remembering Michael Jackson....

I remember it like yesterday.  I was on the train....on my way home.  Cell rang.  It was Tee.  She said "Did you hear Michael Jackson had a heart attack?"  I had not...and frankly, I didn't believe her.  It was just too.....unbelievable. Unfathomable.  Unreal.  Could not be real.  By the time I got home and turned on the news to confirm it was all just a bad joke....he was dead.  Confirmed dead.  I screamed at the television.  "Noooooo!!!!" It was all I could say.  Michael Jackson and DEAD? No place in my consciousness for that. 

Yes, of course...I know that eventually everyone dies...but some people are so "larger than life",  you almost expect them to be around forever.  And I'm not talking in the philosophical "he'll live on through his music" sense.  I mean a lot of us can't imagine some people i.e. stars, dying.  More evidence of deifying humans...putting regular folks (even SUPER talented ones) on pedestals...that they can't help but fall headlong off of simply because they are HUMAN.  They will disappoint eventually....either by being crackheads, cheaters who have babies outside of their marriages, liars, closet this & that or overall bad decision makers that put their very charmed lives in danger.

When Michael Jackson died, we mourned in our house for at least 6 months.  This included blastin' the History Album over and over, scouring the internet for rare interviews of MJ....spending hours on Saturdays watching said rare interviews, his music videos, and anything JACKSON (including his brothers' reality show)...and of course "schooling" our nieces and nephews that came to visit on MJ.  This meant they had to watch Thriller, whether they wanted to or not.

Our mourning was not because Michael Jackson THE KING OF POP died.  It was because Michael Jackson, our buddy who we had so many memories with...who was like family...had died.  And he left way too early.  The fact that they found his doctor guilty of causing his death today doesn't really do much for me.  MJ is still gone.  sigh. I guess this is how my parents felt when Marvin Gaye died....

bite of the day ~ He wasn't perfect, but he was ours.

thirtiesgirl

do good

There are times that you just know that you are in the right place...doing the right thing.  It's not about you or anything else except being PRESENT.  This past weekend was one of those times.  The 1st Englewood Film Festival.  Closing night film...The Interrupters.  If you know, enough said.

 I first heard about it via Facebook, since I am "friends" with the founder, independent filmmaker Mark Harris.  If there was ever a little Giant on stilts, it's him.  When he has something going on, he will BLAST messages out to anyone who will listen (or read)...over and over...and over again, in search of a response.  After seeing several of these messages, I finally went to the official website...admittedly with a sigh... "Like, dude..really??? (sigh again) Let me check this out before he blows up my computer pubbing this thing!".  Persistence.  Gotta love it. lol

Now, Englewood has a pretty rough rep....even my no news watching self has heard about all the crime and violence jumping off in this neighborhood.  Most folks that don't live there, ain't trying to go there....for nothing.  Fortunately, I'm the same girl that moved to a town called Berwyn, clueless about the history of racism (and yes, the white folks emptied them apartments with the quickness after two little black ladies moved in...claiming they couldn't afford the rent anymore.  Hmmm.  Suspect!)....and even if I had known, I wouldn't have cared.  I'm crazy enough to believe I'll be SAFE anytime, anywhere by God's grace.  Therefore, I go where I please without a second thought, that includes Englewood.

The arts changes lives....and Mark bringing his own personal "Stop the Violence and Do Something Productive" campaign to the hood hopefully will do just that.  Instead of just complaining, he took action.  So, I knew I not only had to get our arts nonprofit, The Anointed Harvesters, involved in some (last minute) way....but I had to personally BE THERE to support.  At the end of the day, I got much more out of it than I gave or anticipated.

The closing night film "The Interrupters" is a documentary about a Chicago-based nonprofit called Ceasefire and three of their "Interrupters".  The film followed this group as they literally stepped into violent situations and mentored folks caught up in the cycle of gangs, crime, miseducation and overall hard living.  All of the interrupters come from the same background as the folks they are now trying to help.  Turning back, not to go back...but to pull others forward.  My heart was especially touched by Ameena, infamous gangsta Jeff Fort's daughter.  She is the eagle that soared...in spite of the broken wing.  Selah.  They all made me want to do....better.

bite of the day ~ If you're not DOING, at least support those who are. 
DONATE:
http://ceasefirechicago.org/
Support positive independents:
 http://1555filmworks.com/  www.logosthemovie.com www.ofboysandmen.com
DO GOOD, every chance you get.

