The Texas Tiger Chronicles

CommenTERRY on Casey Johnson Tila Tequila

2010-01-07T07:51:00.001-08:00

Please Tila Tequila - have a seat.

I feel so sorry for Casey Johnson and what became of her life.

Mostly I regret her allowing such a sad woman like Tequila into her life.

The Associated Press and other outlets report that Casey had been dead for days before her maid found her; however, that hasn't stopped Tequila from professing her love for her dead fiance.

What newly engaged person doesn't talk to her fiance for days? One or two...maybe. But several?

Tila needs to have a seat. It's obvious from her actions she had another agenda...which didn't include helping Casey get her life together.

The audacity of her to parade around in front of cameras in the name of attention is a disgrace. But what else can you do when you have no talent to fall back on.

Throwback Video - B Angie B - "I Don't Want To Lose Your Love"

2010-01-07T07:44:00.001-08:00

Before Crazy in Love....this was the rump shake classic. Vibrate. Pop. Dip it low. B Angie B goes ALL THE WAY IN.

Daily Gossip Blast

2010-01-07T05:24:00.000-08:00

Staunch feminist Beyonce Knowles performs for misogynist terrorist. A check is a check. (Bossip)

Obama Budget Director - First comes baby, then comes marriage to someone else (NY Post)

Drunk-driving, manslaughtering plagued basketball star to be arraigned from hospital bed today (NY Post)

Pill-popping model runs down two joggers while tripping on prescription cocktail (NY Post)

White House party crashers getting paid $5000 to host Sin City party (TMZ)

Jumpoff gone wrong - Shaq gets accused of harassment by alleged mistress (TMZ)

NYC Principal accused of soliciting oral-sex from students (NY Daily News)

Howard Stern's sidekick stabs himself NINE times in suicide attempt (Perez)

Throwback Video - Loose Ends - Hangin' On A String

2010-01-06T14:11:00.001-08:00

Teddy Riley Recounts Fight With Kids

2010-01-06T13:04:00.001-08:00

Old school parenting?

Seems to me his daughter had it coming.

Throwback Video of the Day

2010-01-06T08:14:00.000-08:00

Loose Ends - Watching You

Daily Gossip Blast

2010-01-06T05:53:00.000-08:00

"My biggest regret is not doing 'The Simple Life" with Paris Hilton"

-Casey Johnson, as told to several unidentified sources.

Sociailite Casey Johnson found dead at age 30 (NY Post)

-Arab American students blasted for class T-shirts mocking 9/11 attacks (NY Daily News)

- Secret Service admits there was a THIRD party crasher at the White House. (WP)

-Actress Suasan Sarandon adds 'cougar' to list of accomplishments (FoxNews)

-ALL THE SINGLE LADIES! - Scientists conclude the G-spot is myth created to sell sex toys (USA Today)

-Rihanna spotted transforming with baseball star Matt Kemp (The Sun)

- Lil Wayne pushes album release past his incarceration date (Perez Hilton)

-Track star sacrifices breast implants for chance at gold medal (Perez Hilton)

-Mariah Carey gives a boozing acceptance speech. Mimi loves the bubbly (TMZ)

Tiger's Vanity Fair

2010-01-06T03:12:00.000-08:00

The new “green” issue of Vanity Fair features a cover photo of Tiger Woods snapped by famed photog Annie Leibovitz from her archives. The four-year old photo shows a shirtless Tiger wearing a hoodie cap and gazing vacantly at the camera. And it bothers me. It looks a little rapper-ish and I find that problematic that as soon as he gets dethroned as the king of golf, it’s now very important to highlight this “urban” side. With the photo being four years old, I’m sure there have been several photo sessions with similar themes by other photogs. Ms. Leibovitz didn’t invent the wheel.

Just reminds me of TIME’s OJ Simpson cover when he was “darkened” to show his sketchy urban side. I think this photo posits the same sentiment. There was just no need to darken his skin because the hoodie cap gives you at the BET you need.

2010-01-04T21:26:00.001-08:00

The Texas Tiger will be back and better than ever. Soon.

Vagina Power with Alexyss Tylor

2007-04-19T15:59:00.001-07:00

The most quotable interview I have seen in a long time. You owe yourself this experience.

The Power.......

2007-04-19T15:08:00.000-07:00

Yes, I watched the Oprah Winfrey townhall on misogny and rap music; however, this http://blog.wfmu.org/freeform/2007/04/another_excitin.html is the absolute best interview I have seen in a long time. Enjoy.

An "N" style night in Gotham

2007-04-05T07:48:00.000-07:00

Mood: I’m feeling very dreamy. It was a rainy night in Gotham last night, and I was surrounded by beautiful and fabulous people. And the Belvedere was flowing. I couldn’t ask for anything more…except for Sanjaya’s hair. I don’t normally covet thy neighbor, but I wish I had those locks.

Mode: Tonight I felt like going cheap and chic. And not in Moschino. I am wearing a sweater I picked up at H&M for $7. I feel just like Erykah Badu right now. “My dress ain’t cost nothing but $7 but I made it fly…cause I’m clever.” Even know, Mama’s Gun helps me make it over the mountain. Underneath I am wearing a t-shirt I picked up a “N” my favorite shopping destination in Harlem. And some Chip and Pepper jeans, which I had no problem finding in my closet. And what a relief. Had I lost them I might have had to take a blackberry to the head of my roommate. A Naomi moment. But that crisis we avoided, thankfully.

Melody: I am listing to Jamiroquai’s “Runaway.” Something about him always makes me smile. His music is bright, vibrant and funky. Even when he croons a love song.

"N" STYLE in Gotham

Last night, I went to a wonderful booksigning and cocktail reception at “N" Harlem, the premier destination uptown for the chic and fashionable uptown set. Located on 116th and Lenox (in harlem - get it?), I will never forget the day I stepped past the mahogany doors into the boutique. I had read a lot of press clips in the New York Post and the New York Daily News about the opening, and I knew a few celebrities were known to shop there…so I made it my business to check it out.

Carrying a wide array of fashionable lines ranging from the Denim Factory and G Star to Tracy Reese and Nicole Miller, I was overwhelmingly impressed by both the selection and the décor of the store. It is a bi-level boutique catering to both male and female fashionista who want to pick up a nice outfit and some candles to match. Did I mention they also carry candles, pillows, wine racks and other funky accessories that are essential to New York living? Now I don't have to trek downtown to Soho...I have it here at N Harlem.

It’s very chic and comfortable. You can sit down on a soft leather chair and look from east to west and almost create the outfits in your mind. I'm a visual shopper. And the staff is phenomenal. The owners, Larry Ortiz, Nikoa Evans and Lenn Shebar have done a great job adding to the cache of the new Harlem Renaissance. And the velvet curtains adorning the dressing rooms inspired me so much that I went out and bought a velvet curtain for my own bedroom. As an artist I take inspiration from every place I visit.

Tonight, my new friend Erika J. Kendrick was signing copies of her first novel, “Confessions of a Rookie Cheerleader.” As a former Chicago Bulls professional cheerleader, Erika takes us to the dark side of the poms-poms. Beneath the lip gloss, mascara and high-kick lines. We meet backstabbing vixens, controlling egotistical men and an assortment of self-centered individuals out to kill and destroy for the sake of their careers. At first I thought I was reading a book about my job…but this is Erika’s story. Not mine. I was never a cheerleader. I was in the marching band.

Erika and I bonded over a few cocktails while she told me how this novel just evolved from her everyday life. Never imagining she’d be a novelist, Erika was working on a tv treatment for a television executive when her mother told her point blank, “This is a novel.” And without any industry hookups, Erika set out cold-calling agents to pitch her book. And then it happened. After a lot of persistence, Erika landed an agent and later landed a book deal.

Erika radiates an inner beauty that I know will follow her on this journey. Please do visit her website http://www.erikakendrick.com/ and purchase the novel. I’m sure you will enjoy it.

And I must compliment Jamar Dunnigan for the event and the afterparty at Ginger. A great night in Gotham.

Summer in Berlin, Rainy night in New York

2007-04-04T15:41:00.000-07:00

Mood: It’s raining here in New York. But the sun is shining on my life.

