God can do. And lo and behold, in the days before cell phones, fax machines and the internet, I was able to get it all done.

My bylines should actually read Miki Mose Turner.

We didn’t always get along though. He didn’t appreciate me always getting on him about his arterie-clogging, high-fat diet. And I wasn’t too keen on his criticisms regarding my hair. But I can’t ever remember arguing with my dad. I knew he loved me but I didn’t know how much until other people told me. Sometimes we try and see love even when we know it’s all about feeling it.
And if I have any regrets, one is that unlike Luther, I never got the opportunity to dance with my father. God knows he tried to teach me the jitterbug, the watusi and the lindy hop. I inherited his sense of adventure, but sadly, not his sense of rhythm. We never danced because I couldn’t.

I also regret that I didn’t take up golf when he tried to teach me as a kid. I thought the game was beyond boring, I couldn’t understand the scoring and the clothes weren’t really cool. Now, I am totally addicted to the game as he once was, but I’m still such a scrub.

Today, I am both relieved and saddened that dad has passed on. I am relieved because my Bible tells me that he will suffer no more. There will be no more pain or sorrow where he is now. He will now remember the things his illness made him forget and I trust that he is thankful, regardless of the way he passed, that he was blessed with a long and fruitful life.

I am relieved because that same book tells me that where he is, the streets are paved with gold and the only tears that are shed cascade down the happy faces of the righteous who have been granted eternal life. He is now among them, on the 7th tee with his 7-iron looking to bogey the next hole.

I am also saddened because he’s not physically here to slay the dragons that I will inevitably encounter as I grow even older. That’s what daddy’s do and my dad was the best dragon-slayer on the block.

No doubt, I will weep when I recall the good times in the future. Traveling the country with my dad and putting up with his annoying CB radio when all I wanted to do was listen to my Jackson 5 8-track. And I’m sure to get misty when I recall all the times I let him down.

Thankfully, however, he knew how much I loved and adored him and vice-versa. Our bond, along with the love and support I’ve received from my family and friends, will help sustain all of us as we mourn the loss of a good, honorable, loyal, giving and caring man.

Even though he’s gone, I am still strengthened by his spirit, his courage and his faith. I hope his new and old friends up in heaven realize just how very blessed they are to have him among them.

read by me on aug. 15, 2009 at my dad's homegoing service.

the thriller

icons pass on all the time. those of us who have enjoyed length of years have seen many of them go--some, way too soon.

today, the king of pop joined that exclusive club.

michael jackson was eight months and 26 days younger than me. he belonged to me. like many girls growing up in the late '60s and early '70s, i, too, embraced the jackson 5. they were the definitive entertainers and sex symbols of our generation. and although michael was unbelievably cute and tremendously talented he wasn't my favorite. i saved all my love for marlon and was sure that we would some day marry.


that said, i have every michael jackson album ever printed. as a kid my bedroom walls were covered with pictures of him and his brothers. i saw every j5 and every jacksons tour. and i drove more than 100 miles to see mike's "bad" tour in the late '80s at rfk stadium in d.c.

every event, every experience, every memory--extraordinary.

i was sitting at home watching the cnn coverage on farrah fawcett's death when i got a call from essence.com saying that tmz was reporting that michael jackson had been taken to the hospital, a victim of cardiac arrest. i was running late for an appointment but told the girl on the phone i would make a few calls. no one responded before i had to leave but the news was confirmed on kfi-am en route to my destination.

before i had a chance to digest this news my celly literally began blowing up with friends from around the world calling and texting.

"michael?"
"is it true?"
"it's not good."

and by the time i had gotten to the "lincoln heights" set:

"girl, tmz is reporting that he's dead!!!"

surreal doesn't even begin to describe it.

like many people i found michael to be a bit odd, weird. but given all that he had purportedly gone through as a child, and as a young adult, i can understand why he wanted to hang out with chimps and why he would purposely wear pajamas to court. i realized the first time i met him it ain't easy being green.

you can't, however, take away his impact on pop culture or ignore his enormous talent. he was, as many others will say in the coming days, one of a kind.

so, those of us who were weaned on "i want you back," "abc," "the love you save," "i'll be there," "dancing machine," "maybe tomorrow," "ben," "don't stop till you get enough," "rock with you," "thriller," "billie jean," "man in the mirror" and all the other gems should just remember the young boy who once rocked our world and not the aging superstar from neverland who spent most of his adult life dancing down a rocky road.

be proud that you lived long enough to experience the magic that was michael jackson.

i know i am.

a time to smile--again

it has been a horrendously stressful week. another health scare with dad. extreme back pain. more disappointing news. so, i needed a sunny sunday. thankfully, my wish was His command.

it all started out really well. despite my vicodin hangover i made it to the 8 a.m. service at west angeles and was extremely elated that no one gave me attitude because i wasn't wearing first sunday sequins like 95 percent of the other women.

i was, however, blinded by the bling--particularly the multi-carat ice adorning the hands of pauletta washington (mrs. denzel) and cookie johnson (mrs. magic).

two hours later i headed over to the larchmont farmer's market. if i'm in l.a. there's no place i'd rather be on a sunday morning than larchmont village--mostly because it doesn't feel like l.a.

it gives me peace.

although i'm usually alone when i go to the market i'm never really alone. more often than not i'm on my iphone talking to a friend on the east coast. this morning it was marilyn monroe--yes, that's her real name. marilyn, who lives on long island, is a great listener and an even better storyteller so our conversations are always lively. plus she has this amazing ability to bring you out of the deepest funk, and can be very encouraging, too. this morning she convinced me that buying a small tin of five-cheese, high fat, severely caloric, artery-clogging mac-and-cheese would be a very, very good thing.