woman thou art loosed

TD Jakes Woman Thou Art Loosed 2011

I'm not a screamer...nor a shouter.  You know, the organ going a mile a minute....serious footwork, head boppin', hair flyin', face sweatin' - shoutin'.  The old church used to call it "catching the Holy Ghost".  The new church has some sterile version of it, which still includes yelling out "Hallelujah!  Praise da Lord!  Thank ya Jesus!  Say it Pastor!"  Don't get me wrong....I get my praise on.  I'm just not usually very vocal.  It's a personal relationship between me and God...so I tend to speak in a regular tone of voice or even a whisper, as if He's actually as close as inside of me...or at the very least, standing right next to me with His arm draped over my shoulders with pinkies locked...Boyfriend-style. :-)

But when I went to TD Jakes' women's conference, Woman Thou Art Loosed, in Houston last week, I felt the power of 16,000 women (with a few men sprinkled in...) singing, yelling, praising, shouting, laughing...many at the top of their lungs.  It was humbling to say the least. Standing in the heart of this...."movement of loosing", I took the opportunity to survey the room, breathing in the essence of the moment.  And it was a moment.  A turning point.  I know it was Divine strategy that I was there.  God knew I needed to be.

I went alone seeking guidance, direction, peace, inspiration, encouragement and a Word from God for my life. There is something absolutely freeing about being a stranger amongst thousands of soul-thirsty women. Who I was (or wasn't) didn't matter in that place.  Nor where I had come from or what I looked like. The only thing that mattered was I was there with the same agenda as the sister-strangers I was surrounded by. Every woman had come for a specific and special reason.  Had been drawn there through tribulation and pain and heartbreak and brokenness.  Each of us had pressed our way to a Divine appointment with The Healer, and we were not left disappointed. 

I held my breath during each session, with pen in hand, intently listening for MY Word....MY reason for missing two days of work and flying all the way to Houston.  Although the teaching was good and anointed on the first night....I didn't come away with anything that hit me hard enough in the heart.  The second night, I connected with Pastor Paula White, whose personal trials and tribulations made her that much more relatable to me.  I thought her teaching on discovering my authentic self...and her breakdown of transformation and life changes was the word I had come to hear.  Not quite. And although Sheryl Brady was awesome and moving and demonstrative on Saturday morning with her teaching about what to do when you find yourself in a whirlwind created by a tornadic person in your life...I still hadn't gotten IT. 

It wasn't until Cindy Trimm took the stage that I recognized my breakthrough.  I have to admit, I didn't think she would be very good (...it was obviously my first time hearing her speak). She was using her laptop and seemed to be reading her notes a bit much for my taste.  I like organic teaching...that seems to come unrehearsed and straight from the heart. Dr. Trimm admitted to preparing for 6 months for the conference, but at 2am the night before, God had changed her whole message (...which is why she was sticking to her notes...glad I didn't judge too quickly and shut it down).  She dissected the cycles of life (spiritual & physical), how the mind is the womb of the spirit,  the importance of the number ten, and how many of us are OVERDUE....said the enemy has been fighting us because God is about to BIRTH something important through us.  By the time she finished breaking down revelation after revelation...each of which I took very personally, I was ready for IT.  When she instructed us to put our left hand (which symbolizes judgment) on our stomachs and the right hand (which symbolizes blessing) on top of the left....I felt something run up through my gut and burst out of my eyes and mouth.  It was like a delivery (...or perhaps deliverance...).

 I yelled to God at the top of my lungs with tears streaming down the sides of my face..Maybelline and all.  In that moment, I could care less how I looked, how I sounded, who was watching or not.  It was a moment....a Divine moment.  God was breaking through, bringing me to a climax after a 368 day journey. Selah.

So now that the 16,000 sister-strangers have dispersed, returning to the four corners of the world to fight another day....I am left changed.....and facing forward. 

bite of the day ~ Free yourself and birth your new life into existence.  PUSH!!!

thirtiesgirl

lessons from the golden pair

I was but a girl of 7 or 8 when it happened....a shiny brown girl walking down 51st street with a grin as big as the moon.  Hand in hand with my sweet cocoa mother I walked. Excited because we were on our way to find a brand new pair of shoes!  It wasn't everyday that a girl could go shopping for a shiny new pair....especially since Daddy was no longer there.  In the house, I mean.  Sure, Easter was coming up which was cause for the occasion...but her intention was to grab a pair to wear way beyond that day.  Functional, they call it.  

Well, all of that went out the window when I spotted THEM.  A perfect little pair of golden slippers...with no less than a string bow near the toe.  It was as if they were made just for me....destined to hug MY toes & soles and no other...like Cinderella....or even Dorothy (think The Wiz....not The Wizard of Oz...lol).  So after trying to convince me to go with a more "sensible" color like black, my mother finally conceded and allowed me to have my golden shoes which I put on right away.