Mode: Tonight I am “In effect mode.” I’m thinking Al B Sure! meets Banana Republic for the after work set. I’m donning a checkered shirt with a collar starched stiffer that Laura Bush’s upper lip. The shirt is Banana Republic with a brown on blue checkered pattern. I topped it off with a Tommy Hilfiger tie. I’m wearing Banana Republic cotton slacks, which are quite thick for a warm and toasty night. It is very windy. But I can tell you nothing was getting through those pants unless it has a Black card.

Melody: Grace Jones “La Vie en Rose” from the 1977 debut album Portfolio. This song reminds me of falling in love in Paris. Taking a boat cruise down the Champs Elysees. Collecting new Eau de toilettes at the Fragonard. French fries under the white arches. Crepes at a little corner bistro. Feeling free to love without judgment or fear. All our lives. “Quand il me prend dans ses bras…Je vois la vie en rose”

Rainy Night in New York

I have recently returned from the U.S. première of the German-language film

Summer in Berlin staring Inka Friedrich and Nadja Uhl. Directed by Andreas Dresen, the film tells the story of two women each at a crossroads in their lives on a search for love and understanding. Along the way they fall in love. Not with each other. Nika falls in loved with Ronald and Katrin falls in love with anything that comes in a glass with a stem. And haven’t we all been through that romance?

The movie has been winning many awards at film festivals around the world and I felt some honored to be a part of its U.S. premiere. I was a guest of Dexter Davis, whose D. Street Releasing, in partnership with Volkswagen are bringing this splendid coming-of-age story to American audiences. Please do check it out at a theater near you.

Afterwards, I attended the after party at Bowery Bar on the lower east side. The party featured a new vodka energy drink called V2 which I took with ginger-ale and a splash of cranberry. Delicious. At the DJ saved my life. He introduced me to Jose Feliciano and the Mizell brothers of Blue Note records. I have already been to amazon.com to stock up on their respective catalogs. It was the perfect musical accompaniment to a wonderful evening.

Recommitting to you, New York and the Night Life

2007-03-27T12:50:00.000-07:00

My Mood - Controlled. But adventurous.
My Mode - Texas Cosmopolitan. Rocking an authentic cowboy hat. A Larry Muhan cowboy shirt with cross-stitching. Some Wranglers. Snakeskin boots. And a belt that reads, "Texas to the Bone."
My Melody - Kelis "Circus" Come join our circus where we all wear masks.

From the soul of a Tiger…

I am back from a well-needed, deserved and overdue vacation from the circus that has become my life. For a moment, I felt like the cage was closing in on me. One day I was the ring master, the next day I was one of the exhibits. And this did not sit well with me. So I did was any self-respecting Divo would do. Post-hypnotic repressed memory therapy…in Europe of course.

A while ago when I was studying for my government degree at the London School of Economics, I met a psychotherapist who focused on the rebirthing process. Her theory is that the way you enter into the world has an overwhelming powerful effect on your parental, familial and romantic relationships. Including your friendships.

Though I often shy away from being personal on this blog, as I think it is more interesting to talk about the ups and downs of pop culture, celebrity, and New York, I realized that part of the attraction to this circus is how it connects and intersects with our own life experiences, both real and imagined.

And for this period of my life, I have been reinterpreting the last season of Sex and the City (cocktail in hand), while grappling with the breakup and reconnections of several friendships circa the Clinton-Geffen feud, life-altering challenges not unlike Elizabeth Edwards, and a few self-induced disappointments, like the overdose that came Anna Nicole, I’ve decided to live my life just as Rhonda Byrne.

I did a great deal of positive thinking last night. While Musiq crooned songs from his #1 Billboard album, Luvanmusiq. While listening to "Buddy", and "the Girl Next Door" I thought about past loves and old flames. The trips, the dinners, the lunches, the gifts, the sharing. It was a beautiful moment of reflection. And the sponsorship of Courvoisier contributed to that bubbly, warm feeling I felt at that moment.

There were plenty of fans from all walks of life who came out to support Musiq during what turned out to be an exciting concert. I saw people of all races, colors, creeds and backgrounds. Unfortunately I didn't get to do much interacting with them because I was in VIP.

I ran into Talent, a "talent"ed comedian who has a show over on TV One. You might have also seen him on a few of the BET specials I've been featured on.

Also, I ran into a few colleagues and some other writers and we had a good time swapping love stories as Musiq provided the perfect inspiration. With Biz Markie on the wheels of steel.

And how did I take my Courvoisier? Straight. Unlike most of the guests.

This weekend I also hung out with Joss Stone, who I hope will have a debut as spectacular as Musiq. I feel in love with Joss Stone when I heard her flawless remake of the Isley Brothers "For the Love of You." Normally, I'd be appalled that someone dared take a classic. This song is a part of the R&B love cannon. You sing it at home. You sing it in the shower. You might even do a warbled-version at you wedding...if it is also sponsored by Courvoisier. But you don't put it on CD...unless you make it your own like Ms. Stone.

She has other gems I adore. "Spoiled," which I am sure formers lovers can attest to...as far as I am concerned. And then there is "Jet Lag" which you must check out for yourself.

Joss is cool. Down to earth. The type of girl who was probably raised in a mixed-income community, she is just so approachable.

I will say there were no African-American producers present at this juncture. The album is done. And p.s. Dallas Austin has apologized for saying the Cristina Aguilera and Joss Stone sleep around for tracks. I capped off the evening with a group of gals I met from the great state of Texas. We showed Longhorn pride as up and through the Grand.

Please come back later to check out my review of Macy Gracy's new CD "Big" as well as my interview with her.

I'll part with advice from a friend to me:

Life is short, Break the rules, Forgive quickly, Kiss slowly, Lovetruly, Laugh uncontrollably, And never regret anything that made you smile.

The Fourth of July

2006-07-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

Happy post 4th of July. Here's a quote sent to me by a friend. This is Frederick Douglass speaking about the 4th

On July 5, 1852, Douglass gave a speech at an event commemorating the signing of theDeclaration of Independence, held at Rochester's Corinthian Hall. It was biting oratory, inwhich the speaker told his audience, "This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You mayrejoice, I must mourn." And he asked them, "Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, byasking me to speak to-day?"Within the now-famous address is what historian Philip S. Foner has called "probably themost moving passage in all of Douglass' speeches."What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him, morethan all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constantvictim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; yournational greatness, swelling vanity; your sound of rejoicing are empty and heartless; yourdenunciation of tyrants brass fronted impudence; your shout of liberty and equality, hollowmockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanks-givings, with all yourreligious parade and solemnity, are to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, andhypocrisy -- a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. Thereis not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are thepeople of the United States, at this very hour.full text: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/aia/part4/4h2927t.html

Gem of the day: Prison food is fattening

Today, Cindy Adams summed up the Star Jone's fiasco giving Barbara Walter's side, the audience's side and her take on Star's side - Click here

India.Arie debuts at #1 on Billboard Top 200 - Click here

Enron founder and destroyer Kenneth Lay lay dead in Aspen, Colorado as you read and I speak. Seems that during his life and times Lay's company was one of the largest contributors to the Bush administraton and various Bush campaigns. Bush called him "Kenny Boy." How sweet and frat-boyish. Here's who Bush's rep Tony Snow had to say on behalf of the Prez and Lay's death: "The president had described Ken Lay as an acquaintance. And many of the president's acquaintances have died during his time in office." Ouch. Guess they like to kick a man when he's down...or dead.

What do the Enron victim's have to say about his passing? "The only sad ending to this story is that Ken Lay will never see a day in prison." For more - Click here

Three suspects charged with stealing vital info from Coca-Cola - Click here

Lil Kim released, Dallas on cocaine, and me going to da club

2006-07-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

Mood: Single, sexy and free...like the old Mya joint. I am heading out shortly to meet some new friends at one of my favorite trendy spots in Manhattan, down in the meatpacking district (where Samantha lived on "Sex and the City" for the non-New Yorkers). I am going dancing with my new partners Guavo and Lynn. We are the United Colors of Benetton on the dance floor. I am a skinny black guy from Texas, Guavo is a tall, hairy native of Spain and Lynn is a quiet Jewish girl from Minnesota who likes to "drop it like its hot."

I think Madonna said it best, "Music makes the people come together." Our trio bonded instantly over tribal beats at Mr. Black one evening. I met Lynn one night when I was dancing on top of a table. I'd kicked my leg a little too high in the air so she helped me make my dismount. Once Guavo joined our party we completey cleared the dance floor...save a few self-absorbed individuals who refused to admit defeat. But we had no equals on the floor. Sometimes you have to be able to take control of the situation and walk away to prevent further embarassment.