she was right. i bought it and served it up with the bbq tofu, baked beans and salad i had for dinner. sure, it raised my blood pressure 16 points but was well worth it.

my initial plan once i returned home was to spend a quiet afternoon reading my new books--"vegan soul kitchen" and "let's get it on"--but i got a little antsy after dinner and hit the road. i was hoping that i could convince my friend janet to play tennis.

that didn't happen.

she wanted to watch the fakers and nothing depresses me more these days than the thought of them winning another NBA title. so, i came home, drew a bath and was all set to settle down with jill nelson's sexual tome but i couldn't keep my eyes open. after taking a little disco nap in the tub i retired to the living room to watch a little tv. nothing in my 300-channel universe piqued my interest so i decided to watch an awards show.

i have never ever watched the tony awards but i was curious after reading several posts on how cool tonight's show was on facebook. and although most of the nominees and shows (save for the revivals) were unfamiliar to me, i found the vibe rather engaging. broadway is like this giant cesspool of acceptance.

bring me your blacks, your whites, your straights, your gays, your young, your old and everyone in between.

wouldn't mind going to that after-party--especially with the folks who were in that room.

like liza minnelli, damn, she's sounding just like her mom. wow, susan sarandon's gown is hella tight. neil patrick harris, the boy done good--especially on that closing number. how nice that the first winner mentioned diana sands. elton john, forever the diva. anne hathaway, stunning. james gandolfini is in a broadway show? who the hell is hallie foote and that chick who is screaming her acceptance speech? why does almost everyone accepting awards have a british accent? is there no work at the old vic? ah, tasha richardson. she was so cool.

man, i just realized that i've interviewed all of those people except the guy whose name i can't remember, the late diana sands, that hallie chick and the screamer.

anyway, i digress.

as sundays go today won't be all that memorable because other than watching the tonys i didn't do anything out of the ordinary. at church bishop blake reminded us how lucky we were to still be alive.that's true. my biggest blessing, however, is that my dad made it through.

here's hoping the sun comes out tomorrow, too.

do you hear what i hear?

as a journalist it's not often that i get an opportunity to really really listen to people. usually i'm on some sort of deadline or in a situation where i have to try and determine what makes the stranger sitting across from me tick in less than 15 minutes.

tonight, as i was sitting in the open-air bar at the laluna resort in grenada. i listened to a lot of people. first, there was the young couple from new hampshire, who were recalling their day exploring the island in their rental car. it took them two hours to get to a place that was right down the road because of one errant turn.

amusing.

then there was the couple from dallas. they were celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary. the husband travels a lot and the wife stays at home with the kids. what a treat this little honeymoon must have been for her.

nice.

then there was the couple from new york city, who claimed they didn't know how long they'd been married, nor when the honeymoon ended. but even though they were on holiday they came to the bar equipped with two iphones and a mac laptop.

alrighty then.

and lastly was a trio of female friends from new jersey, virginia and north carolina. two of them had played college hoops and one was a basketball coach. they ordered margaritas and talked sports with me for 40 minutes.

fun.

but mostly i talked to kellon carter, the bartender and one of my new good friends. at 25, kellon has already lived a full life, but is concerned that he's not as productive and ambitious as he was at 18. he's married but his wife lives in ottawa, canada with their 10-month old son. they communicate daily by web cam. kellon is the kind of guy who has so much to offer but is just a tad bit lost.

i especially loved his insight into politics, culture and religion.

i think he's going to be fine. he's smart, has a good heart and makes a mean rum punch. in grenada that's all you really need.

miki, felecia & darlene circa 1978, hampton institute

next stop heaven

i've been having trouble sleeping lately. i'm blaming it on residual jet lag, hormonal changes and general anxiety about the things in which i have no control over. so, when i can, i love to sleep late. the problem with doing so, however, is that sometimes you wake up to hours-old e-mail messages that needed immediate replies; or bad news that will ultimately ruin the few remaining hours of the day.

today was one of those days.

while i'm cognizant that i, more often than not, use this space to memorialize friends and loved ones, it has become increasingly obvious that these tributes will become a standing feature on this page . i'm at that age where the unpleasantries of life--such as death--are happening far more frequently. today's news: my friend, former roommate and consummate life adviser felecia (fu) kurtz gillis, died last saturday. a mutual friend of ours from college informed me via e-mail this morning. the subject line read: "guest book for felecia k. gillis."

i wasn't sure what to expect when i opened the message. i know what "guest books" are and have even signed a few. but, i was pretty sure it wasn't time to sign fu's. i thought maybe someone was honoring her.

sadly, i was mistaken. even though i was still in a post-tylenol pm daze, the text was very clear. fu, my friend with the gap-toothed smile and tilted eyes, was gone.

when i say that fu taught me more about love, compassion, forgiveness and men than any other human being on the planet, i'm not at all exaggerating. when we met as coeds sharing the same house at hampton institute back in the '70s, i was young impressionable and very suburban. fu, who was a year ahead of me, was a true southerner who would give you $2 if you asked for one. and, to me, was wise beyond her years. she always had all the answers to my endless stream of questions. we'd spend hours in her room just chatting about everything.

i often referred to her as my "first" girlfriend because i experienced so many firsts with her.