My first love affair.  Beautiful.  I was gorgeous and dainty and cute and lovely....when me and my golden pair were together. That's how they made me feel. I wore them everyday (that she would let me!)  And when I wasn't wearing them, I was playing with them, looking at them...always had them near.  And everything felt right in my world...for awhile.  Then I began to notice the fit was becoming a little snug.  Uncomfortable.  Nevertheless, I continued to slip them on day after day....after day.  Through the growing discomfort and then downright pain, I would not stop wearing my beloved shoes! J'adore!  One day, I could no longer hide from my mother that I was outgrowing the golden pair, as she inquired whether they were tight.  I lied.  "Oh no!  They're fine.  They feel good!" I wasn't ready to end it just yet. 

And I never would be.  I was finally forced  to face that the affair was OVER.  I had grown and where I was going...the golden slippers could not. And not because I did not love them anymore (J'adore!)...but because our affair had turned sour long before into something hurtful...painful.  They were no longer good for me and I had not wanted to face it....but eventually, I had to let go.  Had to find gorgeous and dainty and cute and lovely without them.  When I finally did, the scars left behind were evidence that I had held on way too long.  And some scars never go away...(no matter how much Dr. Scholl's you use).

Thinking back to me and those golden slippers, it was a foreshadowing of things to come....a peek into my personality that was there from the start.  A trait that would bring me joy & pain, pleasure & sorrow.  Immense sorrow.

bite of the day ~  IT'S SO HARD TO SAY GOOD-BYE TO YESTERDAY....but sometimes, you have to.  Selah.

thirtiesgirl

am I my Brother's keeper?

Yes, I am!

Allow me to introduce Shouty Mack T-Bone T-Sconey....my big brother. :-)

On this your 39th birthday, I take a moment to express my deepest gratitude for sharing life with someone like you:

1.  Thank you for being the cause of EVERY major beat-down (whoopin') I've endured in my life...due to following you into some doomed from the start scheme.  Thank you for being fearless enough to do dumb stuff to get US in trouble.

2. Thank you for never really beating me up, but instead shaking me til the room was spinning and my brains were scrambled.  You taught me to never give up...cause as soon as I could focus, I was coming after you swinging a broom, chair...something! 

3.  Thank you for being such a great dancer that I had to learn some moves myself  just to keep up with you.  Yo MTV raps BABY!!!  Remember our Kid n Play routine at the house parties?

4.  Thank you for coming to pick me up in your raggedy Subaru from cheerleading practice so I wouldn't have to take the bus.

5.  Thank you for letting me spend the night at your new apartment whenever I wanted after you moved out.  I missed you so much....and I was spoiled.  Pizza!  Donuts!  Nachos! lol

6.  Thank you for being so in tune with me that you knew something was wrong when the pervert (you know who...) was "teaching" me how to drive.  You stayed in the window the whole time we were in the parking lot, watching and ready.

7.  Thank you for breaking me off a few dollars from your fat stack of tips from the Fairmont every time you saw me....and for making a few deposits in my account during my broke college days.

8.  Thank you for finding my silver Barretta, making me buy it BEFORE I even knew how to drive it.  It was a stick.  You always made me feel like I could do anything, even if I didn't believe it.

9.  Thank you for dreaming out loud with me (...."what you gone eat for breakfast on the Amtrak train?").  Remember the full body umbrella that would fly us to school on rainy days...complete with a breakfast of bacon & eggs?

10.  Thank you for staying as long as you could during some tough summers...just so I wouldn't feel too alone.

In all, thank you for being the best big brother a girl could ever wish to have.  To have you as a best friend growing up and now...words cannot express. I'm glad you were born.  Without you, there would be no "manimaisha"...one word. lol! I love you deeper than the Atlantic, man.....happy birthday, Shouty Mack.  There BETTER be many more! :-)

thirtiesgirl

proper planning prevents poor performance!..or something like that.

At one time, I was signed with 3 different talent agencies that had me running like a chicken in heat on my lunch breaks from my 9-5 to auditions.  I did that for about 2 years.  One day, I realized I hated when my cell phone rang, because it was usually an agent...not with a BOOKING, but with yet another audition!  I never felt quite comfortable with the whole audition process...and after a bunch of soul searching I realized it was because I knew I was supposed to be the one BEHIND the desk in the power position.  Someone else telling me I'm "right" or "good enough" or "great" or "perfect" or NOT for a particular role or commercial never sat well with me. So I slowly but surely stopped.  I decided to focus on creating for myself and others instead of chasing behind someone to give me an opportunity.  I'm going the way of Spike Lee & Tyler Perry & Robert Townsend...Ice Cube & Queen Latifah...The Wayans Brothers! Make your own stuff, put yourself in it and let the chips fall where they may.