Mode: I am wearing a red and grey pima cotton polo from Banana Republic and some Old Navy overalls. Yes. I said it. Mark my words - I am persoanlly bringing overalls back. I am committing to raising money for the United Negro College Fund and bringing overalls back. What can I count on you for?

Melody: "I didn't mean to turn you on" by Cherelle. This song received a new breath of life when Mariah Carey remade it for the "Glitter" soundtrack...she shouldn't have. Not that Cherelle was a vocal power house or anything but, you just can't remake everything. No matter how many notes you can screech out unnecessarrily. But I am bumping iTunes and sending out messages throughout the coffeeshop as I am clearly turning on some the patrons....though not intentionally. But I think the next mochachino is on the house.

WEEKEND NEWS:

Lil Kim comes home today. The Brooklyn mistress of the mic has released three-months early for good behavior and so she could finally visit a doctor who knows what to do with silicone. The prison clinic can only go so far.

Hit-making producer Dallas Austin arrest for "suspected" cocaine traffiking overseas - Click here for full story

T.I. to appear on new albums from Beyonce, Justin Timberlake and Young Joc - Click here

Amid rumors of battling depression, Eminem makes suprise appearance at the BET Awards - Click here

Foxy Brown, Beyonce, Sauce Money reunite for Jay-Z's "Reasonable Doubt" concert - Click here

Foxy Brown has her hearing back - Click here

Jennifer Hudson's dreams coming true with album and movie dropping this year - Click here

2006-06-28T15:52:00.000-07:00

Star Jones Leaving The View!

Click to hear the soul-stirring goodbye.

Star Jones impact on the Global Economy and Fanny Packs

2006-06-28T13:04:00.000-07:00

THREE BLOGS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE.

"THE EYE OF THE TIGER IS BACK"

THERE IS SO MUCH GOING ON TODAY. IN ADDITION TO THE NORMAL SITCOM THAT IS MY LIFE, I HAVE TO SHARE WITH YOU MY COMMENTERRY ON MRS. JONES REYNOLDS VS. BARBARA WALTERS AND THE BET AWARDS.

SIDEBAR: (AND THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT) I ALWAYS LIKE TO LET YOU KNOW WHAT I AM WEARING SO YOU CAN BE A PART OF THE EXPERIENCE. PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT ALL THREE BLOGS WERE WRITTEN IN ONE SITTING. I “DID NOT” REPEAT THIS OUTFIT. THOUGH I DO LOOK SO STUNNING THAT IT COULD BE WORN 3X.

FIRST MOMENT

Mood: Feeling Pretty. Tasty. And Tempting.

Mode: I am wearing some crispy blue jeans and some squared-toed loafers. You know I adore loafers and jeans. They are the perfect combination for me since I do not own a pair of sneakers. I bowed out of the sneaker game shortly after my first pair of Air Jordan’s in in 4th grade. Yea I had the Elysees, the British Knights and a few pair of Jordans but as soon as I got the Texas Tiger steelo down pact, I knew that I was not about the sneaker game. I am not paying $200 for a pair of shoes that will be outdated in three months. That $200 is a nice pair of Ferragamo boots on sale. You can’t design you life around trends. You design you life around style. How many people can pull out some Jordans from two years ago and rock them with their head held high? Meanwhile, my Gucci wingtips, circa 2003, are still fierce.

Oh, I just love wearing bright colors in the summertime. Moving up further on the body, I am wearing a new Ralph Lauren shirt. It’s pink and green. I did not plan this but last night I spent the evening with my good friend LeShawnda (a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha) and most of today’s blog will be about Star Jones (an AKA).

SPECIAL SIDEBAR: My shirt was a birthday present. Thank you. I so wish you could see me now and share in this moment.

Melody: Faith Evans “Burning Up.” I am on fire this morning. I feel like Lil Wayne after a night out with Trina. Can’t stop the burn.

For some reason I could not sleep this AM. I got up and cleaned my bathroom. Then I organized my closet. Then I went in the bathroom and said “Who is that man in the mirror?” Why is the Texas Tiger up at 7am on my day off? But I could not rest. There is too much on my mind this morning. A lot has been on my soul. You know, after much prayer and counsel, I have decide that I am going to update my blog. You people have given me some of the best months of my life and oh….wait. That not me, that’s Star Jones talking…more on that fiasco later (push the button….like Sug Avery in The Color Purple Musical).

Moment for Thought: What’s in your fanny pack? And this is directed at every man in America over the age of 40 who is currently walking down the streets of Anytown, America. When I see a man (usually a tourist) walking through Times Square with his wife and 2.5 blond-haired blue-eyed children, I totally understand the need for a fanny pack. You have to hold your camcorder, digital camera, hotel keys and various asthma pumps and diabetes medication somewhere. And when I see two burly muscular men holding hands in Chelsea walking down the street, I totally get their need for a fanny pack. You can’t expect them to walk down the street with their handcuffs, leather wrist bands and crystal meth pipes out in the open can you? But what I do have a problem getting my mind wrapped around is why a single man (e.g. walking down the street minus the wife, kids and muscular lover) would be walking down the street wearing a fanny pack. I want to walk up to them and ask, “What’s in your fanny pack?”

There is absolutely no reason any man should be walking down the street wearing a fanny pack. What at THAT particular moment would require you to add a tawdry pleather pouch to your oversized waist and overflowing belly? There are certain body parts one need not acknowledge. I am so tired of The View and Good Morning America doing segments on what jeans women should buy to make their butts look smaller and their waists thinner. How about a segment for middle-aged men that will give the following tidbits: 1) How to fit all your essentials in ONE wallet in your back pocket 2) How to hide your beer belly 3) How to make your 44” waist look like a 37” 4) How to find an appropriate man bag that doesn’t make you look queer or like you shop at K-Mart for your outerwear.

Everything a man could possibly need from a digital camera, to an Ipod or a comb should fit in the appreciate pockets in a nice pair of jeans, sport coat or well-appointed man bag.
EMBRACE the man bag. Now I don’t mean get crazy and go get a Louis Vuitton man bag. Because let’s face it, it takes a certain kind of man to pull off that accessory without looking like he drops the soap at Bally’s on purpose. So unless you are George Clooney or Vince Vaughn, I’d pick a nice Ferragamo bowling bag and call it a day.

I am also tired of men in T-shirts. I read somewhere that the T-shirt is a classic part of American attire. Yea, when you have pecs like Barry Bonds c/o BALCO. When you have a body like Drew Carrey or no-body at all like Clay Aiken, the t-shirt tends to fit the body like a well-worn bed sheet. Not very classic. If you can’t make your pec muscles bounce to the beat of Young Leek’s “Jiggle It,” you should note to yourself that your t-shirts are for INNER wear only.

That’s my men’s fashion beat for today.

THE UNDERGROUND RELEASE

A good chum from Chicago was in town this week. I enjoy those moments when people from your past infiltrate your present. it’s a merger of two worlds. One from where you’ve escaped and one that you’ve created.

I got a chance to show Don my New York. Where I like to eat and shop and drink and be seen.
We did the tourist spots, we did the trendy spots, we did the local spots and we did the underground spots that you have to be really trendy to even know exist.

I started off the week with a little vintage shopping in Brooklyn. Williamsburg is quietly becoming one of the hottest neighborhoods in New York City with an eclectic mix of everyone from bankers and consultants to gays and trannies. And wherever you have a merger of so many cultures and subcultures it usually produces high-end real estate and fabulous vintage shopping. Where else could you buy a two-bedroom co-op for under a million dollars and find a pair of pleated bell-bottoms jeans on the same block?

I picked up a new suede man bag (old men with fanny packs - PAY ATTENTION) and a few vintage t-shirts. For me, the summer is all about wearing t-shirts that are a little bit too tight and definitely too small. What’s the point in having a flat tummy if no one can see you and hate you for it?

SIDEBAR: I went out last week to a club that had a dance floor on the second level. I was wearing a shirt that was too tight and too short (why not?) and some jeans that were too low (just because). And I discovered something I want to share with you. I asked myself, how do you ascend a staircase without showing your goodies to the world (cause you know you have to buy me at least two drinks for that)?