bored with the small selection of available and good men on a campus in which women outnumbered the fellas 8-to-1, fu and another friend escorted me on my first trip ever to a military base. they taught me how to pick up sailors on hampton boulevard in norfolk who were on their way back to the base. in exchange for a ride back to the ship we'd make them buy us dinner at denny's or sambo's. when we'd drop them off, i was often kicked to the curb because i was always far more interested in exploring the massive aircraft carriers than engaging in a one-night stand.

i also shared my first apartment with fu. she had recently graduated and was working in hampton and i decided to hang out there for the summer. we were doing the "three's company" thing with a guy named steve. it was a great summer. we hit the beach, her hometown of raleigh, n.c. and, yes, the naval base!

fu's job didn't last long and she eventually returned home. i was all caught up in the bittersweet splendor of being a college senior and we didn't stay in touch as often. In 1982, however, when i was in grad school in boston, fu was living in new york and we communicated more frequently. in 1984, at my wit's end as to what to do with the rest of my young life, i rang her and asked: "can i come stay with you in new york for two weeks so i can look for a job?" her response was an enthusiastic "why are you even asking me that? sure you can!"

then came another first.

fu already had a roommate, edith, a friend from church who had gotten evicted from her flat. i had just come from a situation with a really bad roommate, but living with the two of them was really fun. after finding a job my first week in new york, i ended up staying in fu's one-room, one-bath flat for the next six months rent-free. the only stipulation was that i had to go to church.

having been reared in the southern baptist church, that's what i knew and that's what i liked. but at that time i hadn't been a "regular" for years and certainly wasn't into this sort of new wave, born-again restrictive religion that they'd latched on to. plus, i'd never ever attended church in anything other than a church and they attended services in a brooklyn high school auditorium.

i hated everything about it. but even though it would be years before my spiritual transformation from fulltime to parttime sinner--i managed to learn a thing or two.

after six months of dodging each other in the loo and taking two-minute showers so that the next person could have some hot water to wash away the night's scum, edith and i left the nest. she moved back to brooklyn, but i moved into the next building. that's when it all changed. fu had started dating a recovering drug addict and despite my often less-than-best efforts, he and i couldn't get along. it got to the point where she had to choose and she rightfully chose the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

although fu and i stopped speaking to each other i never really felt that our friendship was over for life. our divorce was not really steeped in animosity. rather, it was all about the inability and/or unwillingness of immature people to work out viable solutions to their immature issues. once i left new york, i never attempted to reach out to fu and vice-versa. i heard through the vine that she and roy had married and that she'd moved back to raleigh. i also heard that roy had died and that she had given birth to two daughters.

in 2007, i was sent to raleigh to interview cullen jones for a show i was working on. prior to my trip i had contacted our mutual friend from college who very graciously organized a small dinner party that included other hampton alums including fu. it had been more than 20 years since i'd last seen or spoken to fu and i was understandably anxious. but when she walked into the restaurant we enjoyed a long embrace.

like me, she had locs and hadn't really aged a bit. we did the speed-date catch-up, exchanged numbers and e-mails. she told me that roy had seen me on tv one night and called her into the room. "and then he died," she said while bursting out in giggles.

i wasn't quite sure of what to make of that.

that night i e-mailed her, saying how good it was to see her. she replied the next day with a similar note. enough time had passed to eliminate the pain of what had gone down in new york, but we were also different people who had essentially grown apart. i think we both knew that we'd never become best friends again but it was comforting knowing that we were at least reconnected.

that would be the last time i'd ever see her.

about a month ago, however, i was surprised to get an e-mail from her. it was actually a form letter announcing her sister's new book. i wrote back offering my congratulations to her sister and added that i hoped things were well. she responded by asking how things were in my world. about a week later instead of writing i rang her up. it was way too much drama to record in an e-mail. you could tell it had been a long time since she'd heard my voice because when i said "hey," she asked me if i had gotten married over the weekend.

nope, that was some other friend.

for the next 20 minutes we talked at length about life. i was saddened to learn that both of her parents, whom i had been very fond of, had passed away. and we laughed about her kids and all their young adult drama. her oldest daughter had just told her she had planned on living with her boyfriend and fu was trying to wrap her head around why her baby thought it was OK to tell her that!

hysterical.

that was the last time i heard her voice.

in the next few days i will try to fully comprehend the enormity of a loss that has yet to really hit me. i won't think about all the wasted years because they really don't matter. looking back, i'm not sure there would have been many more phone calls, visits or e-mail updates regardless of what went down in new york 25 years ago. all i know now is that fu always brought out the best in me, and that we will somehow always be connected.

my true comfort, however, comes in knowing that she's in a place where she always wanted to be.

someone's watch-ing over me

my dad, in his younger years, loved to roll. and it is through his love of adventure that i developed my passion for travel.

every summer, the turner clan would stuff 75 percent of our respective closets into these red-and-black plaid canvas suitcases and hit the road in the family station wagon. each year we'd take off for a different spot. i'd be so excited i wouldn't sleep for a full two weeks before our trip. traveling meant new underwear, tennis shoes and pajamas.

if we hadn't spent so much money on new clothes we probably could have used that bank to purchase plane tickets. i'm glad, however, my parents elected to waste their hard-earned cash on stuff none of us really needed.

had i been sitting in 25a i would have never fallen in love with that fry cook in needles, calif., nor had the opportunity to get that souvenir paper placemat in gallup, n.m. had i been 30,000 feet up i wouldn't have been able to spend that glorious night with my cousins in littleton, colo. or develop my deep, abiding and lingering hate for the pennsylvania turnpike.

