In Praise of Late Blooming

I had my first kiss when I was 17 years old, and it was pretty much perfect.  In fact, I still breathe deeply when I stop and think about it.

I first discovered Santana when buying 11 CDs for $1 (or whatever the promotion was).  I had the disc (it was a “Best of” collection) for maybe 2 years before I opened it one night in my dorm room and let it wash over me; the experience was riveting.  No, I wasn’t high, but that would have been awesome I bet.

HomeBoy lobbied for years that I read The Godfather and The Sicilian.  When I finally got around to it, I devoured nearly everything Mario Puzo that I could find.

What do these events have in common?  I think it’s that the experiences were delayed for me and perhaps that made them all the more amplified and meaningful. 
 
Growing up, I don’t recall ever being in a real rush for anything – especially to be a grown-up.  I wasn’t the fake-ID-using, get-older-relatives-to-buy-me-liquor, needy-for-“romantic”-drama, hand-on-my-hip, sassy type.  I was present for a few risky games of truth or dare, but I was pretty much chaperoning.  I’m not what you would call an “early adapter”, but I don’t mind. Kissing and handholding and “making out” were enough to keep my head in the clouds when so many teens my age were visiting clinics and worried about multiple partners.  Discovering early rock and roll kept my faith in music when pop stations were dead to me.  And what more can I say about Puzo except “there is no frigate like a book.”

…The point! The point, Teresa!  What is it, and get to it…

I guess what I’m getting at is this – I’m in favor of slowing down.  Being connected to younger people allows me to see what a rush they are in, and it isn’t always good for them (or for any of us, really). Yes, life is short, but there’s something to be said for the ripening process.  We are in a rush to experiment with so many things early in life, but we may better appreciate and understand those very same things if we experience them later.  I’m not saying take everything slowly. Dreams, ambitions, goals – run!  Go get them!  But as for the other stuff, I think those things will come when the time is right. And if we wait, they could be sweeter and more memorable than we ever imagined.

Maybe we’d have a different perspective on aging, if we didn't think the “best years of our lives” were behind us.

Is there anything you're glad you waited for?  

Anything you wish you would've done sooner?

Dear Daylight Savings

Suck it.

A Touch of Madness

It started out innocently enough. Last week while on the phone with my mom and one of my sisters, the subject turned to movies. I told them how excited I was about Alice in Wonderland and joked that I even considered making a "mad hat" just for the occasion. After all, one can't have so many favorites in one project and not commemorate. (Those favorites being Johnny Depp, Tim Burton, Anne Hathaway, Helena B-Carter and the tale of Alice, of course.) We all got a good laugh out of it, and then the topic of conversation changed again. I thought no more of it until the next day.

At work I looked around my desk at all the random doo-dads and trinkets. I knew why they were there - to add a bit of whimsy to my space, some fun and silliness. "Ha!" I thought to myself, "Could you imagine putting those things on a hat? How curious." I came home, and while taking off my jewelry, I noticed more little things on my dresser: various pins and buttons, a pocket-watch that still needs a chain, a fuzzy lapel pin that looks a lot like a Tribble.

"Well, I do seem to have the materials, if I were so inclined..."

Thursday night found me with all manner of delicious nonsense spread out across my coffee table.

"But you love that hat," HomeBoy said.

"None of the changes will be permanent," I assured him, "I'm only using hat pins and tape."

I had forgotten how much fun arts and crafts can be. Fixing and fastening, arranging, rearranging, positioning just so... I really did enjoy myself. And, in true childlike fashion, I couldn't wait to show it - "Look what I made!"

The silliest part may be that I'm not at all embarrassed. At no point did I feel like I was too old to do such a thing. To be honest, I am quite relieved to find I am capable of such nonsense.

Speaking of Oscar Nominees

(this awards season fixation will be over on Monday, so indulge me until then will you?)

I am so excited about the trajectory of animated features, and I look forward to a large-scale return to 2D animation. Don't get me wrong, the magic that CGI can create is, well, magical, but there is a beauty in the quality of hand drawn cartoons that I've only come to appreciate lately. Disney did it with The Princess and the Frog, and now Irish underdog, Tomm Moore, has popped up and landed in the category for best animated feature film with The Secret of Kells. There's an article in the Times about the feature and it's director. More importantly, there are stills. People! These beautiful, vibrant stills will take your breath. Add to the amazing art this story that Moore tries to keep as close to the history as possible, and you can't help but hope that this is the tipping point for animation. I know I do.