Here’s what you do. Tuck and Pull. Tuck your tummy in (don’t suck it in) and this will expand your pec muscles thus giving the shirt much needed length while pushing the buttocks in an upward motion and preventing the top of your low rise jeans for falling to a dangerously level that may reveal if you are wearing a thong or not. Cause that will cost you two shots of Patron.

A SIDEBAR ABOUT LITTLE GHETTO CHILDREN

I am sitting in my new office for today, The Harlem Team Room, a cute spot that serves high-tea and minor attitude in Harlem. While I’m sitting here talking and typing to you (because I adore you so much) these five African-American children walk in with little scraps of paper and start going from table to table. I immediately pull out my cell phone and make a call because the only children I like all have my last name or at least my blood line. And since my sister would never allow my niece to be seen in public with a nappy pig tail I immediately knew this was not Texas Tiger blood line. And I did not need a cotton swab of the inner cheek to tell me other wise.

So the children had an equally tacky adult with them. She also was sporting the nappy pony tail caked down with gel and a tacky t-shirt. I swear, I am going to Target and I am going to put up a sign in front of all the cotton t-shirts.

So one of the little girls gives me a sheet of papers that says “Lady Jay’s Kids Forth of July Talent Show.” Now as much as I enjoy seeing poorly dressed children dancing suggestively to the new T.I, I have some concerns and that I am sure B. Smith would cosign on.

ITS ALL ABOUT PRESENTATION.

I am going to tell you a story that will touch your soul no matter where you are. Cause you all know these little boys. They range in ages from 6-15. They have cornrows (that need to be re-rowed), low fades (that need to be lowered and faded), braids with new growth, dingy white t-shirts that go below the knee-caps (doubling as skirts), long jeans shorts (reminiscent of the 1980 jams) and the latest tennis shows. And they ask you to support their “basketball team.” Selling M&Ms, Starburst, and other assorted candies taken (or bought) from Costco/Sam’s Warehouse. And their grammar is atrocious.

Now, I appreciate the “Excuse me sir…” but everything else goes downhill. As an elder in the African American community and a proud member of the Talented Tenth (so says W.E.B. DuBois) I told one gentleman this: It’s all about presentation. You scare the white people AND me AND Terrance Howard. We are embarrassed.

Go to Old Navy get some $5 matching basketball jerseys, get a haircut, make a decent sign (and don’t be afraid to use glitter and markers) and stand in one spot allowing the guy with the best command of standard English to serve as a spokesperson (and take the gold grills out). It’s about presentation. If you are going to pretend you and your friends have a b-ball tend so you can earn enough money to buy your dime bags, at least look like a unified team.

PRESENTATION PEOPLE!

I’m Done.

MY SECOND BLOG AND A NEW MOMENT

Mood: I have moved onto a second cup of coffee and opened up iTunes on my computer cause the music here is wearing me out. Can you switch Cds? I mean, really. The same five songs on repeat? Oh…and I still feel pretty.

Mode: Pink, green, and blue. Stunning in the summer.

Melody: “Make it Hot” by Teena Marie from the new album Sapphire. When this song comes on I feel free and flirtatious. I am really amazed at how Teena really speaking the feelings of my soul without ever having met me. Maybe we were soul mates in another life or something. Or at least good friends.

Moment to think and ponder: Why you keep saying no but you in a cold sweat?

The devil is very busy. There is a lot to this story and I am going to give you everything you need to know. I am mixing fact with behind the scenes rumors and gossip. As we do with our everyday lives. Life isn’t fun without a little fiction thrown in. I know I like to pretend I am muscular and tall.

I am sure we have all heard by now that Star Jones Reynolds is leaving The View. I’ll pause for you to collect yourself.

And welcome back.

It’s very true. I am sure we will never know the true story behind her dismissal (until they air the Star Jones Reynolds E! True Hollywood Story or until the People Magazine cover story or her appearance on Larry King Live or whatever other publicity stunt she can milk) but rumor has it that Star’s departure was a prerequisite for Rosie O’Donnell signing on to host the show. How true is this? I really don’t know. I only wish Rosie would have thrown Elizabeth’s name into the hat as well.

Now before I started writing this blog, I said to myself that Star will “clean” this up for us on the air and say she is moving on to other projects because her ego would not allow her to say she was fired. Oh how wrong I was. I am so happy I am not committed to being right. We all need to leave room for growth.

We were all a part of the fantasy wedding so I won’t rehatch that here, but understand that after the wedding a meeting was held with ALL the co-hosts and they were asked to stop “accepting” expensive free gifts. Shortly thereafter, Star taped a segment for the show in Dallas, Texas. She allegedly accepted a pair of diamond-encrusted cowboy boots while there(stunning!). Tisk! Tisk!

Meanwhile, the ABC execs are doing research on the show and its ratings. And surprisingly, research shows that most people hate Star Jones Reynolds (I couldn’t believe that either). Seems the wedding and the dramatic weight lost and probably all those Christian testimonies have not been going over very well with most of middle America.

Let me pause for a second and remind you how we live in a global world and how what happens in Iraq really does affect us here in America. And thank you to Angelina Jolie for taking time out of destroying and rebuilding families to go overseas and touch the children in a special place. But in the global world where A affects B, this whole Star Jones thing can be blamed on President Bush. He created the war and got Star fired. Cause Dan Rather did the story on Bush doing drugs and dodging the draft which lead to fake documents which begat Dan Rather getting fired from CBS which allowed CBS to hired Katie Couric which created a blessing for Meredith Viera cause she got a job at the TODAY Show which in turn led ABC to hire Rosie O’Donnell and put her back on TV as the new face of power lesbians everywhere leading to Star Jones Reynolds getting fired cause the new “out” Rosie does not like closeted gays and could not fathom being at a Christmas party with Al Reynolds. Its just a mess. The devil is so busy.

But Jesus has got the whole world in his hand. You see Rosie and Meredith and Katie all got a blessing. So to you Star, you just keep praying cause he is an on-time God. Right when you get your second foreclosure notice Jehovah Jireh (your provider) will put a TV show in your lap. Praise Jesus.

But I have faith in Star. Perhaps she will be pursuing other “soon to be announced” projects. I am sure with her expertise and star power she could utilize her god-given talents in a variety of ways. Can’t you just imagine her hooking up with some right-winged Christian conservatives on the TBN network. Her and the pink-haired Jan talking about the bible and marriage. Star could host a show about reformed homosexuals and how marriage can saves all the gays from hell, fire and damnation. You know, we all have to do our part. Have you saved a soul lately?

ADDED BONUS: Totally off the subject but I have to throw this in….

EVERYTHING BAD AND BEAUTIFUL

Last week one of my comedic muses, the great lady Ms. Sandra Bernhard, made a long-awaited appearance on The View. And it was a hot mess. La Bernhard looked stunning in a white pleated skirt and perfectly coordinated top. The skirt was so stunning even Mrs. Jones Reynolds complimented it. Now I don’t know who should take the blame for this fiasco of an interview. Perhaps Sandra wanted to pick a fight. Perhaps the ladies are not “hip” to her brand of sarcasm or maybe Elizabeth was just dazed, confused and to of her league intellectually. But since this last explanation could be used to explain the failure of every interview conducted since her “hire” date, I’d like to explore other options. I hope Barbara Walters will do the same once Hasslebeck’s contract is up.

It all started when Sandra said that Mariah Carey only started accessing her “black” side once her record sales start to slip. Star Jones Reynolds (who we all know is friends with ALL the celebrities) did not like this statement. So they had a minor tiff before Barbara Walter jumped in with her own line of questions about Bernhard’s lesbian lover and 7-year-old daughter. At this point the audience grew quiet and distant. SNAP OUT OF IT. When queen of all the power lesbians joins the show in September you are going to have to suffer through more homo-erotic overtones that an L-Word marathon. Clearly the View’s audience is not ready for September. I can’t wait.

But the strap-on really hit the fan when Bernhard insinuated that Laura Bush was doped up and over medicated. SIDEBAR: Isn’t it the truth? That pasty smile, those unconnected and vague glances into the camera. The stepford wives hairdo. The husband having the interracial affair. I can’t blame her for washing down her “prescribed medications” with a pint of grey goose. Wouldn’t you?

