I don’t think I can put into words the enormous crush I have on Eric Benet. And it is not just a “here lately” thing; I’ve had this crush probably since I saw him singing to Halle that night on the Soul Train Awards many years ago. More than that, though, is the fact that his voice sounds like it has just been delivered from heaven. He comes fully equipped with one of the sweetest falsettos I have ever heard, and all of his songs seem to speak directly to me (at least they do in my mind).
This week, I turn my ears to Eric Benet. There will probably be a lot of daydreaming and inappropriate smiles on my part, but hey, I can live with that. Here is one of my favorites, which also happens to be the most recent:
video credit: originally uploaded to YouTube on October 14, 2010 by EricBenetTV
How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you. – Psalm 31:19
Alright…’Ye’s new CD comes out today. It is actually playing in the background, but I feel that I owe it my full attention. Once I listen and get over my stan-hood, I’ll post a review later this week. It’s hard to get excited about music nowadays, with it being more about who is the better marketing exec as opposed to who has the most talent. But I’ve been looking forward to this CD for a while…some good shit to listen to, finally.
I leave you with some of my favorite Kanye tracks. Have a great week everyone!
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When I was young, my mother used to walk around the house singing this song. It always made me giggle, because back then, I had no idea the meaning of the words that she sung. Lord knows I do now.
Good music always stands the test of time. The best music never loses it relevance to society. This is one of those songs…
Enjoy!
p.s. Sam Cooke was too fine!
video credit: Originally uploaded to YouTube on March 30, 2009 by Ralluf1986
In these times, I never expect to come across someone who blatantly disregards me because of my race. That may sound a little naive, but I live by the creed that you should treat others the way that you are treated. Because of that, I am always cordial, even when i don’t feel like I should be. It is my way of dealing with uncomfortable situations; kill ‘em with kindness, that’s me.
My son and I went out to dinner last week. As we were sitting in the waiting area, an older couple walked in. They appeared to be on a first name basis with the guy at the front, laughing and joking as he asked them how many they had for dinner. The woman—older, white, pudgy—took a quick look around the restaurant and paused as her eyes passed over me and my son. We were engaged in a lively conversation about some chick that my son is digging on, but that didn’ deter me from hearing her, loud and clear, as she turned back to the guy at the front and said, “We don’t wanna sit by them…”
My reaction? I laughed. Out loud. My son pulled on my jacket sleeve, because my laughter (I’m sure) could be heard all over the restaurant. He heard what the woman said, and when I turned to face him, his face showed a look of disbelief and pain. I put my arm around his shoulder, and he whispered, “Why are you laughing?”
I stopped for a moment to consider his question. Why was I laughing? I came to the conclusion that I was laughing because there was nothing else for me to do. I was also laughing because I thought, “What the hell would make her think that we wanted to sit by herass anyway?” Racism is an ugly thing, and when it is thrown at you, without warning, there is an instant fight or flight reaction that surfaces. I heard that woman say those words, and I just wanted to grab up the brown boy and my brown self and get as far away from that restaurant as quick as I could. Something stopped me.
That something was the fact that Ihad a right to be in that place, and eat dinner with my child, just as she did. A long time has passed since the era of “the colored section” and having to pick up our meals in a greasy brown paper bag at the back door. There is nowhere that I cannot go, and do whatever it is that I choose. That woman and her racist attitude can no longer limit me from walking into and eating at any restaurant, store, or anywhere else. I have blood flowing through my veins as much as she does, and my money spends just like hers. If she wants to live her life—short as it may be, given her age—with that kind of hate bottled up inside her, that has absolutely nothing to do with me.
I laughed because it dawned on me just how miserable her life is. And I laughed because I realized how blessed mine is. I no longer need her, or anyone else’s, approval. I can live my life freely, and without accepting judgement from others.
As we walked out of the restaurant, my son kept his eyes peeled on me. I had told him over dinner that I was going to walk up to her and tell her that I didn’t want to sit by her ass either. I didn’t, because that would only be playing her game with her. And I chose to show her that her words didn’t damper my spirits. Because when it all boils down, it is her life that is marred by her prejudice, not mine.
I’m late with this one, mainly because I didn’t want to write it. Terry McMillan’s Waiting to Exhale was beautiful; the characters were gorgeously written and each strong in their own right. So when word came that there was a sequel, so to speak, I was ecstatic. I was yearning to learn what happened to Robin, Savannah, Gloria, and Bernadine…so I anxiously awaited their return to my life.
In simple terms, I was disappointed. The story seemed rushed and contrived, and there ran an undercurrent of anger in the story. When I read, I don’t want to read anger, unless I purposely do so. The ladies in Getting to Happy again face major life disappointments (some seem so…I don’t know…out of character?), and once again rally together and find solace among in their friendship.