those and so many other moments would have been missed.

but now that i'm all grown up and traveling on my own to far more exotic locales, i find myself thinking of all those great times with dad, who is now confined to a room with one window and a nightstand with no car keys. i'm having trouble dealing with that reality so i recently took him with me to south africa.

well, a part of him. i wore his watch--a class movado that i gave him for christmas years ago.

i wore the watch when i toured robben island,
as i happily played with the children of soweto


and interviewed musicians at the cape town jazz festival.


i had it on as i took a cable car to the top of table mountain and as i strolled along boulders beach with the penguins.

and i even wore it on all those nights when i couldn't sleep because of jet lag, fatigue or because i was consumed with thoughts about how much i wish he could see what i was seeing.

on my last day in south africa, i was treated to a 75-minute full body massage at the five-star hotel i was staying in. i had dad's watch on as i entered the room where this woman, whose name i couldn't pronounce, truly made me feel relaxed and rested for the first time in eight days. i was in such a blissful state that as i rushed to the atm to fetch her tip money (i was fresh out of rand), i forgot the watch. when i returned to the spa 15 minutes later, all of the employees were pleading the 5th.

i could literally feel my heart sinking into the bowels of my stomach. it wasn't so much that it was a movado. nor was i really annoyed at the staff, even though i knew someone had stolen it. i was devastated because it was the one thing of dad's that i had with me. i couldn't leave him there.

who would watch over me?

enter judy, our rep from south african tourism. when we bumped into each other at the elevator just minutes after i had left the spa, judy asked about my massage. "you look like you have no worries," she said while pointing to my forehead. i told her it had gone well but that i was having some issues with the staff over my lost watch. in less time than it takes oprah to make another dollar, judy was on the phone to the hotel manager demanding that the watch be found.

fifteen minutes later i got a call in my room. they had "found" it.

i hadn't felt that much relief since my last "fuzzy" mammogram came up negative on the second fry.

i won't be so careless on our next trip. i'll be taking dad to grenada in three weeks. i really don't think lush resorts are actually his thing, but hopefully he'll enjoy the company.

i know he likes watching over me.

in the still of the night

last night before i closed my eyes i made a ttdl (things to do today list). it's not something i usually do, but since i've been preoccupied with so many other things that i have no control over, i needed to make sure that i did do what i had to do.

those things kept me busy all day but now as i sit alone in my living room with the television on mute, reality has stopped by to say hello. i'd really like to write about what's going on right now but i'm afaid that if i do it will become even more real and keep me up all night--again.

so, i'm going to leave it alone for now and pray that god's will be done. better yet, that i will be strong enough to accept that which is inevitable.

everything must change.

in five days i leave for my second trip to south africa in less than a year. i'm excited because i love traveling--even to places i've already seen. i'm inspired because if i can accomplish my goals over there, hopefully my words and pictures will inspire others around the globe. but i'm nervous about the things that might go down while i'm gone.

stay with me dude.

hoo-ray for hollyhood

it's been another one of those weeks.

something i fully expected to come through, didn't. dad was rushed to the hospital with pneumonia. my bff's dad was also rushed to the hospital with symptoms of pneumonia. and as if all that weren't enough to make me hypertensive, being force-fed a steady diet of the chris brown-rihanna beatdown truly made me wanna walk on rusty nails.

but some cool things happened last week, too. on wednesday, my new nikon d200 body arrived in a beautiful gold box. trust me when i tell you i was so awed by it that i didn't even remove it from the box for two days! it's a pretty thing. the night it arrived i officially launched mikiphoto. the next day i had my first two clients.

this new venture is really the culmination of a dream. i've been passionate about capturing images since i was 5 and got my first camera, a kodak brownie. since then i've moved on to a variety of polaroids, followed by more kodaks. i didn't actually get my first slr until my sophomore year in college when i enrolled in a photography class. i replaced it a few years later when i studied with one of the original life magazine photographers at boston university.

i still have my first body--a minolta srt 201--and it ranks among my favorite cameras ever. but i now use nikons exclusively. i've lost count of how many i have but they've all served me well for the past 27 years. the new one, however, is a little intimidating so i asked my friend leroy hamilton, a brilliant shutterbug, to help me get to know this new beast. he was tremendously helpful.

leroy's 2-hour tutorial helped me prepare for mikiphoto's first clients--two young women who were celebrating their 27th year on the planet by throwing a party on the top floor of a hollyhood club with no name. i was happy for the business, but as the night wore on i was even more elated actually to have the experiences--in and out of the club.

it's been a while since i've been on that scene and i found myself wondering if i had ever been that girl?

had i been the kind of girl who would willingly stand in line to get into a club? did i ever spend half my check on club gear, club admission and overpriced club drinks? and did i ever travel in a pack, thereby lessening my chances of meeting mr. right or his buddy mr. wrong?

well, last night i was the smart girl who left her flat about three hours before the games began because parking in hollyhood is always a nightmare--particularly on a weekend night. it took me about 20 minutes of driving up and down sunset to find a free spot that was about five blocks away from the club. to kill some time i bopped into amoeba--an oasis for music and film junkies. but as i was perusing the dvd bins upstairs, i became a hungry girl.

i needed a slice.

there are at least 20 pizza places in l.a. that purportedly make new york-style pizza. most, with the exception of mulberry street in beverly hills, don't even come close. but this greco joint on the corner of hollyhood and cahuenga was undeniably authentic and very, very tasty.