But the Bush criticism since Elizabeth in a tailspin. A real tizzy. As the other resident Christian, (you know her and Star are both missionary Baptists) Hasslebeck had to defend the first lady. How’ll dare this loud-mouth lesbian bad mouth the honorable Laura Bush. After all this woman has down for the poor little black children in DC who can’t read. It’s no wonder they’re all going to hell.

Surprisingly, I think Joy Behar totally understands Sandra and got a kick out of it. Like most prolific artists, either you get it or you don’t. Bernhard is what she is. I attended the opening night of her fascinating one-woman show Everything Bad and Beautiful and I was amazed and inspired. She’s been in the business over 30-years now and she still comes out year after year with fresh material and new insights about pop culture. She could fall back and rest on her laurels like some pathetic entertainers (did you notice that Miss Laura did that SAME material on The Queens of Comedy that she had been doing on The Apollo and Def Comedy Jam like 5 years earlier?) but she keeps it youthful and funky. And I respect that.

Walking to the stage in a fitted gown that must have had all the colors of the rainbow intertwined, she opened the show singing Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful.” When she looked into the audience and whispered “Don’t Look at Me” while commanding your attention with every fiber of her being, you didn’t know whether you should turn away and follow orders or get ready for a ride on her sarcastic roller-coaster of critiques. And it was the latter. Without missing a beat, she ripped into the Bush twins, Condoleezza Rice, Angelina Jolie/Brad Pitt and Rosie O’Donnell. But the tour de force was the closing of the show with Bernhard vamping it up on stage before taking to the drums and performing Shelia E’s Glamorous Life. She gave of herself till it hurt and I enjoyed every minute of it.

I’m DONE.

Taking over the small screen

2006-06-13T06:21:00.000-07:00

Watch the Texas Tiger of New York tonight at 10pmET on BET's "Top 12 Moments of the BET Awards." It is a highlight show of some of the biggest moments at the BET Awards.

An evening with the Taurus from Texas

2006-05-22T06:10:00.000-07:00

A TAURIfic EVENING

The Taurus is symbolized by the bull and ruled by the planet Venus. Taureans are considered to be practical, patient, and good-natured; they also can be jealous and stubborn. They appreciate beauty and are attuned to the physical world.

Notable births on MAY 16

Janet Jackson (world-famous Diva)

Texas Tiger (local celebrity)

Notable deaths on MAY 16

Jim Henson (creator of the Muppets)
Sammy Davis Jr. (my style icon)

I celebrated my birthday last Friday in New York City at Fashion Forty Lounge. Dj Whoo Kid (formerly of the G-Unit) manned the wheels of steel for my joint. The party invitation listed a start time of 10pm, so imagine my surprise and dismay when I made my tastefully late arrival at 11pm to find that I was the first person at my own party. Well, technically the fourth. The party was a joint celebration for my friend Donya who also celebrated a birthday this past week. As we approached Forty Forty, I ran into a college alum who has just stepped out of the lounge. I thanked him for his prompt arrival. But as for those others…

I started off my evening uptown with a chocolate martini toast. I was awaiting the arrival of my friend Tina, but she never arrived (She did however make it to my party at about 1:30am. Did I mention it started at 10pm?).

As I walked over to my computer and keyed up Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again On My Own”, I toasted myself and slipped into my fitted attire for the evening.

I wanted to feel fun fresh and festive. And nothing says festive like a skin-tight leather corset. And that’s how I was feeling.

I wore black leather loafers, grey fitted slacks, a white-tuxedo shirt with ruffles and a black corset. My roommate Claudia laced me up in the bathroom. We had a very intimate moment. As I held onto the sink for dear life, she pulled and pulled and pulled until my 27-inch waist got down to a 24. I was like Calista Flockhart the year Ally McBeal got cancelled. Stylishly stressed.

Donya was a lot more low-key. She wore a black blouse paired with black boots and some dressy army fatigues. Think Destiny’s Child Soldier video. Or Survivor during the bridge, right before Michelle’s gospel breakdown. In the middle of the storm with the weave flailing in the wind machine.

We had 85 RSVPs and a few people came through who did not RSVP (which totally ignores the Evite I created). The party promoter Jay Wright, a Hampton alum, was very nice and generous. And so were our friends. Every time I looked towards the table there was a fresh bottle of Moet and we kept popping bottles all night. My only regret is that the DJ did not play my Beyonce “Check on it” theme song but he did give me “Crazy in Love” and Shawna’s new song “Getting Some.” I did special routines for both.

You know its been a great year for me here in New York. But this has also been a year of accomplishment for some very special people in my life.

I am happy for my lovely and beautiful friend Daisy who just got a HUGE job as an editor at Essence Magazine.

And how excited am I for my friend Jackie who just accepted BOTH the 2006 Fulbright Scholarship AND the Yale-Clinton Fellowship. She will be moving to Ethiopia to work on behalf of former President Bill Clinton where she will run a hospital for children living with HIV/AIDS and then she will be off to Indonesia to study healthcare reform. She’s the Black Angelina.

Plus, my friend Carla just completed her dissertation defense and will be receiving her PhD from my alma mater, Northwestern University, this June. And she is all of 25 years old. She’s my own Little Woman Tate.

Daniel, one of the most prolific painters I know, was commissioned to design and create the Logo for the National Black Aids Institute of Los Angeles.

Three friends, Bobby, Cuttina and Camilla are all getting married, not to each other.

My friend Sheeba is down to Lindsay Lohan’s size (Pilates of course). My friend Samantha is on her way to becoming a great tv director and Teena Marie released a new album. I am beside myself with enthusiasm. I haven’t felt this happy since I discovered the perfect shirt at Bergdorf Goodman.

BUT WHERE THERE’S PAIN, THERE’S GOT TO BE HURT

The only bad thing that happened last week was my sister, Nicole, broke up with DJ AM again. I really hope this does not make her spiral out of control. We usually run neck-and-neck in the waistlines and I can’t afford another three inches from the middle. The dramatizations of my remaining ample portions may have me mistaken for the male Buffy the Body.

COCKTAILS IN THE CITY

UPTOWN SATURDAY NIGHT, my friend Colin had a very nice cocktail party. And in typical new fashion, everyone was gorgeous, interesting and well-conversed. Except for the occasionally “boy-toy” or “trophy-girl” who only added eye candy (devoid of substance) it was a perfect evening.

I enjoyed several conversations. For me it was an evening of style and sophistication. I was channeling my idol Gordon Parks in a fitted mustard brown shirt and green and orange plaid pants. Coming off the heels of my birthday party I could have given my body a rest from the fitted wear. But I didn’t.

I had to give my cell phone to my friend Shawn because my pants were so fitted I didn’t have room left for anything besides ambition.

And you know I have never been the type of man you can pick up at a club. Not because I am snotty. I mean, I’m just like anyone else. Give me three shots of Patron and start talking.

But it is very awkward to have a nice conversation with the new Chris Brown blasting over a booming speaker system. And usually by that time I am on the floor throwing down Texas-style. And who would appreciate my thoughts on the Charlie Sheen/Denise Richards breakup at a hip-hop club in Brooklyn? Anyone?

I am a fan of the NY cocktail party. A stiff martini. Some neo-soul. Add an eloquent conversation partner and I’m pleased. And I was. Over and over again. Some moreso than others. Though I am not certain the “moreso” knew they were my “moreso.” But I left having a crush on one of my eloquent conversation partners. And it’s the summertime. So why not? Its always nice to have ice cream in Central Park with someone. Here’s to a great summer in New York…..

Desperately Seeking Britney Spears, Tyra Scared Straight!

2006-05-21T14:22:00.000-07:00

Mood: Wild and Peaceful. Reflective and Present. Vulnerable and Strong.

Mode: I’m keep it very simple and causal for a summer’s day of rain. A black pin-striped Ben Sherman shirt with an eagle stitched on the back. Some bleached jeans ripped at the cuffs. And a white Banana Republic light-weight jacket.

Musical Moment: “Yes” by Liza Minnelli. “Life starts happening everyday. Say yes.”
This was my birthday song. I got up the morning of my birthday and the first CD I popped in the deck was the audio component to my favorite DVD of the moment Liza with a Z! This song is a great way to start a show. And a new year of life. It’s about living life to the fullest. Taking risks. Being bold. And courageous. Saying yes to opportunity. To love. To hope. To the prospect of a better life.

Moment to Ponder: Could you live your life under the scrutiny of a judgmental public?