So when a friend and comrade in the entertainment hustle game called me and said a director that had seen my work (and loved it) asked for my contact info because she wanted me to audition for a Boost Mobile commercial she's working on, my heart went piter pat for more than one reason.  First of all, I've already stated I HATE auditions...but I love to act.  Secondly, once I received the breakdown for the 3 ads, to my dismay, one of them had SWIMSUIT as the wardrobe.  This particular ad will be shot on a beach...2 lovers running toward each other style.  Ok.  Nervous excitement instantly turned to disappointment and even...dare I say, DREAD. 

I have never been a go-to-the-gym type girl.  I've stayed relatively the same size most of my life by being NATURALLY active (i.e. taking the stairs between floors @ work instead of the elevator, speed walking to and from the train...the speed part mainly because I'm usually running real close to late).  Besides a dance class here and there, the closest I've come to a disciplined workout is getting my behind on my living room floor and doing the same crunch/leg lift/straddle stretch routine I've been doing since my cheerleading days in high school.  But for the last few months, I've been slacking on even that.  And the large pepperoni pizza  that I devoured over the prior few days didn't help.  Hey....what can I say, I had a coupon. (BTW - Delish! Plug for Geppetto's Pizzeria!)

So the day before I get this call about the Boost commercial, I start getting real antsy about my laziness and my cheese and dough stuffed belly.  I got back to it...the crunch/leg lift/straddle stretch routine.  Even pulled out my trusty 5 lb weights.  But one day of working out would not be sufficient for me to switch myself into an audition wearing a two piece!  A friend of mine said I should still go...that I have a nice body etc.  But I know I'm not in the best shape that I could be.  My confidence would be shot.  Couple that with the natural actor's nerves....recipe for disaster!  I'd rather leave the positive image the director currently has of me firmly cemented....til the next opportunity.

One thing's for sure, I now know the meaning of  "Proper Planning Prevents Poor Performance".  Oh well, lesson learned.  Sigh.

bite of the day ~  You never know when opportunity will come knocking. Stay ready.

thirtiesgirl  

  

note to self

If I haven't mentioned it before, I am IN LOVE with books.  The real things...filled with pages that actually have to be turned with your fingers, not scrolled through.  Needless to say, I am going through serious withdrawal with the closing of most of the major brick & mortar bookstores.  So last week, I hit yet another Border's that was plastered with big yellow and black discounted signs.  Problem is prices are still not rock bottom but the pickings are already getting slim.  So when I came across Note to Self by Andrea Buchanan, it didn't take long for me to snap it up as the title screamed at me, especially in my present state.  Plus it was 40% off. :-)



The stories are inspirational, as should be expected, but they also reiterated something I've known for a while now.  A good majority of the pain that we as women endure is due to our love of a man...or more than one...perhaps even at the same time .  Many of us pour ourselves all into a man or our relationships for the love of that man....and the need of that love in return.  And my God, if we actually do or at least believe that we are loved deeply, there is almost nothing that we would not endure for that man.  Problem is, there are men out there that do not know what to do with that level of love and commitment.  And if given to this "unready" and, dare I say, "undeserving" man...hardship, humiliation and heartbreak is sure to follow.  One story in particular really made me think about my choices for my life and relationships. 

A woman, who is now 70 years old, married the love of her life at the age of 50, after being in what turned out to be a dead-end marriage for over a decade.  This new love that she found opened up her world to so many positive things, places and people.  Experiences she had only dreamed of.  I mean, she was simply brimming over with the MUTUAL love of this man.  Neither of them was perfect....but IT was perfect.  One day, she received a letter from an insurance company, as her husband was in the process of purchasing additional life insurance.  She opened it to find out that he had been denied because he was HIV positive.  Sigh.

Shock on all ends followed, with an explanation from him that he must have contracted it from a prostitute that he regularly had sex with on his frequent business trips to the West Coast.  She decided not to address the infidelity as it was futile at that moment...apparently.  Long story short, she was found to be infected too... but instead of becoming angry and bitter towards her man, she showered him with unconditional love, and while battling the disease herself, took care of him AND kept his secret, per his request.  Shortly after he died, she discovered he had been in a long term HOMOSEXUAL relationship with a man who had died in 1986.  So her precious love, who she had thought would never PURPOSELY put her at risk...who she never blamed for her infection, had in fact lied and deceived her in the worst way.  Gay sex.  Unprotected gay sex.  Then home to the waiting loving wife for more....unprotected sex.  There wasn't even a deathbed confession. Sigh again.

bite of the day ~ LOVE HARD, with all the passion and openness your dear heart can muster.  But please love and protect yourself just as hard...and with eyes wide open.  God help us.

thirtiesgirl