The pundits are weighing in on President Obama’s second press conference. Gee, isn’t that one more press conference than President Bush had during his second term? Anyhoo, the responses have ranged from a “not a good night at all” rating from William Bennett (as if I expected anything else) to the folks on MSNBC calling his performance that of the “Professor in Chief.”
Bingo!
As I watched the press conference with BMNB (my husband, Black Man Not Blogging), I told him, “You know, he’s had the best preparation for this press conference that there could ever be – being a law professor.” As a former law professor, I couldn’t help but smile.
As a law professor, you have to be knowledgeable about your subject matter, yet humble and confident enough to say when you don’t know something and get back to your students with an answer. You know that not all questions posed by your students will be for the purpose of seeking knowledge. If you’re a rookie professor or, depending on what part of the country you’re in, a professor of color, you know that many questions will be asked by students to test you, to demean you, to marginalize you. The key is to give every question equal respect and tone lest you be perceived as arrogant, cold (the adjective most often applied to women law professors, as if we’re supposed to be warm and fuzzy by virtue of possessing ovaries), or angry. You can, if you're as skillful as President Obama, phrase your answer in a tone that is respectful but with words that smack down your offending questioners, e.g, "I like to know what I'm talking about before I speak." And like the press corps, law students will ask follow-up questions if they think you’ve dodged their question. President Obama handled the press corps like a class of first-year law students, and, unlike the wide latitude they gave President Bush’s rambling filibusters, I don’t think the press corps knew quite what to make of or do with President Obama.
Like a law professor, a president in a press conference is, ultimately, in control. You choose whom to call on, and the power to ignore someone – and in the case of a class of law students, to publicly ignore someone with a hand raised for a substantial amount of time – is a source of control. Law professors have even more power in that they can defer questions you think aren’t germane to the day’s lecture to the time when that subject will be discussed, or explain, ever so tactfully, why the question isn’t relevant. But like a president in a press conference, you can never, ever lose your cool, because then the lecture or press conference becomes less about the information you’re trying to impart and more about you and your performance. If the message gets lost in the medium, you’ve lost the game and given your potential critics a legitimate criticism – you’re unclear, unfocused, or emotional. Kinda like President Bush.
I think President Obama played it like a pro – a professor, that is.
But I did detect a slight saunter, a bit of a “pimp roll,” shall we say, when he departed the East Room.
He’s cool like that.
Oakland, My Oakland
It saddens me so to hear of the recent tragic events in Oakland. Three officers dead, one on life support, and a young man who should have had more years ahead of him gone because of a terrible, terrible decision. It reminds me of the movie “Crash” : A horrific confluence of events, but this time, without a good ending. It hurts my heart.
Oakland, my Oakland.
I’m fond of Oakland. I spent almost eight years of my life there, right after graduating law school. I had planned from childhood to live there because that’s were all the successful black folks lived, or so I thought at the time during my Sacramento childhood. I grew up and longed for a house in the Oakland hills with vistas of the San Francisco Bay, or even a cute cottage near Mills College, an enclave of a campus with an Ivy League-type timeless beauty all its own. Whether you wanted a sprawling ranch-style house with views, a cutesy cottage, a vintage Victorian, or an arts and crafts-inspired Rockridge bungalow, you could find what you wanted in Oakland, housing or otherwise.
Oakland, my Oakland.
Oakland, like my hometown of Sacramento, always seemed to live in the shadow of San Francisco. Unlike Sacramento, which lives on the verge of a renaissance but never seems to get there, Oakland was a contender. When I lived there in the 90’s, it was ona move, so to speak. It was vibrant, reinventing itself, even with the burdens of most urban places – crime, unemployment, underperforming schools.
It seems that, as evidenced by the killing of Oscar Grant by BART police and this most recent tragedy, progress in Oakland has not only crashed to a halt, but the city is regressing, or so it seems. Maybe it’s not fair for me to criticize or opine since I haven’t lived there in eleven years, but I guess I’m just trying to find an explanation for my disappointment, for my profound sense of loss and hopelessness for a city that occupies a special place in my heart.
Oakland, my Oakland.
It hurts me to think that the young man who fired the first shot did so to avoid going back to prison, that he had been depressed because, with a criminal record, he could not find a job. I wonder what support had been available to him prior to his release from prison to prepare him for the outside. Or is it just that he was in the job market at a really bad time, since folks without criminal records are having a hard time finding jobs, too? I don’t know if we’ll ever know, but we need to before another four families are left without a father, a son, a brother.