For the past two weeks or so, I have been desperately seeking Britney Spears. From nearly drop Sean Preston while stumbling down the avenue in New York to strapping him face-forward in the backseat of her mini-cooper, we have watched her grow and learn and stumble as a first time mother. But I imagine any first-time parent makes mistakes and has moments of indecision. It’s a role you grow into. There are some innate nurturing skills that we can naturally call forth, but from sharing your emotions and loving and giving, those are actions and expressions we learn to feel and learn to give both as people and as parents.

And I wonder what would life look like for me and for you if we were constantly under the watch of a scornful public. Never too far from the flicker of some paparazzo’s money shot. All your errors and mistakes captioned and etched in print. Naked and exposed in your flaws. Who would be able to emerge from that type of experience unscathed? Without smears. Untarnished.

We are all growing and learning and creating new possibilities. And Britney should be allowed to grow into the possibility of what being a good mother looks like for her and for the life she is creating for her child. And without our judgment. Not for nothing, Sean Preston does not seem neglected. And a few of us have probably been dropped on our heads. Ask your mother. Ask Cynthia McKinney’s mother. What else could explain that hair?

But I understand the public’s frustration and fascination with Mrs. Federline. From marrying Kevin to remaking Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” I have to admit I’m also nervous about her decision making skills. Especially in light of her options. Her money and fame have taken her around the world. She’s been exposed to different cultures and ways of life. Or at least to some of the best hotel mini-bars the world has to offer.

It’s an ode to the glamorous life. Sheila E. wanted. Kimora Lee has it. But one can’t help but wonder why Mrs. Federline prefers her glamorous life with a hint of trailer park. Perhaps it’s familiar. Dr. Robin says we love the familiar. It’s comfortable.

I guess nothing says home like a lazy weed-smoking freeloader running through your
money.

Without love, it ain’t much.

THE SORID SEX LIVES OF THE RICH AND TALENTED

R. Kelly isn’t our only musical genius with a seedy sex life. Apparently kinky sex makes the songs come quicker. The music more forceful. The production more satisfying. Legendary group The Eagles may have passed themselves off as sensitive and caring musicians but a new tome by Barney Hoskyns tells-all about their stoned-out, bed-hopping on the '70s L.A. rock scene. Hoskyns also shares Mama Cass Elliot used her fame for sex. "There were a couple of good-looking guys that were schtupping Cass," drummer Denny Bruce tells Hoskyns. "They were basically there for her drugs. She got her little taste of sex, and they got their dope." And Joni Mitchell would sleep with fellow rockers, then blast them in her songs. "[She] used all of them, from Graham Nash to [Jackson] Browne. And then she could write about it and say, '[Bleep] you,' "a veteran of the era says.

BEYONCE: GIVING UP POPEYES UNTIL IT HURTS

Beyoncé Knowles shocked fans at a Cannes Film Festival preview of her movie "Dreamgirls" by admitting she and co-star Jennifer Hudson had to dramatically slim down for their roles. Knowles, 24, said she lost 20 pounds to play Deena Jones, according to wire reports. Jones is loosely modeled on Diana Ross and The Supremes. "I actually gained a little bit, but then I lost 20 pounds when I went from young Deena to old Deena," she said. "I wanted it to be something more than just makeup and hair." O’ Beyonce. So very Charlize Theron you.

TYRA SPENDS TIME IN A WOMEN’S CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

But even more so than Beyonce, Tyra Banks is a woman who keeps on giving to her
craft. She gave us face. She gave us body. She gave us Top Model. Now Tyra gives
us fear. Her nsecurities. Her hurt. Her demons. I still remember the day she
packed on 300 lbs of pain to show all the attractive people of the world just how difficult it
is to be overweight and unpretty. And the emotional torment she experienced as
she swapped stories in the back of the club with formerly abused female
strippers. A private dancer for money she was.

And just last week, she went to a women’s correctional facility. And got fingerprinted. And stripped search. And photographed. Without makeup.

It wasn’t until that moment that I began to think about how I could contribute. And make this world just a bit better for someone other than myself. Tyra is such a prolific woman. When she puts her manicured finger on a story, she touches the core. The pulse. I am anxiously awaiting her to spend an hour undercover as a former model turned talk-show host who comes across as believable and authentic.

A SPIRITUAL WEEK IN NEW YORK

There are going to be some powerful things happening in New York this week. On Tuesday, psychic John Cohan will hold a candlelight vigil for Nicole Brown Simpson at Lucky Cheng's in the East Village. Cohan claims he brought Nicole to the lounge, which is famous for its drag-queen waitresses, shortly before her 1994 slaughter. "She got a kick out of the place, and it brought her happy times," said Cohan, who has arranged to have Nicole's favorite song, "If (a Picture Paints a Thousand Words, Then Why Can't I Paint You?)," performed.

BONDS’ 714th Shot THE DOME

Hate it or love it, Barry Bonds has THE GAME. He hit homerun #714, which ties Babe Ruth’s all-time record. He still has a long way to go to catch Hank Aaron’s all-time record of 755, but don’t tell that to hardcore baseball fans. It amazes me that so much time has been spent covering Bonds “breaking” of a record that has already been broken.

Who cares that Bonds surpassed Babe Ruth? It ain’t about Babe Ruth. How can you have this conversation and use Babe Ruth as a reference point? He isn’t. And hasn’t been for some time now. I am offended but this obvious dismissal of Hank Aaron’s talent. Now I understand why Whitney Houston always felt the need to remind us that Bobby Brown was the true King of R&B. Him and Al B. Sure! So forgotten. Yet, so important to our cultural landscape.

A view without a Star

2006-05-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

Mood: Young and carefree. Yet slightly perturbed that I am indoors (at work) and not out enjoy a beautifully sunny day in NYC.

Mojo: It was a stress-free vintage day. One of the days where I put on some comfortable, very professionally versatile shoes and a nice shirt that does not need to be ironed (because its wrinkle-free or because it's fresh from my dry cleaners).

Musical Moment: Abba "Gimme Gimme Gimme (a man after Midnight). Besides knowing that Abba produces more money that the entire gross domestic product of their native Sweden, I knew very little about Abba. Then Madonna sampled them in her song "Hung Up" which encouraged me to seek them out and find out who these people were. I did not get so wrapped up in the drama that I considered buying a ticket to go see Mamma Mia! on Broadway, but I did download the some "Gimme Gimme Gimme". Very catchy. Light. Bouncy. Free. Perfect for the summer.

A view without a Star?

I am sure you have heard the grumblings about The View. And what of it without Star? As soon as I heard about Rosie signing her deal with ABC, I feared for Star. I know she is a strong black woman. But the thought or her sitting between Rosie and Joy Behar gave me the chills. The number of daggers that woman would have to endure five hours a week on air and numerous hours behind the scenes could only be compared to the torture Jane Pauley must have felt the day Deborah Norville showed up on Today. What's my role?

Where will they send our shooting Star? Will she gain back all the weight she lost from dieting and pilates?

SIDEBAR: Check me out in the pink and green! Shout out to Star and her sorors.

When I met Star I found her to be warm and inviting. In that "tv personality" sort of way. I met her one day during her book tour. And later she come by my job and I talked with her in her dressing room. I shared with her my views on her book and some of my own struggles with weight. Me and Nicole "I know I'm too thin" Richie have it so hard. No one understands us.

Star talked to me about my weight and about some questions I should ask my doctor about weight gain. I have to say that getting tips on weight gain from Star have really helped me. In the past few months I have gone from 130 to 135lbs. Cutting those trips to the restroom have worked wonders. Thanks Star!

The other Star gone BUCK wild!

For people outside of New York and the Clear Channel family, you may be unfamiliar with the Star and Buc Wild Morning Show. It is nationally-syndicated, but I do not know what other markets he airs in as I have lived in several cities and did not discover him until I moved to New York. Now, if anything, I listen to NPR in the morning. But for the most part, I choose morning television over morning radio.

I think Tom Joyner serves a great purpose with raising awareness about single mothers and black colleges. And I think the family-style show he does is great...in small doses. But again, nothing I could stomach long term. And that tired-tv show he does late nights which is like Def Comedy Jam for out-of-touch geriatrics. But back to Star....