this girl was satisfied.

eating pizza at a joint on the corner with eclectic crazies all around me reminded me of times square before it turned into disneyland. that slice not only hit the spot but it inspired me to do something i've never ever done in the 16 years i've lived here.

i was going to explore hollyhood by foot. it's an amazing place.

first, i had to go back to the car and pick up my camera bag. i still had at least 2 hours to kill before the party. with my old nikon around my neck--i wasn't quite ready to break in the new one yet--i headed back to hollyhood blvd. there i saw a lot of teens traveling in packs, some "hollyhood" types hanging outside hot spot kress, a small assortment of homeless men (no women) and some cops. for some reason i wanted to know all of their back stories.

but since it would have been rather impolite to ask them, i made them up as i walked past them.

i wish i could be that girl.

those street scenes, however, in no way prepared me for what was about to happen outside the club with no name. i was standing in line behind one man and his three female friends. i was immediately annoyed by the manchild. perhaps, needing to hear the sound of his own broken english, he began berating his companions--referring to them as "drunk asses."

he wasn't just jawing. the scantily dressed trio of divas with weavas were lit but one of them appeared to be a little more so than the others. when it became apparent that what ever she had been drinking was not going to remain in her stomach for too much longer, her two girlfriends tried in vain to convince the bouncers to let them in so they could take her to the loo.

too late. one, two, three--oh god, thar she blows!

i know i was never that girl.

thankfully, she and her crew were bounced from the line. five minutes later someone came and poured bleach and sanitizer on her accident.

since the party wasn't supposed to start until 11, i grabbed a seat adjacent to the dance floor and watched the parade. there were a plethora of fools who thought that they were too cool for the room and scores of women in spandex--many of whom shouldn't have been.

i wasn't that girl either. spandex makes me itch.

once i started shooting the guests memories of my own club days flooded my brain. i recalled the days when me and my crew couldn't wait to hit the club. we even had our own theme song.

"the men all pause when i walk into the room."

yeah, we thought we were all that back in the day. and you know what? we were. we really were. we drank, but never had to have anyone hold our real hair up in the bathroom. we danced and flirted and talk s--t. and we always went home with at least five phone numbers unless we had found "the one" for that night.

since the women outnumbered the men, i seriously doubt if any of them found "the one" last night. but i suspect that's not why some of them are here. sometimes it's just cool to tell folks you went to the club last night.

i might have been that girl.

by 1 a.m. the party was winding down and the guests were making their ways to the exits. it had been a very nice affair. there was dancing, a little drinking, chatting, birthday cake, celebrating and networking. the difference between these people and the ones i had met downstairs was that they apparently knew when to leave the party.

i could identify with that. i am that girl.

feets don't fail me now--puhlees!

ok. you know how some people are always a little apprehensive when they have to go to the doctor?

i've never been that person.

usually, the main reason i hate going is because i'd rather stay in bed or wherever else i might be. this morning was no exception. after being prematurely awakened by a pesky east coast editor who can't tell time, the last thing i wanted to do was get dressed and make the 2-mile trek down to cedars on my bike. my bed was begging me not to go.

besides, this was to be my third doctor's visit in less than a month. just eight days ago i'd gone in for my annual physical and was slightly distressed when dr. peters discovered some unsettling things pertaining to my health--or lack thereof.

• one, i was vitamin d deficient and would have to start taking supplements--again (that kind of thing comes and goes in waves because i hate taking pills).
• two, since my mother, her mother and maternal aunt had all had some form of cancer, i might be genetically predisposed to that unwelcome occurrence, too, someday and needed to convince my mother to take some costly genetic screening test to see if i would be adversely affected by the outcome.
• and three, i was told that i might develop arthritis in my flat feet unless i started wearing orthotics. worse yet, my feet could very well be responsible for the perpetual lower back pain i've been experiencing since my last birthday.

joy.

i eventually decided not to cancel or postpone tuesday's appointment but what i thought was going to be a pretty routine office visit soon turned into me being the guinea pig du jour at cedars for a world renown podiatrist. trust, after hearing the price of the orthotics (steep even with insurance), i was actually on my way out to "think about it" when dr. oswell, a lovely woman who has cradled my feet on at least three previous occasions, introduced me to dr. dude (sorry, can't remember his name) just as i was lacing up my sneakers.

her: "would you mind having dr. dude look at you? he's written the books we all study."
me: "uh..."
her: "if you stay you'll get a huge discount on your orthotics."
me: "otay."
her: "you're very lucky he's here. this is a good, good thing."

he was good. there was something very sensual about the way he caressed my feet so i trusted him immediately--even when he started using terms i didn't understand and those i did such as "abnormal." all the other doctors were taking notes and asking questions.

mental note: shouldn't i be a little concerned about my doctor asking dr. dude questions? shouldn't she know this stuff by now? it's been at least 20 years since med school!

i spent the next 40 minutes walking up and down the hallway so that the doctors could examine my gait. it was distressing to hear things like: "can't walk straight," "one hip is higher than the other," "oooh, that bone is in the wrong place," "if we had caught this when she was 10...," and "uh-oh, does that mean?"

me: "what, what?!"

after the x-rays, which revealed even more abnormalities, i'd grown way weary of playing porky. it's one thing to be examined by a purported expert but quite another to take all of this mental abuse just because you wanted to toss your corrective shoes after the third grade and wear penny loafers like all of your friends.