Oakland, my Oakland.
Please keep the families – all the families - affected in this tragedy in your hearts and lifted in prayer.
And say a prayer for Oakland, my Oakland.
Oakland, my Oakland.
I’m fond of Oakland. I spent almost eight years of my life there, right after graduating law school. I had planned from childhood to live there because that’s were all the successful black folks lived, or so I thought at the time during my Sacramento childhood. I grew up and longed for a house in the Oakland hills with vistas of the San Francisco Bay, or even a cute cottage near Mills College, an enclave of a campus with an Ivy League-type timeless beauty all its own. Whether you wanted a sprawling ranch-style house with views, a cutesy cottage, a vintage Victorian, or an arts and crafts-inspired Rockridge bungalow, you could find what you wanted in Oakland, housing or otherwise.
Oakland, my Oakland.
Oakland, like my hometown of Sacramento, always seemed to live in the shadow of San Francisco. Unlike Sacramento, which lives on the verge of a renaissance but never seems to get there, Oakland was a contender. When I lived there in the 90’s, it was ona move, so to speak. It was vibrant, reinventing itself, even with the burdens of most urban places – crime, unemployment, underperforming schools.
It seems that, as evidenced by the killing of Oscar Grant by BART police and this most recent tragedy, progress in Oakland has not only crashed to a halt, but the city is regressing, or so it seems. Maybe it’s not fair for me to criticize or opine since I haven’t lived there in eleven years, but I guess I’m just trying to find an explanation for my disappointment, for my profound sense of loss and hopelessness for a city that occupies a special place in my heart.
Oakland, my Oakland.
It hurts me to think that the young man who fired the first shot did so to avoid going back to prison, that he had been depressed because, with a criminal record, he could not find a job. I wonder what support had been available to him prior to his release from prison to prepare him for the outside. Or is it just that he was in the job market at a really bad time, since folks without criminal records are having a hard time finding jobs, too? I don’t know if we’ll ever know, but we need to before another four families are left without a father, a son, a brother.
Oakland, my Oakland.
Please keep the families – all the families - affected in this tragedy in your hearts and lifted in prayer.
And say a prayer for Oakland, my Oakland.
The Power of a Lie: Rest in Peace, Cousin
Today I attended the funeral of one of my older cousins. He was very sweet and kind, the kind of person who was always happy to see you and always had a smile for you. Loving and non-judgmental, he was an easy-going guy who had had some hard times -- drugs, prison, you name it. And on this, the day of his funeral, we celebrated his release not just from these earthly bounds, but from a lie, a lie about him that burdened not only him but our entire family.
You see, I'm on the tail end in terms of birth order among us first cousins on my mom's side of the family. There is so much history between my older siblings and older cousins that I only know through stories passed down. And one of these stories was that, as a teenager, my cousin had burned down a school. This is no small matter. If you burn down a school in the suburbs, people rush to rebuild it; in the ghetto, not so much. And he had reputedly burned down a school in the ghetto. There was no rush to rebuild. Children and families were affected.
I don't even know if I was born when this school burned down, but whenever I mentioned to old-timers in the black community where I grew up who my "people" were -- and where I'm from, it's all about who your "people" are -- they would sometimes make the connection between me and this cousin and would get a look on their faces as if they'd just swallowed sour milk. Even an older friend of mine recently told me when she "made the connection", so to speak, "I'm not too fond of your cousin. You know he burned down that school." There wasn't much I could say - all I ever knew was what was quietly whispered about this cousin -- that he had supposedly burned down this school. I didn't know what the truth was, and I couldn't defend him.
It's sad that it took a funeral to set him free, spiritually and otherwise.
My cousin's youngest brother, God bless him, preached the eulogy today and, once and for all, put to death the the lie that my cousin had burned down the school. Yes, he was trying to rob the school, but he didn't light the match that lit the paper in the garbage can that caught fire to the drapes that burned down the school. He didn't burn down the school; he just happened to be there when other partners in crime did.
It all goes to show the power of a lie. That unless someone steps forward to clear your name, or you clear it yourself, a lie can follow you to your grave. Even worse -- it can jump right in the grave with you. But my cousin wasn't concerned with the lie. He was too busy just being kind and always having a smile and a kind word to offer to little cousins like me.
