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Showing posts from August, 2008

It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To

The Clintons redeemed themselves.

Hillary gave the speech of a lifetime and was the portrait of magnanimity by voicing her unequivocal, unconditional support for Barack Obama. By making the motion to nominate Senator Obama by acclaimation, she showed the nation's women how a real woman loses -- with grace, dignity, and pride.

President Bill Clinton, the DNC's prosecutor-in-chief, laid out, in no uncertain terms, the case against the Bush administration and the Republican party.

And Senator Obama reminded me why I am a Democrat and made me proud to be one once again. My love-hate relationship with the party is no secret. Today, I'm a born-again Democrat. Because I, too, believe we are a better nation than what we have been during the past eight years.

I had to work late last night, so I missed hearing Obama's acceptance speech live except for the last of it on NPR. So, snuggled up with a stack of reading from work and some Otter Pops (for the hot flashes), I watched the spe…

A Little 'Tang at the 'Stang

“You’re a phenomenal woman. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” These kind words from BMNB this morning as I was dragging my tail and my spirit to work meant the world to me. He could see that my heart was heavy and my eyes were sad. “Keep your head up,” he advised.

This morning we discussed our future. Or rather, he told me in no uncertain terms what he was willing to do to secure our future, financially and otherwise. To make joy a regular part of our lives, not an occasional treat. To put our little family first. In other words, he assured me that in no uncertain terms he had my back.

For all of that, I would have willingly allowed him the pleasure of a little “‘tang at the ‘stang.”

You see, BMNB just returned from three days on the road driving most of our worldly possessions from a storage space in Aurora, Colorado to Elk Grove. He was tired beyond measure when he called me from Winnemucca, Nevada.

“You know,” I started slyly, “you’re in Nevada, where prostitution is legal…

But How Many Did She Threaten To Kill?

Harriet Tubman remains a blazing star in the firmament of African American history. The “Moses” of African American slaves, the Conductor of the Underground Railroad, she lead many of our people to freedom. When her “passengers,” because of fear or other reasons, threatened to turn around and head back to slavery, she supposedly would pull out a gun and threaten, “You’ll live free or die a slave!” She never lost a single passenger, even when there was a $40,000 bounty on her head.

My question is, how many of her passengers did she threaten to kill?

I’m reminded of this because of an orientation speech given by the principal of PS 7 Middle School. In his speech, he talked about the character traits the school requires of its students, and one of them is “coachability” -- the willingness to take instruction and do whatever it takes to accomplish a goal. I would imagine that some of Harriet Tubman’s passengers may have ceased to be coachable when faced with swimming in snake-infeste…

Broke Cuisine

I recently heard from one subscriber to this blog – my sister, to be exact. She said she hadn’t read my views on John Edwards’ infidelity (pretty much a Democratic party male norm, to wit: Gary Hart, Bill Clinton, John F. Kennedy, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Antonio Villaraigosa, Rev. Jesse Jackson (not only a philanderer but a spiritual counselor to philanderers)) or seen any comments by me on the passing of Isaac Hayes or Bernie Mac (both major losses to the African American creative community). What happened to Black Woman Blogging?

She’s now Black Woman Sleep Deprived. Now that I have a ‘tween living with me five days a week and going to PS 7, my days are planned around carpools, back-to-school night, checking homework and making lunches. My day starts at 5:00 am and ends at 10:30 or 11 pm. A big transition from my DINK (Double Income No Kids) lifestyle of less than a month ago.

In fact, when I embarked on this path, I became yet again in awe of my mom, SWIE, and the fact that she …

My Life's Just Fine

It's been a long week, I put in my hardest
Gonna live my life, feels good to get it right

Mary J. Blige, "Just Fine"

This was the first week of a huge educational experiment. My (great)nephew came to stay with me during the week for the purpose of going to PS 7. Since he has a cousin and a family friend who also go there, I drove carpool.

And BMNB has been out of town, chowing down on Southern food in South Carolina, calling me with restaurant dispatches while he's ordering ("I'm at XYZ restaurant ordering seafood gumbo, and one of my colleagues is ordering shrimp and grits . . . ")

So, for two and a half days this week, I was the equivalent of a single mom.

I had absolutely no appreciation of how difficult that is. I am in awe and I bow down to your organizational skills and sheer will, single moms.

First, I realized that if I don't get up on time, nobody gets up on time, except maybe the dog, and that's because she's hungry.

Second, I learned that…

I Miss Oakland. I Miss Me.

It hit me when I was pulling into the parking lot at Peet’s Coffee to treat myself after surviving carpooling with three very sullen teenagers facing their second day of school. XM Radio’s “Suite 62” started to play Tony! Toni! Tone!’s soulful hit, “It Never Rains In Southern California,” and it brought back a flood of memories.

Tony! Toni! Tone! was from Oakland.

Once upon a time, I was, too.

No, I wasn’t born in Oakland, but in a way I was. Fresh out of law school in 1990, I landed in – no, made a beeline for – Oakland to begin my life as a Mary Richards-esque independent, working, single woman. In Oakland I had my first apartment by myself, up the hill from the Grand Lake Theater; my first independent single woman car – a deep red 1982 Honda Prelude (that my sister gave me, so maybe I wasn’t all that independent); and my first real job, working for a top law firm making $65,000 a year – more money than my parents combined, more than I could handle well, and Lord knows I didn’t. In Oak…