He has a beef (and why not? What is a black man with a microphone without a beef?) with a local NYC DJ name DJ Envy. So perhaps in his envy of DJ Envy, Star got on the radio one day and got a little bit carried away while making threats against DJ Envy's wife and his 4-year-old daughter. He threatened to do an "R. Kelly" on DJ Envy' seed (i.e. his daughter). And...knowing who his audience is...Star "broke-it-down" and explained what he meant...knowing some people would miss that reference.

He's recently been arrested and fired. And replaced by Big Tigger from Bet.

There is a line between what is offensive and what is humerous. There are comedians and musicians and family members and colleagues in all of our lives who do push the boundaries of taste and class. But it is all about intention and perception. Richard Pryor's use of the "N" word, Dave Chapelle take on racial politics, Jerry Falwell take on ANYTHING, Bill O'Reilly's take on anyone who disagrees with him, and Vivica Fox's take on breast implants all serve to stir up emotions and feeling in us.

But there is a line between what is sarcastic and what is nasty. And what is funny and what is crass. And sometimes our own filters do not depict how other people will receive our take on humor. Star does not think he did anything wrong. And that is not for me to decide. I did think his comments were tasteless and disgusting but I think that about his entire show. And it has worked for Clear Channel in the past....which makes me wonder why they are coming down on him so hard now?

All about the benjamins. I think if DJ Envy's wife had not called a press conference Star would still be on the air. This is not about decency, it's about money. You can push the envelope and long as it is financially profitable.

Who knew that freedom of speech was so closely linked to the free market.

Sapphires and Risks

2006-05-12T13:40:00.000-07:00

Mood: Open and exposed. Snappy and snarky.
Mojo: Diesel Jeans. Kenneth Cole black loafers (which I think are the perfect causal Friday accessory for men). A tight-fitted vintage shirt from “le château.” It’s purple/beige with a floral print. For the summer.
Melodic Moment: Lady T. La Dona. The Queen of Funk. My poet. My inspiration. My vocalized outlet. From the first night I heard her croon “If I were a bell” I knew we had a connection. As years passed and experiences unfolded and hearts were broken and mended, I realized you gave voice to my every emotion. Every feeling. Every touch. Every quiver. From wherever you are. Wherever you were. And everywhere you have been. Venice Harlem. New Orleans. Los Angeles. You tap into my soul. And with Sapphire you continue to speak to me and inspire me creatively.

So vintage. Yet so fresh. God has created you for me to love. Your voice and your song. Your poetry and your prose. If I were bell I would ring from the mountains of California and the green waters of Venice and underneath the lights of Paris and on the sidewalks of Harlem. For you.
Theatrical Moment: My friend wrote a haiku that best expresses the ebb and flow or what is racing through my soul right now.

“How can you know me

When my words you never hear

Listen and find love”

STEPPING OUT AND EMBRACING THE RISK

“Nothing would be done at all, if a man waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault with it.”- Cardinal Newman

I am taking risks in my friendships and my career. Being authentic and bold and powerful. Sharing and giving. Loving and trusting. It’s all new for me.
But you can only be arrogant and selfish for so long before you realize it ain’t that cute. For a grown man to think of the world only as it revolves around him.

What would the world be like if we each saw it world as a forum for contribution. What more can I give. What can I do. And what can I add and bring to the value of others. What I have come to see is that by giving to others and loving and trusting, you are already included. How selfish is it to only think about yourself and create a world in which that behavior is justified.

Grace and Intimacy

2006-05-09T17:07:00.000-07:00

Mood: Open and loving.

Mojo: HOT PINK! I am wearing a hot hot hot pink shirt. Very “Check Up On It.” With pin-striped pants, black-on-brown loafers, and a suede jacket. Kinda summery, yet professional enough to walk around the office and sell style.

Musical Moment: “Slave to the Rhythm” by Grace Jones. She was performance art at its finest. Challenging gender stereotypes and European conceptions of beauty, all the while deconstructing the sexualization of the black female body. And she looked flawless.

What I remember about Grace Jones, growing up in Texas, what a shot of a stark naked chocolate woman with a boxed-frame haircut, taking a milk bath in the video for “I’m not Perfect (but I’m Perfect for You).” At this point I did not know or understand the importance of what she was doing, what it meant or what it could possibly stand for. I knew she dressed like a man and was known to be glamorous, outrageous AND linked to several rich and famous Caucasian men. Very Diana Ross.

Her style, her visualizations, her antics, her vocalizations – all unique for her time. Having carved out a niche for herself in the 70s as a sought-after model in Paris (and paling around town as Jerry Hall’s best gal pal) Jones was one of the late 70s-early 80s first triple threats as a model, singer and actress. Strong-bodied and blessed with absolutely stunning features, the personality was intriguing and the face was beat…all creating a Jamaican brew that said “Look At me.” Very Jackie Washington.

Never a chart-topping diva like latter day triple threats (J.Lo, Janet, Madonna) Jones does lay claim to several disco-anthems that are continuously sampled by producers who lack the creativity to assemble their own uniqueness. Very James Frey.

In the here and now, I wonder if a black woman or any woman of color might be able to rise to the occasion and challenge the blond-haired, blue-eyed standard of beauty embodied by Paris Hilton? Not likely. Mass media and marketing leave no place for the outlier on this statistical pointboard. As close as we will ever get to an off-the-chart black girl is Kelis…and even she has gotten naked on the cover of KING and lost her luster. Or was it the Source? Or does it even matter? Now every black girl who grew up wanting to sing has to lighten her skin, add honey-blonde extensions and don hazel-colored contacts. Who knew that one day Beyonce would become the STANDARD by which every black woman in the country was judged? Chrisina Milian, Letoya, Ciara, Kelis, even Brandy (so very sad) seem to channel the looks and crossover appeal of the Texas diva and manage to come off as bad drag impersonations. Can any black girl make a video without rocking a weave?

Give me the 80s. When a woman like Grace Jones put on a pin-striped suit with no bra, cut her hair like Kid-N-Play and dared you not to see the lioness inside of her. And while doing this, she STILL made the pages of Vogue and Cosmopolitan. And still partied with the upper-crust of New York society. And still trotted around the globe looking fabulous and giving two-cheeked air kisses to all the glamorous people.

I obviously missed out on the focus group that determined all women of color should look like Beyonce. If I were there, I might have shared my feelings about Grace Jones. About Whoppi Goldberg. About Jody Watley. About women of the 80s who rocked their own styles and still found success. And crossed over.

It takes very little by way of talent and creativity to be a caricature. A good stylist. Great publicist. Creative marketing.

But what of the women who paved the way. Who created roads that did not exist. Walked into magazines that had previously ignored their beauty. Demanded to be seen as more than an eroticized objects of taboo. Much more than big-boned palates for great choreography.
Give me a woman who is devoid or botox, and implants, the need to get undressed or dumbed down to feel validated. Exposed, vulnerable and strong. She might not be perfect for mass marketing, but she’d be perfect for me.

Musings and Ponderations:

Will my friends shun my need for intimacy?

Last night I was listening to Atlantic Star’s “Send for Me.” In a deep tone that infused both urgency and passion, a male voice called out “…put a message in a bottle baby…send for me.” How intimate must it have been to receive a handwritten note from a distant lover. To consider what thoughts must have raced through the mind while selecting a pen, a writing canvas, a perfect bottle. The perfect perch from whence the bottle would be tossed into the ocean. And found by a familiar hand. Every choice, every selection, ever motion more intimate than the first.

I long for that communication. And not just from a lover. From a friend. But the advent of text messaging, email, and myspace.com have only produced barriers to true intimacy…not created stronger bonds. I could of course log onto friendster.com and come across the profile of someone who sat behind me in third grade. And perhaps we may have some catching up-to-do. And even establish a new possibility. But what about the people who are within arms reach? Or ears reach? A walk away? A short train ride? A stroll across the hall?

Why do I have friends who will send me “Happy Easter” text messages without calling me to say “hello.” Mind you, none of these people know I am a Christian since I don’t wear it on my sleeve. It is a truly a personal relationship for me. And not in that Star Jones kinda way. And then there are people who email me (along with one hundred other people) to tell you how they are doing, or promote their interests, without ever delving into my world or asking how I am doing. And there are the “personal” emails, which are actually mass emails in disguise that are self-absorbed attempts to brag about one’s life. And the people who join your myspace.page, or yahoo360 page to add you as a friend hoping to create the illusion that 300 people actually “like” them. And the bloggers who feel the need to “alert” me about page updates when I have NEVER given the illusion that I am remotely interested in any of your world views or musings which I find voiceless and numbing. I’ve also never given you my email address.