Rest in peace, Cousin. And if someone ever again blames your for that school fire in my presence, I WILL tell the truth and shame the Devil.
You see, I'm on the tail end in terms of birth order among us first cousins on my mom's side of the family. There is so much history between my older siblings and older cousins that I only know through stories passed down. And one of these stories was that, as a teenager, my cousin had burned down a school. This is no small matter. If you burn down a school in the suburbs, people rush to rebuild it; in the ghetto, not so much. And he had reputedly burned down a school in the ghetto. There was no rush to rebuild. Children and families were affected.
I don't even know if I was born when this school burned down, but whenever I mentioned to old-timers in the black community where I grew up who my "people" were -- and where I'm from, it's all about who your "people" are -- they would sometimes make the connection between me and this cousin and would get a look on their faces as if they'd just swallowed sour milk. Even an older friend of mine recently told me when she "made the connection", so to speak, "I'm not too fond of your cousin. You know he burned down that school." There wasn't much I could say - all I ever knew was what was quietly whispered about this cousin -- that he had supposedly burned down this school. I didn't know what the truth was, and I couldn't defend him.
It's sad that it took a funeral to set him free, spiritually and otherwise.
My cousin's youngest brother, God bless him, preached the eulogy today and, once and for all, put to death the the lie that my cousin had burned down the school. Yes, he was trying to rob the school, but he didn't light the match that lit the paper in the garbage can that caught fire to the drapes that burned down the school. He didn't burn down the school; he just happened to be there when other partners in crime did.
It all goes to show the power of a lie. That unless someone steps forward to clear your name, or you clear it yourself, a lie can follow you to your grave. Even worse -- it can jump right in the grave with you. But my cousin wasn't concerned with the lie. He was too busy just being kind and always having a smile and a kind word to offer to little cousins like me.
Rest in peace, Cousin. And if someone ever again blames your for that school fire in my presence, I WILL tell the truth and shame the Devil.
AIG and Citigroup: Obama's Problem Children
Not every child is the same. When you are a mother cooking dinner and you run out of a certain ingredient, this is important to know. There are some children you can send to the grocery store, give them cash, and they’ll come back with what you wanted and your exact change.
Some children will come back with what you wanted and will make some excuse about the change being short, such as “I lost some quarters in the storm drain.”
Some children will not only come back without what you wanted but will also make some excuse about why they don’t have the money, either, such as “I was robbed on the way to the store.”
Mothers, being mothers, know which kids to send to the store and which ones should, well, just continue watching Star Trek until dinner is done.
President Obama needs to start thinking like a mom, because Citigroup and AIG are most like the third type of child – you can’t send them to the store to accomplish a mission and you damn sure can’t give them cash with which to do it. You’ll just get some excuse like, “We were contractually obligated to pay bonuses.”
They are Obama's problem children.
AIG’s latest bonus debacle is not a testament to their lack of judgment – if they had any judgment, they wouldn’t be in the mess they’re in – but to the lack of judgment displayed by the Obama administration. Why would the Obama administration give huge sums of money to failing corporations that have already shown their hubris and sense of entitlement without having any strings attached to the money? Did anyone in the Obama administration actually review AIG’s contractual obligations to give bonuses – or even ask about them – before handing them yet another wad of cash?
Or better yet, why not structure the payment of cash to the issuance of loans or other appropriate economic stimulus activities such that the government pays out the money on behalf of AIG directly to the intended recipient?
The larger issue is, why did we allow corporations such as Citigroup and AIG to become “too big to fail” in the first place? Isn’t that the point of antitrust law – to maintain competition in the marketplace such that no one corporation can dominate and, as a result, become “too big to fail”?
The American people will give President Obama and his administration a pass on this one, but if it happens again, their anger won’t be directed toward the Citigroups and the AIGs of the world, but towards him and his administration. Hope got President Obama into the White House, but strategy (or, if you’re President Bush, “strategery”) will keep him there.
Some children will come back with what you wanted and will make some excuse about the change being short, such as “I lost some quarters in the storm drain.”
Some children will not only come back without what you wanted but will also make some excuse about why they don’t have the money, either, such as “I was robbed on the way to the store.”
Mothers, being mothers, know which kids to send to the store and which ones should, well, just continue watching Star Trek until dinner is done.