I know life happens; believe me, I’m beginning to know that more and more everyday. But even realistically, it seemed like Ms. McMillan woke up on morning and decided, “Let’s make Savannah’s husband a porn addict who isn’t worth shit! And while we are at it, let’s also make Bernadine’s daughter gay!” There was just too much pushed into this 400 page book, and by the time I reached midpoint, I was weary. The story no longer held my interest, and I no longer cared what happened to these women. That was a disappointment.
I am a huge fan of Terry McMillan. That’s why this was so hard to say, so hard to write. But this book missed me. I think it forgot to involve me in the story. In Waiting to Exhale, I felt Robin’s sigh when she decided to tell Russell to kick rocks; I cried with Bernadine when her husband chose the other woman; and I cheered for Gloria when she and Marvin hooked up. Getting to Happy holds no connection for me.
I will still read and buy Ms. McMillan’s books. The main reason is because Disappearing Acts is one of my favorite books, and I am waiting on her to recreate the magic that book had. Ms. McMillan has a distinct voice; it is the thing that set her apart from the rest. I just wish her to find that voice again and yell loudly from the rooftops that she won’t conform.
This book wasn’t about Getting to Happy; it was more like Getting to Bitter, Weary, and Disappointment.
Howard Hewitt, to me, has one of those voices that lulls and caresses. During the infancy phase of my love with music, Howard Hewitt was one of the clear favorites. Plus, he was kinda cute, and he reminds me…nevermind.
I caught Robert Townsend’s old comedy special the other day on HBO. Mr. Hewitt sang this song, and I’ve been listening ever since.
Happy OSF, everyone…kiss someone once, twice, three times…
Sometimes when I’m alone
I Cry,
Cause I am on my own.
The tears I cry are bitter and warm.
They flow with life but take no form
I Cry because my heart is torn.
I find it difficult to carry on.
If I had an ear to confide in,
I would cry among my treasured friend,
but who do you know that stops that long,
to help another carry on.
The world moves fast and it would rather pass by.
Then to stop and see what makes one cry,
so painful and sad.
And sometimes…
I Cry
and no one cares about why.
First, let’s begin with music. I’m in a classic mood this week, for two reasons: one, my birthday is in exactly 5 days; and two, the BET Black Girls Rock show. You may ask, how do the two come together? Well, the answer is Nina Simone.
I have loved Ms. Nina since I can remember. Her voice is hypnotic, and it shouts when I can’t, or don’t want to. when I saw my favorites singing this song on Black Girls Rock, I sat there in absolute stillness, and let the words rub my temples. It was the perfect arrangement, perfect tribute to Ms. Nina, and to the Black Girl in all of us.
Now, let’s move on to movies. I was going to write up a big review of Tyler Perry’s For Colored Girls, but I’ve decided against it. The choreopoem by Ntozake Shange is personal to me, as personal to me as to any other black girl who has ever read it and adapted it as her own. And if you are true to that black girl, you accept the fact that somethings are never going to live up to your expectations, no matter the intention. I believe TP’s intentions were good; I believe he came from a good place. And the movie, while emotionally draining, was a beautiful movie to watch. The colors were resplendent and the actresses, beautiful. There was something missing to me. And that something missing I will keep to myself, for now. I would like to believe that anyone who holds this poem so close to them as I do, will know exactly what I’m speaking about.
It has been a tradition with me, when celebrating my birthday, to open my day with a good, long cry. The kind of cry that reaches deep down in my soul and gathers all of the moss growing there and washes it away. I am going to have one of those crys Saturday morning. There is no sadness; only progression and change. I welcome it every year.
I feel new again at this blogging thing, even though I’ve been doing it, off and on, for almost 5 years. I can never decide what I want this blog to be, and that has presented a major conumdrum for me. That is, until I realized that it doesn’t have to be anything…it can just breathe and find its own way, much like we all do everyday. My blog is personal, it is emotions running wild, it is strong when it needs to be, and can be silent when required. My blog is me…and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
There are some things in life I will always treasure: my son, my sanity, my boobs, and spending time with my girls. Tonight was one of those nights when the girls and I let our hair down and did us. We were giggly and raunchy, serious and consoling, and the mood was just easy to slip into.
There is a lot to be said for having girlfriends. My girls provide the salve for my wounds, and are a temperature check for me when my life seems to be spiraling out of control. They are strong when I can’t be, and focused when I need to be.
So this is a shout out to my girls: Neressa, Shonte’, Janice, and Marchal…thank you for helping me to be me tonight.
p.s. We went to see For Colored Girls. I need to think about it for a moment before I write up my review. Perhaps tomorrow?