Here's the official U.S. trailer:



And the promotional trailer:

What's really good?

After reading this post over at twenty-something's blog, I thought more on what I conceal and reveal. I'm a pretty private person anyway, and I'm more likely to be guilty of leaving questions unanswered than over-sharing. Then why are you even blogging, Teresa? Geez!

Is it dishonest? To only talk about the good stuff? I often feel conflicted about sharing good or bad news; it’s a wonder I have anything at all to say. Ever. When I have bad news, I think to myself “I don’t want to bring anybody else down, and people have enough problems of their own to be worried about mine.” When I have good news, I think to myself “Share it, maybe, but don’t oversell it. Sure, it’s great that this cool thing has happened for you, but nobody likes a blowhard. Besides, somebody somewhere is going through a difficult time and may not be in a place to receive your good news.”

It probably sounds ridiculous. Folks are plenty nice and supportive and all, but I don’t think I’m brave enough to be that vulnerable. And I try not to go overboard on the inspirational stuff either because…well, angst and disappointment are funnier, and I tend to mock the overly optimistic. (We’re not all running around here a bunch of little Matilda’s and Fire-starters, sorry to say.)

Does sharing only the good do more harm? Is sharing the negative necessary?

I'll Make You Famous

This must be the fun part about being a teacher – the ludicrous interaction with younger folks makes for great sound bites, or transcripts as it were. Below, a text message exchange between me and a younger one.


HER: Get a twitter

ME: U mean a twitter account? I’ve been trying not to.

HER: Why? I’m bouta delete my fcbk. I hate it. It took me 10 min to figure out how to log off.

ME: Oh no! I’ve heard that more ppl r opting out of fb in favor of twitter.

HER: Yea cause it’s simple. And fun. All u do is tweet in reply to someone or tweet about something stupid u saw or heard. Or anything really. And u could feel closer to celebrities because they really be on there.

ME: That’s what’s missing from my life! Feeling closer to celebrities!

HER: Haha. And being close to me.

ME: That’s a better reason. U should have led with that one.


*I’ve seen facebook abbreviated as “fb” but never “fcbk” – until now. I think I know why.

The Post Never Posted

The day before the grad school application was due, I wrote a mock post about how I didn’t get in and how I was okay with that. I felt like what the program offered was perfect for me but didn’t know if my recommendation letters arrived, and I was editing my writing sample and writing my personal statement (and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting) until just days before the entire packet was due.

I blame my duplicitous mind. On the one hand, I know that if something is meant for me I will have it. On the other hand, maybe this wasn’t for me. Maybe I was only meant to go through the application process to solidify in my mind whether or not I was dedicated to being a writer.

That post was filled with honest critiques of what I could have done better to prepare and affirmations about how not getting in isn’t the end of the world – very valid points, all. That post had flashbacks of my undergrad experience and uncertain musings about my future. That post was…eh…pretty well written, I guess. But I have no reason to publish that post, so you’ll have to take my word for it. ;)

Lucille, which stands for light

Lucille Clifton has passed away. She leaves behind family and friends, powerful poetry and countless black women writers for whom she was a patron saint. I once heard someone say that she was a poet’s poet. I have read only a small portion of her work, but I see why. She seemed to look inward, to her own life and community and this very spiritual, political act of being a woman, for inspiration. A singular depiction of an isolated instance can reveal answers about the whole of humanity. Everything is everything.


Among the things I take away from her work, I take that I am enough. Lucille Clifton could have written of loftier things; she could have made references to things I know nothing of and flexed language that required a vocabulary lesson before I could get through a poem. She didn’t do that. She spoke to being human, of women and men and babies and families. She spoke of God and light and death and thriving – apartments, city blocks, neighborhoods. All she needed was right there. We were enough for her. We are enough still.


Lucille, “which stands for light”, shine always. Amen.
**

I've now added The Book of Light to my reading list.

Suh-WEET!

It’s really cool working as a creative professional, I just have to say. I feel fortunate to be in a place where creative enrichment opportunities are not only encouraged but provided. This week, the artist, Will Cotton, came to give a lecture. I hadn’t heard of this artist before the email announcement that he was stopping by, but am I ever glad I went! He works in confection landscapes, but don’t let the saccharine subject matter fool you – dude is serious.