sorry, yet another repressed childhood memory resurfacing in the midnight hour.

so, what does all this mean for lil' miki? i'm not quite sure yet. i have to go back in two weeks to see drs. oswell and dude. although dr. dude is retired and lives in the mountains outside of l.a., he's purportedly making a special trip back to cedars just to share his findings with me and the rest of the class.

i have officially joined the ranks of the apprehensive.

but since i still need my feets i guess i'll have to get over it. i've got a few more pick-up games in me, a lot more tennis, a lifetime of golf and i still love kicking it in my manolos--the most comfortable heels i've ever worn.

hopefully manolo makes a corrective slingback.

to be loved by duke

at this moment in time i'm supposed to be saluting some friends and acquaintances at essence magazine's 2nd annual black women in hollywood luncheon at the beverly hills hotel. but, when i opened my eyes at 10 a.m. today, i immediately realized how difficult it was going to be to attend yet another masturbatory hollywood award season opus.

it so doesn't matter.

it became even harder to motivate myself after receiving some news on my facebook page that rocked my world.

"Melissa invited you to 'Melissa Duke-Mooney Memorial Service' on Sunday,
February 22 at 2:30pm."

because of the way it was worded i honestly thought it was some kind of joke. i had just read duke's last irreverent status update a few days ago. she was fine.

but then i read the rest.

Event: Melissa Duke-Mooney Memorial Service
What: Ceremony
Host: Neil Mooney
Start Time: Sunday, February 22 at 2:30pm
End Time: Sunday, February 22 at 3:30pm
Where: Eastwood Christian Church

naturally, i was like wtf? i quickly pulled up duke's facebook page and after sifting through dozens of sympathy messages i realized that this was no joke. my girl, melissa duke, was no longer breathing and i had no idea why.

i immediately contacted two mutual friends--lisa and claire. claire was the first to respond. she wrote that duke had been in intense pain monday night, slipped into a coma on tuesday and was gone early wednesday. bacterial meningitis. then i had the unenviable task of informing lisa, who was at the hospital with her young son and hadn't heard the news.

like many of duke's friends i am stunned and shocked beyond words. duke provided a significant amount of our daily light. she was equal parts sun and moon. and at 41, still very young.

naturally, at times like these your mind is awash with memories. duke and i first met at a press junket. at the time she was a publicist for fox and i was the pop culture columnist for the fort worth star-telegram. i fell in love with her instantly because she was so outside the norm for a studio flak. duke exuded warmth, seemed genuinely interested in who you were as a person and didn't really involve herself in the journo class wars--"the my paper is bigger than yours, etc. bs." she treated everyone the same regardless of circulation figures or tax bracket.

our time together in l.a. was brief because she and her husband packed up their bags and moved southeast to nashville. i was truly saddened but understood perfectly when she said, "it's about quality of life issues."

throughout the ensuing years duke and i kept in touch. i remember getting the first pictures her oldest daughter and then chastising her for not sending photos of the second baby in a timely manner. we also used to bump into each other from time-to-time at various junkets. she would always take care of me. and, one of my great pleasures was jumpstarting the friendship between duke and lisa, when lisa and her family moved to nashville.

last year when i started this journal--because that's what it really is as opposed to being a blog--duke was one of the first to send her love. she wrote:

"I just wanted to let you know that I've been reading your blog....and I LOVE your voice. It is clear, true and feels like a friend. You have a gift with words but it seems the way you see the world....the way you prioritize (for lack of a better word) is your true gift. Your words inspire and have got me thinking more about my own priorities.

I know we only pass each other in junket life....barely knowing one another really but I am enjoying reading you - getting to know the real you. Thanks for sharing.

Continue to find the beauty.
xo Melissa

P.S. I have some tomatoes for you - get to Nashville!!"

i'm so glad i saved that note. i always will. yet, i'm saddened that she perhaps didn't realize that she was more than just a junket pal.

i'm sorry duke.

i'm sorry that it took your death to hammer home an age-old cliche. you really do have to tell folks how much you love them while they're still here.

c u later girlfriend. xox

say wot?!!

this is a happy day.

three thousand years ago when i was a grad student at BU/harvard, my friend denis peycher introduced me to a song that would eventually come to define that most enjoyable time. i had it on tape but god only knows at what point my parents threw away that era of my life that was once stored in the family garage.

For years all i could remember of that song was the beat line, "say captain, say wot" and not the artist. today i typed in that phrase in on my itunes account and bingo!

denis, who was from paris, was fond of european hip hop. he was always listening to songs in languages none of us could understand. i was initially introduced to him by my friend elisa gaffney from london. we called her spoon because of her family's wealth. all of us were part of a group of students who had formed a club called SPC (School of Public Communications) International. Among the members were people from egypt (anwar sadat's daughter), the uk, south africa, spain, italy, france, greece, malaysia, canada, germany, mexico, brooklyn, ireland, india, switzerland and sweden.

i'd like to say that our motley crew spent a considerable amount of time at cafes poring over pertinent world events but we really didn't do very much of that. our days (in between classes) were spent at rumple's, a precursor to starbucks just across the street from SPC. but we spent most of our time perusing that wine store on harvard ave. (two bottles for $5), stocking up on refreshments for our nightly chat fests.

with a group so complex and diverse the only things we generally didn't talk about were religion and politics. our gatherings were really all about the cultural exchange. we were all fascinated by our respective life stories and i am a wiser and more enlightened person now because of those meetings.