President Obama needs to start thinking like a mom, because Citigroup and AIG are most like the third type of child – you can’t send them to the store to accomplish a mission and you damn sure can’t give them cash with which to do it. You’ll just get some excuse like, “We were contractually obligated to pay bonuses.”
They are Obama's problem children.
AIG’s latest bonus debacle is not a testament to their lack of judgment – if they had any judgment, they wouldn’t be in the mess they’re in – but to the lack of judgment displayed by the Obama administration. Why would the Obama administration give huge sums of money to failing corporations that have already shown their hubris and sense of entitlement without having any strings attached to the money? Did anyone in the Obama administration actually review AIG’s contractual obligations to give bonuses – or even ask about them – before handing them yet another wad of cash?
Or better yet, why not structure the payment of cash to the issuance of loans or other appropriate economic stimulus activities such that the government pays out the money on behalf of AIG directly to the intended recipient?
The larger issue is, why did we allow corporations such as Citigroup and AIG to become “too big to fail” in the first place? Isn’t that the point of antitrust law – to maintain competition in the marketplace such that no one corporation can dominate and, as a result, become “too big to fail”?
The American people will give President Obama and his administration a pass on this one, but if it happens again, their anger won’t be directed toward the Citigroups and the AIGs of the world, but towards him and his administration. Hope got President Obama into the White House, but strategy (or, if you’re President Bush, “strategery”) will keep him there.
Citigroup Must Die
Citigroup must die.
I’m not just saying this because they hold my mortgage (which I originated with Wells Fargo, only to have Wells Fargo sell it to Citigroup – bastards!).
I’m saying this because, despite receiving government assistance, despite being told on the down-low that they probably shouldn’t take delivery of new corporate jets after receiving TARP money (see my blog entry, “The Big Pimpin’ Awards, January 30, 2009), Citigroup or Citibank or Citifailure – pick a name – continues to operate as if they were a successful going concern for which its employees should be rewarded, to wit:
(Reuters) - Citigroup Inc (C.N) is paying about $13 million to compensate employees who had been expected to go on various trips that were later canceled, a person familiar with the matter said on Monday.
The bank is paying 1,900 employees of its Primerica Financial Services unit $5,000 each, after canceling a February trip for top agents to a Bahamas resort, according to the person, who declined to be named because the information is not public.
Citigroup also awarded employees of its Smith Barney unit $3.5 million of debit cards in lieu of trips, the person said.
Banks that received taxpayer money have been slashing expenses for events and perks amid growing criticism from politicians about costs they deem wasteful.
Some banks have argued that eliminating certain expenses hurts morale and can put them at a competitive disadvantage.
"During this difficult environment, we have deeply cut employee recognition-based costs, in some instances by 80 percent," Citigroup said in a statement. "We need to reward, retain and develop the best employees of these profitable Citi businesses. In the instance of Primerica, we we're legally obligated to do so."
Hold up, Citiplayas. Slow your roll.
For starters, if you have received any government assistance of any kind to stay in business, you have failed. No one in the organization should be rewarded when the entire organization has failed, whether it’s Smith Barney, Primerica, whoever. When a company is on the ropes, it needs to act conservatively to preserve cash – especially when it’s come out of my taxpaying pocket, HELLOOOOO! In times of crisis, there are no trips, no payouts, nada. You hunker down and try to survive. Just ask any furloughed California state worker. The entire state government has failed, and we furloughed folks are taking in the shorts even though we don’t run a damn thing. It’s the way it goes. We’re supposed to be happy that we even have jobs, and I am.
Second, as you can imagine, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about hurting employee morale at these corporate behemoths. Don’t like it that you’re not getting a trip or a debit card payout? Well, walk then. Try your luck down the street with all the other failing banks. Don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split ya. My employee morale is down about 9.3 percent – the amount of the pay cut I took just for the privilege of keeping my job. I sure as hell don’t want to subsidize the employee morale for companies that helped start this whole mortgage debacle in the first place.
What I need from my President is that he stop playing nice. He needs to make like a pimp and get these corporate hos in check. From where I stand, they’re up in my pocket, and they’re out of pocket. Nothing like making an example of the worst one to get the others in line.
That, my friends, is why Citigroup must die.
I’m not just saying this because they hold my mortgage (which I originated with Wells Fargo, only to have Wells Fargo sell it to Citigroup – bastards!).