His work is so amazing! In the course of one hour, he explained his inspiration and motivation and his journey from the first “ah-ha!” moment with a Candyland game board to manipulating atmosphere and painting royal portraits several years later. All with his work being connected by a single thread – a licorice string, if you will. In addition to superior technical ability, his realist style and use of color blow my mind, and his work ethic is ridiculous. He builds the candy landscapes before he paints them. He talked about the meaning behind his work – our world of desire, indulgence and guilt; there's so much more to it than a gumdrop forest or a lollipop lane.

And because these words do the work so little justice:






Better yet, skip dessert, and just go to his website.




I have never seriously considered having a portrait painted until now.

Sing a Song...

Black history month is a mixed bag for me. I feel it's important, but I always feel overwhelmed. Plus, every year I see the same bogus things. McDonald’s, Popeye’s and Walmart come to mind, and their special commercials that attempt to pander to the community while coming across racist as hell. “Hey Look, Black people! We know you – chicken, slang, break-dancing! Buy stuff!”

I can’t be too judgmental, though, because I feel guilty for not knowing more about the pioneers, inventors, innovators, artists, activists and achievers beyond the ones we typically highlight. You know who: MLK, Rosa Parks, Malcolm X, Jackie Robinson, Madame C.J. Walker, George Washington Carver - to name a few. It’s not that these people aren’t important (hahaha I just said “these people” that’s funny), it’s that there are so many others who don’t seem to make the cut.

As a community who's spent so much time in the margins, it seems ironic that we would be so selfish with the cannon of “worthy Black Folk” when it comes to this month. Granted 28 days (or 29) is hardly enough to cover all of the history and inspiration, and I get that the knowledge building should happen all year round. But if the month is to raise awareness, why not raise the awareness of people who we’re not, well, aware of? So, my personal projects for this month are: 1) read unfamiliar works by familiar Black authors 2) talk to the elders in my family – they’re black history, too.

I’ll start with Cane by Jean Toomer, and I’ll call my grandma this weekend.

Kids these days...

The following is an exchange via text between myself and one of my adolescent relatives:



ME: I need an update. How r u doing? What's going on with school stuff? Non-school stuff?

RELI: I'm pretty sure I passed all my classes this semester... I just gotta nu fren named ______... & everything else still sux.

ME: Passed everything? Even ur "i-hate-this-the-teacher-is-wack-im-not-learning-anything-im-not-majoring-in-this-anymore" English class?

(nothing)

ME: ...???

RELI: Srry i was txtin my english teacher cuz i aint go 2skool 2day. He tol me i did really well on my exam. So yea...

ah, youthful optimism!

Grammys: High Notes, Low Notes

Yes, this is another awards show post.

I didn't even intend to watch the Grammy's. I did't know they were airing this weekend until a coworker hipped me to it on Friday before I left work. Generally, I'm into the TV and film awards more than those for music, but I decided to check it out. Not that what I think has any baring, but here are my personal high and low notes for the 52th Annual Grammy Awards:


High Note: Lady Gaga and Elton John opening the show. Loved it.

Low Note: Lady Gaga not receiving album of the year.

High Note: Pink’s performance.

Low Note: Anybody sitting underneath Pink’s wet n’ wild extravaganza.

High Note: “Earth Song” tribute. I love that song, and I think it actually made me fist pump like a champ.

Low Note: This wasn’t so much a low note as a rest or refrain. Beyoncé’s performance was solid but derivative. Why do I feel like I’ve seen in before? Because I have; talk about déjà vu.

High Note: Tarantino calling Em and Wayne “glorious bastards”.

Low Note: Well, everything else Tarantino said.

High Note: “21 Guns” performance with the Broadway cast = awesome

Low Note: Taylor Swift’s performance. Having Stevie Knicks was cool, but Miss Swift was off key and out of breath most of the time.

High Note: Bon Jovi. No fist pumping here, though it would have been appropriate, no?

Low Note: The sound kept crapping out during the Drake/Wayne/Em performance. Did the sound techs go home, or was that just my TV?

High Note: Maxwell – and with Roberta Flack, no less!

High, High Note: Mary J. Blige and Andrea Bocelli. It was beautiful, and Mary holds her own with anybody. That’s diva.


What's with me and the lists? Good grief, Teresa, would it kill you to writing in cohesive, thoughtful paragraphs once in a while?

Twinkle, Twinkle, Movie Star

20 Reasons I LOVE Awards Shows (not necessarily in preferential order):



20) I love movies, even more now than when I was younger. (I was a serious kid, too serious.)