denis, however, was somewhat of an instigator--always making fun of the trust fund babies, of which there were many. he would also make cracks about the brits and our one indian friend who was having difficulty adjusting to life without "servants." denis also introduced me to gay life 101 and convinced all of us to accompany him to buddy's one night, a famous gay bar in the copley square area. it was the first and only time that i've ever danced all night long without once sitting down.

one night i suggested we have a surprise birthday party for spoon even though it wasn't her birthday. spoon was in on the ruse but felt guilty once everyone started bringing her presents and spilled the beans. i was in charge of the music and as a former dee-jay, it was a welcome assignment. it was the early '80s and disco had pretty much run its course. at that time i was listening to a lot of duran duran, journey, hall & oates, rick james, michael jackson, police, spandau ballet, culture club, marvin gaye, prince, thomas dolby, lionel richie, after the fire, kajagoogoo, earth, wind & fire, men at work and clash.

i made a mix tape (god, remember cassettes?) and took it over to spoon's back bay studio where the jam was being held. we were all rocking (with spoon's weak-ass speakers) when denis shows up with this vinyl. "you've got to play this," he said.

i was a little leery. i'd never heard of the artist or the cut and didn't want to damper the flow. but he kept insisting and to this day, i'm glad he did. the "captain" song became our party staple along with "she blinded me with science," "dancing on the ceiling" and "rock the cashbah."

so, today i've been ushered back to a time when i was happily unfocused, absolutely immature and totally enjoying the experiences of a lifetime. although denis and i both moved to new york at the same time after school and kept in touch for many years afterward, i suppose i should have suspected something was amiss when the christmas cards stopped coming. it wasn't until i had reconnected with gilles, another SPCI friend, about four years ago. he informed me that denis had been dead for just over a decade. AIDS. denis had contracted the disease from tom, another SPCI member from sweden. tom died while denis and i were still in touch but it never occured to me...

i had also lost touch with spoon. she returned to london and eventually married and had three kids. two years ago i was able to track her husband down through a random press release and we were happily reunited in london in '07. it was the first time we'd seen each other in 22 years.


mitch, the only other american member of the group, has moved from brooklyn to manhattan and is a vp at one of the largest pr firms on the planet. gilles runs an AIDS center in manhattan, russ has gone back to canada and i suspect the others are all doing well wherever they are.

today, i'm really missing all of them--even francine, the skinny and arrogant winch from paris whom none of us really ever liked.

tonight i'll lift a glass in their honor while i'm listening to da captain. take a listen.

miss rosa revisited

today's visit to the nursing home resulted in a couple more surprises. first, i ran into an old neighbor who actually works with alzheimer's patients at the facility. two, miss rosa, who was all over me monday with hugs and kisses, didn't remember who i was on tuesday.

oh well.

i wasn't really disappointed because she's at an age where the memory is the first to go. and besides, she was still warm and friendly. so much so that i got up the nerve to ask her some questions. yes, she is from germany and has been in the states since the '60s. and yes, she did recall the war and said, "i could never understand the hatred. it was so stupid. it made me sick."

again, it was hard to understand miss rosa as her accent after more than 40 years in this country is still really thick. but she did tell me she enjoyed her birthday and that her daughter had sent her some new kicks, a pair of walking shoes which she proudly showed off by lifting her right leg.

it's good to know she has somebody.

as for dad, he's still not eating the way he should and that concerns all of us. he was a little reflective today. he recently lost his first cousin in atlanta, a gem of a man who kept that side of the family together and popping. dad hated that he had to miss his funeral.

"i was just thinking back when i was a boy," he said wistfully. "i think i should have stayed in atlanta longer because i never got an opportunity to know any of my family." dad's father brought him to ohio when he was just a boy and he didn't get to know many of his relatives until much later in life. i only saw my paternal grandmother about three times in my life and each time she never knew who i was.

i wonder if rosa still misses her family back home--if she has any regrets.

perhaps i'll find out tomorrow.

rosa

god knows i hate hospitals and nursing homes. i loathe the smells, the sights and the sounds of them. if my dad wasn't in one, i'd never ever go near one. but after yesterday's visit i dislike them a little less.

on monday after stops at two malls and a grocery store i drove up to the extended care facility my dad now calls home. he was a little listless and was lying across his bed when i arrived. after about 15 minutes of small talk he suggested that we go sit out in the lobby. we opted to sit around the big conference table in the sun, across the hall from where a few folks were watching a big-screen TV. seated at the table with us was a woman i had recognized from the day before when i had lunch with dad in the facility's dining room.

her name was rosa and she was very lively. as dad repeatedly beat me at tonk, a game i hadn't played since college, rosa was talking to everyone that passed by. she had a thick german accent and at times see-sawed between english and german.

i'm not sure she realized she was doing that.

at one point she looked over at me, attempting to put together a child's casper the friendly ghost puzzle and marveled at how well i was doing. she also informed me that it was her birthday as she sorted through the snacks that a nurse had just given her.

"look at what they have given me!" she said in broken english. "it's my birthday!"