I’m saying this because, despite receiving government assistance, despite being told on the down-low that they probably shouldn’t take delivery of new corporate jets after receiving TARP money (see my blog entry, “The Big Pimpin’ Awards, January 30, 2009), Citigroup or Citibank or Citifailure – pick a name – continues to operate as if they were a successful going concern for which its employees should be rewarded, to wit:
(Reuters) - Citigroup Inc (C.N) is paying about $13 million to compensate employees who had been expected to go on various trips that were later canceled, a person familiar with the matter said on Monday.
The bank is paying 1,900 employees of its Primerica Financial Services unit $5,000 each, after canceling a February trip for top agents to a Bahamas resort, according to the person, who declined to be named because the information is not public.
Citigroup also awarded employees of its Smith Barney unit $3.5 million of debit cards in lieu of trips, the person said.
Banks that received taxpayer money have been slashing expenses for events and perks amid growing criticism from politicians about costs they deem wasteful.
Some banks have argued that eliminating certain expenses hurts morale and can put them at a competitive disadvantage.
"During this difficult environment, we have deeply cut employee recognition-based costs, in some instances by 80 percent," Citigroup said in a statement. "We need to reward, retain and develop the best employees of these profitable Citi businesses. In the instance of Primerica, we we're legally obligated to do so."
Hold up, Citiplayas. Slow your roll.
For starters, if you have received any government assistance of any kind to stay in business, you have failed. No one in the organization should be rewarded when the entire organization has failed, whether it’s Smith Barney, Primerica, whoever. When a company is on the ropes, it needs to act conservatively to preserve cash – especially when it’s come out of my taxpaying pocket, HELLOOOOO! In times of crisis, there are no trips, no payouts, nada. You hunker down and try to survive. Just ask any furloughed California state worker. The entire state government has failed, and we furloughed folks are taking in the shorts even though we don’t run a damn thing. It’s the way it goes. We’re supposed to be happy that we even have jobs, and I am.
Second, as you can imagine, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about hurting employee morale at these corporate behemoths. Don’t like it that you’re not getting a trip or a debit card payout? Well, walk then. Try your luck down the street with all the other failing banks. Don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split ya. My employee morale is down about 9.3 percent – the amount of the pay cut I took just for the privilege of keeping my job. I sure as hell don’t want to subsidize the employee morale for companies that helped start this whole mortgage debacle in the first place.
What I need from my President is that he stop playing nice. He needs to make like a pimp and get these corporate hos in check. From where I stand, they’re up in my pocket, and they’re out of pocket. Nothing like making an example of the worst one to get the others in line.
That, my friends, is why Citigroup must die.
99 Problems (But Rush Ain't One)
So, Rush Limbaugh has challenged President Obama to a debate about his economic policies. The RNC Chair has spent the week distancing the party from and then embracing (re-embracing?) Rush Limbaugh. And the President's surrogates have actually gone beyond just taking note and getting in the fray, perhaps in an attempt to whip up Democratic frenzy.
Am I missing something here?
For starters, if Rush Limbaugh were a Haitian from Liberty City instead of a white man from Palm Beach, he'd probably still be doing time behind that whole oxycontin/doctor shopping mess. A combination of white privilege and wealth privilege is responsible for the fact that he's still contributing nothing more than nitrogen to any intellectual discourse about the direction of this country.
That said, the President and/or his surrogates need not take the bait. To borrow from Jay-Z, they got "99 problems but Rush ain't one." Let's see: Four straight months of job losses; GM is about to bite the dust (wish they'd said that BEFORE taking the TARP money); AIG doesn't seem to know the meaning of the phrase "wretched excess"; the Dow dipped below 7,000 and isn't headed back up anytime soon; and there's a race between the banks foreclosing on homeowners and the mortgage bailout money assistance to those homeowners, with both vying for second place. We won't even get on which dog to choose for the First Daughters.
So, Mr. President, feel free to call up your Democratic surrogates, Congress, and anyone else who is wasting precious time on what Rush Limbaugh thinks and tell them:
I don't know what you take me as,
Or understand the intelligence this President has
I'm from rags to riches, GOP I ain't dumb
I got 99 problems but Rush ain't one
(with apologies to Jay-Z)
Am I missing something here?
For starters, if Rush Limbaugh were a Haitian from Liberty City instead of a white man from Palm Beach, he'd probably still be doing time behind that whole oxycontin/doctor shopping mess. A combination of white privilege and wealth privilege is responsible for the fact that he's still contributing nothing more than nitrogen to any intellectual discourse about the direction of this country.