19) The attire. I admit it; I sit on my sofa like Caesar and issue a thumbs-up or down for every presenter and winner as they come on stage. It’s fun, too, to check out the internet the next day to see who agrees with me or not.

18) The opening – especially with the SAG awards. When the actors say their little intros it feels like an inside joke. Who doesn’t want to be on the inside of a movie/TV star’s inside joke? (PS – This year, Eddie Falco’s opening was hilarious.)

17) I love being right – when the nominee I think should win actually does, I get a little giddy.

16) I don’t mind being wrong – when the winner is a surprise to me, that’s okay too.

15) A hearty addition to my Netflix queue. Last year I actually watched the Oscars with pen and paper in hand; it’s necessary when some of the nominees haven’t even hit theaters yet. Crazy Heart? Congratulations, Jeff Bridges, now what was that about?

14) Invariably, somebody gets played off for talking too long – always funny.

13) The totally-scripted-but-act-natural dialogue that occurs between presenters before they actually get to announcing the nominees.

12) When cameras cut to the faces of the nominees who did not win.

11) When a winner is genuinely shocked and tongue-tied at the podium. Drew Barrymore was a bumbling mess at the Golden Globes and the SAG awards; I like her more now than ever.

10) Listening to laymen talk about their predictions; for a brief moment, everyone turns into a grad student studying film. (Like me, for instance…)

9) I get to imagine the wonderful, talent friends I have who will someday be at such glamorous events.

8) The announcer is usually a woman. (Take that, various commercials for goods and services who think that a male voice equals authority!)

7) When the host is great (I’m looking at you, Ellen DeGeneres).

6) Texting my friends during the show with such 140-character-or-less gold as “I don’t care if she DID win, I’m still not going to see it”, and “Clearly somebody called in a favor.”

5) I like cheering for the actors who I think are probably good and interesting people in real life. (Yay! Michael C. Hall!)

4) For the brief amount of time that the camera cuts to the audience, I like watching the inter-generational mingling of Hollywood past, Hollywood present, and Hollywood future.

3) The soapbox moment – there’s gotta be at least one.

2) Watching the movie awards is more productive than watching an actual movie because I can get things done during commercial breaks.

1) Helps me visualize for when I get there. You know, as a nominee, guest of a nominee, an announcer, an usher...whatever - I'm flexible!

Ring the Alarm

I know that there’s nothing funny about theft – neither car theft nor home burglary nor any other kind tickle my funny bone, but I was just wondering if we could make the alarms themselves a little more…entertaining?

Our house alarm went off at 5:30 am a few days ago (everything is fine – triggered by a frozen pipe that burst in the basement…everything is sort of fine), and it has that terrible muted, fog horn thing going on. And we all know and loathe that now ubiquitous car alarm sound – the one that’s a combination of a house alarm, a clock radio alarm, a fire truck, a school bell and sirens (as in the ones who tried to lure Odysseus and his men to crash themselves into the jagged, pointy shore).

Anyway, you’d recognize an alarm as an alarm if it’s triggered unsuspectingly in the middle of the night or stupid o’clock in the morning. So why can’t we have different sounds – or phrases? Oh, or favorite songs or movie lines?! I nominate the following for consideration to make car and house alarms more (ahem) fun:

10. “I’m not touching you! I’m not touching you! I’m not touching you!”

9. Riding Along in My Automobile by Chuck Berry

8. “Back up! Back up! Mind ya’ bid-ness that’s all, just mind ya’ bid-ness!”

7. “Woo-Hoo! I’m the king of the world!”

6. “That’s what she said! That’s what she said! That’s what she said!”

5. “Goooood morning, Vietnam!”

4. The famous scream from Home Alone

3. Samuel Jackson narrating any number of warning phrases

2. Christopher Walken narrating any number of warning phrases

1. “I’m really happy for you. I’m gonna let you finish, but _______ was one of the best thieves of all time.”*


* This one is customizable!
You can input the name of your favorite larceny legend from history!

Picture That

Can they do that?

In two days I read about two separate instances of the President and First Lady’s images being used for advertising – without their permission. First PETA uses Photoshop to put Mrs. Obama in an ad, and then Weatherproof finds a photo of President Obama on the Great Wall of China (that’s “President”, NYT, not “Mr.”) and they blow it up and throw it up on a billboard in Manhattan – 41st and 7th Ave.

