I’ve discovered Pandora! Or should I say, I’ve rediscovered. My regular computer is acting wonky, so I’m using my backup (the one that is over 5 years old). I can’t even farm my crops on Farmville…the horror! Anyway, because of the wonkiness of this computer, I’m unable to access my Rhapsody application as normal when I’m working. So, I pulled up Pandora. Wouldn’t you know that I have an account? Must be pretty old, but it works, so hey…
Right now, I only have four stations (Jill, Common, Ye, and Pac), but they are most certainly fulfilling the need. It’s one of those things that you can just put on and let it play. Good background music. Particularly, last night I was on the Ye station and it was rotating through some good stuff! I was pleasantly surprised.
So yeah, I’m on Pandora. I think I’ll stay awhile.
I called my mother up yesterday and asked if she heard the news about Fantasia. My mother, who doesn’t get into celebrity gossip at all, said that she had heard something about an affair. When I told her that Fantasia allegedly attempted to commit suicide, she fell silent. “Oh no,” I heard her whisper over the phone. “What happened?” she asked. I told her the story from what I had read and she said, “Damn…how did she get to this point, I wonder?”
I wonder the same thing. Where there is belief and faith, this point should not even exist. That makes me question if she was off her center; meaning, had she lost her way with the God that she serves? I understand being overwhelmed and scared to deal with the repercussions and consequences of her actions. I even understand the pain and hurt she must feel as a result of this relationship. What I don’t understand is denying the fact that love is present in her life, with her daughter and her family, and wanting to give up.
Life is not easy. As women, we often look for love in all the wrong places, usually finding it attached to some bullshit and drama. That is, of course, if we don’t love ourselves enough to take a step back and listen to that small voice that whispers in our ear and tells us that we are headed for a mistake. Even when we do listen to that voice, we can still step in some shit and have to deal with the heartache and pain of not remainign at our center.
We can talk for hours on the why and how this happened. I don’t care to engage in that conversation, other than to say that we are on the outside looking in. No one knows really what the story is; no one knows where the feelings and bonds lie. I think we can all clearly see there is some pain here; pain that I pray Fantasia is able to let go of and move on.
I was saddened by this news. One reason was because I believe that Fantasia is a strong woman who is perhaps getting the raw deal out of this whole thing. I don’t mean to lessen the blame that she must own; what I mean is that even though it takes two to tango, it is she who will bear the brunt of what the both of them have done. I just happened to be watching CNN tonight and the man’s name that she has been dating was only mentioned once…once! Correct me if I’m wrong, but he is the one who is/was married, right? Where is the anger at him for dipping out on his wife? What is even sadder is that women go through this everyday, outside of the public eye. There seems to be no distinguishing line between morality and debauchery, and instances like this pop up all the time, like it is normal.
Fifteen years ago today, I gave birth to the greatest gift I have ever been given. I remember thinking when I laid my eyes on him for the first time, how special he was and what a great person he was going to be. I vowed right then and there to love him with everything in me, and to do everything in my power to make sure that he lived a life he could be proud of. I also knew then that my heart lived outside my body, and in him.
I believe in all my heart that my son is destined for greatness…I mean, what parent doesn’t believe that? I believe that he is the best, even when his grades are terrible, even when he leaves empty orange juice containers in the fridge (or worse, on the dining room table), even when he leaves his smelly socks in my car and I get in and get assaulted. It is not enough that I believe that he is the best; I make sure that I tell him and show him how much I love and respect the person he is becoming.
My baby is 15 today; I’m starting to have to look upward at him when we are standing side by side. He has started to close his door at night when he goes to bed, and his friends take up much of his life. I tell him all the time that he will never find a bigger champion for him than his father and I. One day he’ll understand that.The hardest thing for me is to let him decide who he wants to be. I’ve had to learn how to take a backseat to everything else in his life, and that is such a change for me. He doesn’t need me as much as he used to, but I understand that it is a process. And as part of that process, I make sure that he knows that I am here for him, no matter what.
The only way I can describe Marsha Ambrosius’s voice is lushness. There is something guttural and primal about her voice, and with the combination of the spoken word with her then partner, Natalie Stewart, the music was pure poetry. That was Floetry.
It absolutely broke my heart when I heard they disbanded. I still listen to Floetic from front to back…mostly because there are feelings and emotions wrapped up in the words that are sung and spoken that I only wish I could convey. But there is hope; I saw a feature on Centric about Marsha and her new album. I cannot wait!
For now, though, here is one of my favorite tunes from Floetry. Enjoy!
It’s the weekend before my son turns 15 (!!!), so I want to do something fun. The mushy post will come on Monday (his actual birthday), but today I want to do something fun.
I put this song on my mp3 player, mainly because it sounds good in the car. I could give a damn about a Waka Flocka, but this song knocks.
When I was a teenager, I picked up a copy of Stephen King’s Christine. I began reading and was instantly drawn to his writing style; there are very few that can create the images he creates with his words. By the time I finished the book, I was absolutely terrified of any old cars, and not just the 1958 Plymouth Fury. I slept with my light on for a couple weeks, all because the book scared the holy hell out of me.