"well, happy birthday!" i said enthusiastically.

rosa smiled and went on about her snacks and how she loved lemon pop. it was really hard to understand her at times so i just smiled and nodded. she offered me a cookie and i gave it to my dad because i'm not really trying to eat nursing home food! she asked if he were my father or grandfather, but i couldn't determine what she said after my response.

it was my understanding, however, that spending your birthday in a nursing home with relative strangers probably wasn't emotionally satisfying. where was her family? did she have one? what about friends? my thoughts were broken up by another woman who had joined us at the table. this woman, apparently near deaf, was clearly agitated because she was strapped to her wheelchair. she kept screaming at the nurses and aides and told one of them, "i feel like i'm dying!" she said it so loudly i'm sure she woke up st. peter.

and, across the hall, when a man started mumbling loudly to himself. rosa, in perfect english told him to "keep it down over there!"

i almost fell off my chair.

just after these incidents--rather events--my mother rang, asking me to make yet another kroger's stop to pick up some pot pies for her dinner. i kissed dad and patted rosa on her shoulder and said "happy birthday miss rosa." she smiled and waved goodbye. as i made my way down the long hall to the exit i began wondering who rosa was and why was she here? was she a holocaust survivor? i couldn't help thinking that she was a great story needing to be told.

on my way to the grocery store i was consumed with thoughts about how she must be feeling. it was her birthday and she's in a nursing home with no family in sight, surrounded by a bunch of people with varying degrees of dementia and celebrating with hard cookies and a can of pop.

that was so lame.

it occured to me that i might be in rosa's wheelchair one day. that's when i knew i had to do something for her and for me. i bought rosa a birthday cake and some candles.

i'm glad i did. i will always remember the look on her face and the way she squeezed my hand and kissed it when i put the cake in front of her and said: "birthday girls should have cake on their birthdays." she then kissed both my cheeks, put her arms around my waist and ordered me--in her broken english--to kiss her cheeks, too.

with perishables in the car, i had to drop and run but i hated to leave her--alone. again.

i hope that random act of kindness made her day. i hope she knows that she's not alone.

i never asked rosa one question during the time i spent with her on monday but i learned so much just by being in her presence.

i kind of feel like it's my birthday.

pappy

i suppose even in our collective delusion, we knew that kalvin marcelle hicks sr., a man who never met a bottle of hennessy he didn't like, was not long for this world.

last year, the man we called pappy was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. soon after that devastating news we learned that the cancer had metastasized in his back. still, being the believer that i am, i was sure that pappy had a few more parties left in him.

i remained confident even after the frequent hospital stays, the transformation of his once lively voice into a raspy whisper, the termination of his chemo and radiation treatments and lastly after learning that he'd gotten a visit from a hospice nurse on saturday.

even after all of that today's news was still shocking.

i was making the 2.5 mile trek back home from the larchmont farmer's market this morning on my bike when i got a call from my dear friend mary. we had been missing each other for the past 24 hours. i was halfway home when mary informed me that she was on her way back to the hospital. pappy, her husband of nearly 28 years, had been having trouble breathing due to the fluid in his lungs and had requested that she ring 9-1-1.

"i'm so tired miki," she said wistfully.

"i know you are," i responded softly.

about an hour after that call--and about 40 minutes after i had spread the word to the sorors on the east coast--mary rang back. she was crying.

"i just wanted to tell you that pappy just breathed his last breath. call your mother and tell her you love her."

at the time i felt like i was inhaling my last bit of air, too. there's a weird thing that happens when you get really bad news. your brain really stops functioning and you never say the things you're thinking or feeling, thereby making you feel emotionally bankrupt. and, on top of my inability to articulate, i was just stunned. not only had i not fully grasped the seriousness of the situation earlier, but i had spent far too much time bitching about my mother's bitching to comfort my friend in a time of obvious need.

denial.

after absorbing the news i immediately started making another round of calls and texts. like me, everyone, everywhere was shocked and saddened that we had lost such a vibrant personality at age 50. pappy never went to college but he had become a favorite fixture at hampton homecomings. he drew everyone in. we all adored him. he truly was one of the lovliest and most geniune people i've ever met.

i did eventually ring mom but it's been a real struggle for me to get through the remainder of the day. i kept one eye on the meaningless, muted awards show on the telly while attempting to come up with enough clever prose to make all of my monday deadline stories sing. that was tremendously difficult. the chronic insomnia has me barely functioning on a good day and with this news i was unable to concentrate for more than a few seconds at a time.

but i've got to get it together. i've got to be there for my friend, who is experiencing the unimaginable pain of losing her best friend.

pappy, if they have hennessy up in heaven go ahead and put it on my tab.

watching the night go by

there we were sitting in row q, seats 1, 2 & 3 of the west angeles church of god in sequins--sorry, i meant christ--cathedral with thousands of other people. me, jackie and anita. three highly skilled media professionals ready to write the next chapters of our lives as we happily said goodbye to the not-so-great '08.

we, like so many other people who had entered the sanctuary on dec. 31, were more than ready to get off pity parkway and alter our respective courses. jackie would like her personal life to be as stable as her professional one. anita is looking to get out of a shaky job situation. and me, i just want shalom in the home, a great gig and a cure for my chronic insomnia.

but even though i had a firece headache and the black-eyed peas i'd eaten hours beforehand weren't agreeing with me, everything was on point during the service. the music was inspiring as was bishop blake's message. he had us all convinced that everything was going to be mighty fine in '09.

it already is.

normally, the three of us would not ever be together socially. and honestly, i didn't even want to go and not just because i wasn't feeling well. yet, god saw fit to bring us together tonight so he could reinforce his promise three-fold.

he's got our back.

and that's a good thing because he probably wasn't too happy when all three of us were responding to all those "happy new year" text messages from our friends back east while bishop blake was delivering the word.

it must have gotten through, however.

jackie, anita and i entered west a last night with an unwanted and uninvited friend called complacency, but we left this morning with our new best friend named hope.