According to the Associated Press, the coat company paid them for use of the image, but it was up to the licensing party (in this case, Weatherproof) to obtain the necessary clearances. So here we go passing the buck. Associated Press says, “we thought you were gonna do it!” Weatherproof says, “Huh? We bought it from you; we thought you were gonna do it!” Meanwhile a larger than life President Obama is endorsing this press-mongering coat company against his will. (Sure, he looks dashing, but that’s not the point.) Not to mention, for a short time Weatherproof marketed the coat on their website as “the Obama jacket.”

One thing I can say for Weatherproof, at least they used an less familiar image where Obama is actually wearing their merchandise, and not an oft-seen, official press photo. Hello, PETA? Are you listening? The photo of Sister First Lady in her sleeveless, black shift dress with a double string of pearls has been everywhere! Not to mention in the PETA ad she is the one woman standing completely face forward. Were you trying to get caught, PETA?

I know it’s been a long time since the nation has had such a young, vibrant and attractive first family, but this feels really irreverent to me. What’s next? Somebody takes photos of Sasha and Malia and puts their faces on a box of cereal? Sure, the Obamas want to be/appear accessible and of the people, but respect the office and personal privacy. Plus, they seem cool enough – you probably could’ve just asked.

Is it rude to return to one’s blog without doing the requisite New Year post, when such posts are undoubtedly all over the place and we’re already at the 6th day of January? Hope not. Moving on…

My good friend gave me a calendar in August of last year. It was one of those spiral notebook style desk calendars with only the date printed and not the year. I keep this calendar on my makeshift nightstand, and on New Year’s Day I flipped all the pages back and started anew. It was a physical epiphany.

Flipping those calendar pages symbolized for me that any new beginning only puts the past behind us; it doesn’t make it disappear. Of course, I know logically that the past does not disappear, but sometimes that’s what we’d prefer. How much better would it be if our sadness, mistakes and embarrassments had never happened at all? So, we count down the best of it and say goodbye to the rest of it. So long, 2009, you ain’t gotta go home, but you gotta get the hell out of here!

The calendar uses both sides of each page, so the reverse of each day is another day. This sparked another lesson for me, one that I’d heard many times before. My father says that wherever you are in life, at some moment in time you made an appointment to be there. As I look at both sides of each calendar page, I wonder how my days will be connected – how my determination in January will pay off in May or if my indiscretions in December will hurt me come April.

I am a huge fan of fresh starts, and whenever I wanted to make a change in my life I waited for the next beginning to, well, begin. I needed a new year or my birthday day (one’s personal new year) or the first of the month or the start of a week. I told myself it was a cleaner start; I would have more resolve. However, until that start date I indulged in whatever behavior I was preparing to alter or relinquish. The cycle usually went like this: 1) make intention to change 2) set date to implement change 3) change for a short time 4) relapse and bemoan 5) repeat [eventually].

That didn’t really work for me, so as of late whenever I’ve want to do something differently – I do it as soon as possible. This can range from immediately to tomorrow to the next opportunity to do so. So far, that’s working out much better. I don’t need a new year or a Monday or a whatever to change. We like to use the phrase “start from scratch” as if that is the very beginning – our “day 1” our new year – but it’s not. By the time we’re scratching, we’ve already been motivated to do so; something has already happened. So why not start from itch and get a head start on your fresh start?

Well,how do you like that? This turned into a New Year's post after all!

Infinite In Between

Is it rude to return to one’s blog without doing the requisite New Year post, when such posts are undoubtedly all over the place and we’re already at the 6th day of January? Hope not. Moving on…


My good friend gave me a calendar in August of last year. It was one of those spiral notebook style desk calendars with only the date printed and not the year. I keep this calendar on my makeshift nightstand, and on New Year’s Day I flipped all the pages back and started anew. It was a physical epiphany.

Flipping those calendar pages symbolized for me that any new beginning only puts the past behind us; it doesn’t make it disappear. Of course, I know logically that the past does not disappear, but sometimes that’s what we’d prefer. How much better would it be if our sadness, mistakes and embarrassments had never happened at all? So, we count down the best of it and say goodbye to the rest of it. So long, 2009, you ain’t gotta go home, but you gotta get the hell out of here!

The calendar uses both sides of each page, so the reverse of each day is another day. This sparked another lesson for me, one that I’d heard many times before. My father says that wherever you are in life, at some moment in time you made an appointment to be there. As I look at both sides of each calendar page, I wonder how my days will be connected – how my determination in January will pay off in May or if my indiscretions in December will hurt me come April.