That said, the President and/or his surrogates need not take the bait. To borrow from Jay-Z, they got "99 problems but Rush ain't one." Let's see: Four straight months of job losses; GM is about to bite the dust (wish they'd said that BEFORE taking the TARP money); AIG doesn't seem to know the meaning of the phrase "wretched excess"; the Dow dipped below 7,000 and isn't headed back up anytime soon; and there's a race between the banks foreclosing on homeowners and the mortgage bailout money assistance to those homeowners, with both vying for second place. We won't even get on which dog to choose for the First Daughters.
So, Mr. President, feel free to call up your Democratic surrogates, Congress, and anyone else who is wasting precious time on what Rush Limbaugh thinks and tell them:
I don't know what you take me as,
Or understand the intelligence this President has
I'm from rags to riches, GOP I ain't dumb
I got 99 problems but Rush ain't one
(with apologies to Jay-Z)
A Devastating Beauty
She’s a Miss Beautiful Supreme
A girl that others wish that they could be
If there’s seven wonders of the world
Then I know she’s gotta be number one
She’s a girl that can’t be beat
Born and raised on ghetto streets
She’s a devastating beauty
A pretty girl with ebony eyes . . . .
“Ebony Eyes” by Stevie Wonder
I was eating dinner when Anderson Cooper revealed the First Lady’s official portrait on CNN. When I saw it, I gasped. It was a breathtakingly stunning portrait. Mrs. Obama, wearing a sleeveless black Michael Kors sheath dress and a double strand of pearls, was the picture of grace, elegance, and beauty. She is a First Lady like no other. I thought to myself, “She’s reppin’ us sisters so well.” Before a smile of appreciation could spread across my face, the criticisms rolled in courtesy of Cooper’s sidekick, Erica Hill.
Ms. Hill deigned to inform us that critics of Mrs. Obama deemed her exposure of her arms too informal for an official portrait and for her husband’s first address to Congress. It was too “cocktail-y,” if I recall her words correctly.
Indeed. If I had Mrs. Obama’s arms, I’d be wearing sleeveless sheath dresses, halter tops, you name it. In fact, if I had Mrs. Obama’s body, I’d have done the official portrait butt naked with a string of pearls, copped a pose like those guys in the Captain Morgan Rum commercials with one leg perched on an ottoman, and asked the photographer, “How ya like me now?”. This is why I will never be the First Lady.
That said, I was disappointed by the criticism. It seemed so, so petty. “Was that the best they could do?” I thought to myself about Mrs. Obama’s critics as I returned to my dinner.
Let the hateration begin, as the young folks say.
No matter what, Mrs. Obama can never, ever be like any of her predecessors because of the fact that she is the first African American First Lady. She will always have her share of detractors – those who don’t want to see an African American woman in the White House unless she’s cleaning it; those who don’t want Mrs. Obama to stray too far from the well-worn and worn-out path of other First Ladies. But she and President Obama didn’t get to the White House by following the tried-and-true formulae of their predecessors. There was no rule book for what they accomplished; they had to write their own rules and make their own way. They had to be true to themselves. This is why they were never off-message, unlike the McCain-Palin camp.
And, race aside, she’s nothing like our other First Ladies. She doesn’t look like her husband’s mother, she doesn’t look like Marian the Librarian, she doesn’t look like she just came up from the peanut farm, and she’s height and weight proportional. She’s probably the first First Lady since Jacqueline Kennedy who could wear a bikini and not make the viewing public cringe.
There is indeed much to hate about Mrs. Obama if you’re not happy with yourself. She’s smart and good-looking. Her kids are smart and good-looking. Her husband is smart, good-looking, and the President of the United States. If you’re looking to hate, there’s a lot there. By why bother?
I thought about the portrait again yesterday while I was washing dishes, and the lyrics from a Stevie Wonder song came to me and stuck in my head:
She’s a devastating beauty, a pretty girl with ebony eyes.
It’s almost as if this song from Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life” was written just for Mrs. Obama and the many young girls with ebony eyes coming up behind her.
So, my hope for Mrs. Obama is that, in the words of a great social philosopher, Sheree from “The Real Housewives of Atlanta,” she “lets her haters be her motivators.” I hope that she continues to be who she is because she’s going to be criticized, fairly or unfairly, no matter what. She might as well be true to herself in the process.