When I finally came to the realization that Christine was fictional and wasn’t going to run me down in the middle of the street, I calmed down. And I thought, that was a damned good book! (Of course, as a 13-year-old, I didn’t say ‘damned’, but you get the idea). What impressed me the most was the fact that I, as the reader, was placed in every single scene. I mean, I could hear the ticking of Christine’s engine, could feel the cold leather of her bench seats, and smell the oil dripping from it’s underside. That is the beauty of Stephen King’s writing.
With the book, On Writing, King once again scores. There is no gore here; no scary thoughts. Well, except for one. If you want to be a writer, you must write. I am amazed at how many people, including myself, get hung up on this cardinal rule. This idea is pretty central in On Writing, and every bit of information that accompanies this central thought does an excellent job of supporting that theory.
On Writing is really two books in one: the first part being a semi-autobiographical account of how King honed his skills from a boy growing up in Maine to the writer he is today (and by today, I mean the year 2000). It is an interesting account; King uncovered his writing passion early and despite the rejections, kept writing. I think most writers can attest to this part; rejection is part of the game. But if writing is truly in your blood, truly something you dream, eat, and breathe for, then the rejection is not so bad.
The second part digs down into the nitty-gritty. There are certain things that writers need in order to write successfully. King does an excellent job of using his own experiences to dole out the wisdom of writing to those of us who aspire to become authors and novelists. This book helped me to build my ‘toolbox,’ and if even possible, become more and more committed to writing regularly.
The best piece of advice that I got from the book? Fear is at the root of bad writing. If a writer is timid, or writing for themselves, 9 out of 10 times the writing is going to suck, big time. If a writer writes for the pure enjoyment of it, for the state of euphoria they get from seeing words come together in sentences, the writing overcomes the fear, and wins.
My copy of On Writing, right now, is dog-eared and marked up with pencil and pen marks throughout. I purchased this book a month ago, and it has become one of those books that I keep on my desk, instead of propped up on my book shelf. The information contained is that valuable, that worthy.
If, however, you are looking for a book that gives you a step-by-step process to write the perfect novel, don’t read it. That is not what writing is about; each writer, if you ask them, has their own process, their own way of doing things that fits them and their personality. As a writer, you must decide what is best for you…and then just do it.
I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves a good story, and to anyone who wants to be a writer. Like King says, “Writing is magic, as much as the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink.”¹
That pretty much sums it up.
Resources:
¹King, Stephen. (2000). On Writing. New York, NY: Pocket Books.
Today is President Barack Obama’s 49th birthday. From the moment I saw him at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, I knew that he would end up here. He has provided a picture of grace; he is what it truly means to have faith by doing.
I might not always agree with the decisions that he has made, and I may sometimes get angry at his cool, calm, and collected demeanor (because really? some people deserve a good cussing out), but I respect and admire his character.
So today I say, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President! May your day be filled with laughter and love, and may your coming days continue to be filled with the Lord’s grace and mercy.”
I peeped this story about a week ago. Needless to say, because I’m an emotional wreck anyway, I was brought to tears by this young brother’s speech. We all face challenges; it is how we respond to those challenges that define us. Not failure, not falling, but pushing past everything to get to the end of the rainbow.
I’m reading this story about Laurence Fishburne’s daughter taking the porn trail to fame. Really? Seriously? Is this what we’ve come to these days? Women, especially young women, believing that they have to be whores to be famous?
Heavy sigh. I could go into about how when I was younger, the whores were exactly the ones you didn’t want to be like. I could say that having a bad reputation was something that you avoided like the plague. I could even say that there was more respect for our bodies and minds.
I think I’ve hit middle age. Because this kind of fuckery is appalling to me. It is absolutely appalling to me that the women that our younger girls look up to have gained their 15 minutes of fame by dubious means. I thank God every day that he graced me with a son. Because if I had a daughter, and she came to me saying that she wanted to be a rapper like Nikki Minaj, or do a sex tape like Kim Kardashian or Kendra Wilkinson, there would be a lot of slow singing and flower bringing.
I do worry, though. What kind of woman can my son look forward to dealing with? Someone who is willing to sell their pussy for a tiny bit of fame? Someone who doesn’t give two shits about themselves…how are they going to learn to love someone else? Where is the self-respect?
There is hope, I believe. I met a young lady the other day who is the picture of what it means to be focused on becoming a woman of substance. She will be a senior at my son’s high school, and she was full of hope and pride about herself. I fell in love instantly with her nature; she reminded me so much of that hopeful young woman that I once was.
I have not lived a perfect life, and have made some mistakes along the way. I have regrets, and cringe sometimes at the things that I’ve done, but I’m here. I never gave up who I was to achieve something that is unattainable. I don’t think the young girls think. I don’t think they know what it will feel like when they reach my age and look back at their lives and realize that they sold their souls…but for what? The promise of money? The trappings of fame?
Heavy sigh. When the dreams of our young girls include being a porn star, something is terribly wrong.
It’s been almost 9 years since Baby Girl died. I still, to this day, have a hard time watching the Rock the Boat video. It still hurts.
I think one of the reasons why I love Aaliyah so much is because she was everything that everybody else wasn’t. She didn’t have the best voice, but she rocked what she had. She was beautiful, and her humbleness shined. You could look at her and tell that she was to the core good. At least that’s what I believe. As we near the anniversary of her death, I am reminded of the hole that she left behind. There will never be another Aaliyah; she was something special, indeed.
Here are a few of my favorites:
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