I am a huge fan of fresh starts, and whenever I wanted to make a change in my life I waited for the next beginning to, well, begin. I needed a new year or my birthday day (one’s personal new year) or the first of the month or the start of a week. I told myself it was a cleaner start; I would have more resolve. However, until that start date I indulged in whatever behavior I was preparing to alter or relinquish. The cycle usually went like this: 1) make intention to change 2) set date to implement change 3) change for a short time 4) relapse and bemoan 5) repeat [eventually].

That didn’t really work for me, so as of late whenever I’ve want to do something differently – I do it as soon as possible. This can range from immediately to tomorrow to the next opportunity to do so. So far, that’s working out much better. I don’t need a new year or a Monday or a whatever to change. We like to use the phrase “start from scratch” as if that is the very beginning – our “day 1” our new year – but it’s not. By the time we’re scratching, we’ve already been motivated to do so; something has already happened. So why not start from itch and get a head start on your fresh start?


Well, how do you like that? This turned into a New Year's post after all.

Hiatus...

hiatus - n. a break or interruption in the continuity of a work, series, action, etc. [though i hardly would describe this space as having "continuity"]

"If you want to know the truth
I could care less about a period
at the end of this sentence
for i have no desire to stop here..."

-"Your Self-Fulfilling History",
Mbembe Milton Smith

One girl's New Moon is another girl's New Edition

Ah, boy bands. Is there anything more wonderfully corny and tweenaged? I’ve had my share of fixations with these well groomed groups of “Tiger Beat cover boys”, to steal a phrase from Ocean’s Eleven. Their melodramatic lyrics and polished choreography have haunted the dreams of PTYs long before NSync/Backstreet Boys. (I always confused them, sorry.) Here are some of the groups I think of, when I hear “boy bands”…though none of them really play instruments – that’s curious. This is by no means an exhaustive list, as there are many groups that came before and many more who will surely come after, but I have a soft spot in my heart for these fellas:

Oh Ronny, Bobby, Johnny, Ricky, Mike and Ralph. (I know Johnny came much later, but that sequence sounds best.) These guys were equally coveted as boys and men. We LOVED New Edition in my house – from “Cool It Now” to “Can You Stand the Rain”. How serious was it? Well, when “Can You Stand the Rain” came on Video Soul, we sang the song in 5 part harmony. There were 4 of us at the time.


More near and dear to the hearts of me and my sister were The Boys, ABC (Another Bad Creation) and ultimately Immature. Don’t judge. “Dial My Heart” and “A Little Romance” are the sweetest songs – even today. So lovey-dovey and yet so age appropriate; I appreciate the latter more in hindsight. My crush was the lead singer. He was the second oldest brother; I was the second oldest sister – we were kismet.


ABC was a little more street, but no less cute – and again with the age appropriate lyrics. “At the Playground” and “Iesha” were their biggest hits, and every girl with a 3-syllable name that ended in “A” was happy to put herself in the song. (“Te-res-a! You are the girl that never had, and I want to get to know you better…”) After all, what good are boy bands, if you can’t convince yourself that they’re singing to you?

As mature, junior high school students of a certain age, we discovered Immature upon seeing them in House Party 3, though the group had released an debut album by then. The 90’s trio was so inappropriate. Their first hits (to me, anyway, since my personal catalogue begins with album #2), “Constantly” and “I Will Never Lie”, were chock-full-o teenaged melodrama. That was fine, but the bird chest of a shirtless Marcus Houston was a bit over the top. (That’s right, Marcus. Some of us remember). But they were cute, and not so grown up as Jodeci or Genuine, so we listened. We listened all the way to “We Got It”. (And man, did they.)

In occasional fits of frenzied nostalgia, I go to YouTube and listen to all of them - never fails to put a smile on my face. Not as innocent as Jackson5 but less pornographic than…well, most recent stuff (I’m looking at you, B2K and Pretty Ricky), these R&B boys struck a happy medium with the little ladies and the Powers-That-Be who bought the CDs and posters and concert tickets. Being an ex-tweenager who may one day find herself buying such posters and concert tickets, I really appreciate the happy medium. And the happy memories.

Honorable mentions: Soul For Real, Mystic, 112...and the list goes on

The soul of wit

He asked
how I got such long lashes.
I said
I water them regularly.