I hope her kids remain smart and good-looking.
I hope her husband succeeds against all odds.
And, although it’s none of my business or yours, I hope she’s having the best mind-blowing, toe-curling sex the White House has ever seen. Better than Bill and Monica. Yeah, I said it: Better than Bill and Monica. Good enough to make the ghost of Lincoln blush and go on to Glory like he needs to.
Because the best revenge against your critics is living well, especially if you’re a devastating beauty, a pretty girl with ebony eyes . . . .
A girl that others wish that they could be
If there’s seven wonders of the world
Then I know she’s gotta be number one
She’s a girl that can’t be beat
Born and raised on ghetto streets
She’s a devastating beauty
A pretty girl with ebony eyes . . . .
“Ebony Eyes” by Stevie Wonder
I was eating dinner when Anderson Cooper revealed the First Lady’s official portrait on CNN. When I saw it, I gasped. It was a breathtakingly stunning portrait. Mrs. Obama, wearing a sleeveless black Michael Kors sheath dress and a double strand of pearls, was the picture of grace, elegance, and beauty. She is a First Lady like no other. I thought to myself, “She’s reppin’ us sisters so well.” Before a smile of appreciation could spread across my face, the criticisms rolled in courtesy of Cooper’s sidekick, Erica Hill.
Ms. Hill deigned to inform us that critics of Mrs. Obama deemed her exposure of her arms too informal for an official portrait and for her husband’s first address to Congress. It was too “cocktail-y,” if I recall her words correctly.
Indeed. If I had Mrs. Obama’s arms, I’d be wearing sleeveless sheath dresses, halter tops, you name it. In fact, if I had Mrs. Obama’s body, I’d have done the official portrait butt naked with a string of pearls, copped a pose like those guys in the Captain Morgan Rum commercials with one leg perched on an ottoman, and asked the photographer, “How ya like me now?”. This is why I will never be the First Lady.
That said, I was disappointed by the criticism. It seemed so, so petty. “Was that the best they could do?” I thought to myself about Mrs. Obama’s critics as I returned to my dinner.
Let the hateration begin, as the young folks say.
No matter what, Mrs. Obama can never, ever be like any of her predecessors because of the fact that she is the first African American First Lady. She will always have her share of detractors – those who don’t want to see an African American woman in the White House unless she’s cleaning it; those who don’t want Mrs. Obama to stray too far from the well-worn and worn-out path of other First Ladies. But she and President Obama didn’t get to the White House by following the tried-and-true formulae of their predecessors. There was no rule book for what they accomplished; they had to write their own rules and make their own way. They had to be true to themselves. This is why they were never off-message, unlike the McCain-Palin camp.
And, race aside, she’s nothing like our other First Ladies. She doesn’t look like her husband’s mother, she doesn’t look like Marian the Librarian, she doesn’t look like she just came up from the peanut farm, and she’s height and weight proportional. She’s probably the first First Lady since Jacqueline Kennedy who could wear a bikini and not make the viewing public cringe.
There is indeed much to hate about Mrs. Obama if you’re not happy with yourself. She’s smart and good-looking. Her kids are smart and good-looking. Her husband is smart, good-looking, and the President of the United States. If you’re looking to hate, there’s a lot there. By why bother?
I thought about the portrait again yesterday while I was washing dishes, and the lyrics from a Stevie Wonder song came to me and stuck in my head:
She’s a devastating beauty, a pretty girl with ebony eyes.
It’s almost as if this song from Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life” was written just for Mrs. Obama and the many young girls with ebony eyes coming up behind her.
So, my hope for Mrs. Obama is that, in the words of a great social philosopher, Sheree from “The Real Housewives of Atlanta,” she “lets her haters be her motivators.” I hope that she continues to be who she is because she’s going to be criticized, fairly or unfairly, no matter what. She might as well be true to herself in the process.
I hope her kids remain smart and good-looking.
I hope her husband succeeds against all odds.
And, although it’s none of my business or yours, I hope she’s having the best mind-blowing, toe-curling sex the White House has ever seen. Better than Bill and Monica. Yeah, I said it: Better than Bill and Monica. Good enough to make the ghost of Lincoln blush and go on to Glory like he needs to.
Because the best revenge against your critics is living well, especially if you’re a devastating beauty, a pretty girl with ebony eyes . . . .
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