But what bothers me about communication is that I have “friends” in my life who I really do not know. Who I really have no authentic communication with. Outside of the b.s.

I had a great conversation with my friend Danya, whom will be throwing a joint birthday party with me, and we talked about communication and barriers. And she made a great point. There are some people we only want to email and text. Because they are not really our friends. They are co-workers, colleagues, business associates, or just “cool” people we know. And I get that. There are some people I like to email to find out if they are still alive…or single…or still thin…but outside of that I’m really not interested. So I get it.

But what of the inner circle? The people who call your boss and lie for you? Pull your hair back while you are perched over the porcelain god? The friends who slide you a mirror and a razor under the stall? The one’s that will give you a urine sample?

Why are they the ones sending texts and vague emails?

Lately, I have been confronting the people in my life (in my inner circle) who are blocking our intimacy. Real talks. Real communication.

Now when I get a text I ask myself, does he not want to be friends with me? Does she not like me? Cause those are the people I text and email. I only call all the people I like.
And if you are reading this and I have not called you in a few months BUT I sent you a Happy Easter text message, I can assure you this is not about you. At All.

But as my birthday approaches, I have just decided that I am reaching out to the people I love and demanding more. But also giving more. Just to let them know I am there. And I care. And you can’t get that from a text. Or an email. At least I can’t. So lately I have been making some phone calls and opening up and sharing with people my feelings about this. And if you are one of my texting friends, rest assured I will be contacting your shortly. Because I do want you in my life. Closely.

It is hard to open up to people, but that is want friends are for. After all, I can be distant with strangers.

Katie pulls a Gumble, Busta is a closet fag hag and Jesse is relevant again!

2006-04-01T15:56:00.000-08:00

Mood: Muy bien. Thanks to reality TV. I have been happy every since Gina got kicked off America’s Next Top Model. And since Lisa got kicked off American Idol. And New York didn’t get a clock. All the women I loathe are getting their just desserts this week which means I am having the BEST WEEK EVER!

Mode: Inappropriate work attire. My shirt is so tight I can see my heart beating. If I were a female I’d probably get written up. I am wearing a vintage long-sleeved butterfly collared shirt with purple flowers. Express Men Jeans and Kenneth Cole suede loafers.

Motif: How happy are we that Jill Carroll is home and safe from the hands of foreign terrorists? And another thing, why doesn’t Naomi Campbell employee Black women? How would that early Thursday morning been different had her maid been a Black girl from Harlem?

Munchies: At work and at the newsdesk munching on a Big Nick Deluxe (well done) with an order of French fries from Big Nick’s Burger and Pizza Joint (love them!) But I wish I could be indulging in a TEXAS sized Strawberry/Mango frozen daiquiri with the extra shot.

Music: “Clouds” by Chaka Khan. Rocking. Pulsating. Thumping. Jamming. Slamming. I was walking down 72nd street and a lady rolled down her window and asked me what I was listening to because she could clearly see I was “in the moment.” This is the tile cut from my favorite offering from Ms. Khan and she wears me out all the way through. With Luther and Whitney on backing vox, the song takes you through the perils and the pain. “Clouds, go away/don’t take away my sunny day/Thunder is the warning/so dark and so alarming” Pure power, passion and pain. And the album cover artwork is SICK!

WHO ELSE IS HAVING A GOOD WEEK?….answers after the jump.

JESSE JACKSON

Thanks to the devastation of Hurrincae Katrina, the displacement of thousands of poor Blacks and the rebuilding of New Orleans as a majority Caucasian city (first time in 3 decades) Jesse Jackson is RELEVANT again and having his best week ever (well, since Terri Schiavo died).How happy was Jesse to hop on a private plane and rush down to New Orleans after dropping off his bags in 5-star hotel so he could put on a non-descript blue cotton shirt and march behind the banner of thousands of poor displaced blacks – afraid they would not be able to cast votes in New Orleans up-n-coming elections. And he got to stand next to Bill Cosby. How cool is that!

KATIE MAKIN MAJOR MOVES

PAs at Today have been order to pull clips from Katie’s 15-yr-run the morning chat fest. Perhaps a farewell special is on the way? When NBC sent Bryant Gumbel off to CBS they gave him a two-hour retrospective complete with a surprise performance by Prince (dressed as Gumbel).Prince come on dressed at Katie Couric, performing Black Sweat and immediately follow that up with a cat-clawed retrospective of Katie’s best slicefests. To see her and Ann Coulter go at it again would be HEAVEN.

BUSTA NO LIKE IT WHEN THE GAY BOYS TOUCH IT (in public)

Last Sunday, eyewitnesses in Florida say closeted rapper BUSTA Rhymes went all NAOMI on a young gay fan who tapped him on the shoulder at the 11th Street Diner in Miami, conveniently located next door to gay club Twist.

"The restaurant was packed with transvestites, gay men and drag queens, which obviously made Busta a little edgy," eyewitness Thomas Barker says.

"This became evident when a young gay guy came up behind Busta and tapped him on the shoulder to congratulate the rapper on his recent comeback. Before the guy could even mutter a word, Busta turned around and repeatedly screamed, 'Why the [bleep] you touchin' me, man? Get the [bleep] away from me' . . . his two huge bodyguards then caused an even larger scene by pushing the kid away . . . Busta quietly whispered to his bodyguards, 'I hate [bleeping] faggots, man.' " A spokeswoman for Rhymes did not return calls.

WHITNEY: THE CRACK PIPES ARE NOT RIGHT AND THEY”RE NOT OK!

I’m sure you have heard this…but not from me. The National Enquirer is airing a special report on Whitney Houston’s alleged addiction to crack. Tina Brown, 42, the sister of Mr. Tender Roni Brown tells the Enquirer that she has “done” crack with Houston on numerous occasions and even provides pictures of Houston’s Georgia home, showing a filthy bathroom with drug paraphernalia strewn about. Nancy Seltzer, Houston’s spokesperson said she has not seen the story and had no comment.

SPRING’S MUST HAVE ACCESSORY: THE RIDE-OR-DIE VULNERABLE CHICK

New hot couple: Fresh off the heels of her molestation confession and hotter-than-hell Vanity Fair cover, life just keeps getting better for Teri Hatcher who just pulled a Star Jones and nailed herself a questionable male lover aka Ryan Seacrest. And who knew Teri Hatcher’s hotter-than-hell Vanity Fair cover story complete with a chilling molestation confession would reveal her to be a vulnerable, needy older woman searching for love in the wrong places? But guess what, it’s the next big thing! Before it hits the pages of GQ, Men’s Vogue and Maxim, I am giving you privileged news. The must-have accessory for today’s man’s man is a vulnerable female. Everybody’s doing. John Legend, Tyler Perry, Ryan Seacrest, Clay Aiken, Al Reynolds, Eddie Murphy, Lil Wayne. Fresh from Bloomingdales’s and Bergdoff Goodman, women who will deny your past, pose intimately for paparazzi flicks, gaze into your disinterested eyes, have breakfast/lunch/dinner with your BESTest closest most intimate male friend and NOT say a mumbling word AND express her undying love for you in such reputable publications as Sister 2 Sister. All this for the price of your soul, dignity and authenticity. Who says the truth is important? I broke my soul into a million little pieces.

CYNTHIA McKINNEY ROCKS THE COPS ROUGH AND STUFF IN HER AFRO PUFFS

According to sources on Capitol Hill, U.S. Representative Cynthia McKinney (D-GA) punched a Capitol police officer on Wednesday afternoon after he mistakenly pursued her for failing to pass through a metal detector. An unconfirmed statement attributed to McKinney has been released on the Internet, where she allegedly claims to have been harassed by Capitol Hill Police.

"Do I have to contact the police every time I change my hairstyle? How do we account for the fact that when I wore my braids every day for 11 years, I still faced this problem, primarily from certain white police officers," the statement says.

McKinney claims the officer harassed her because she was a black female congresswoman. Which could be true. But the officer could have also stopped her out of concern for her own safety. The hairstyle is clearly a terrorist tactic.

Who could concentrate on protecting America when there is CLEARLY a war raging between the tangled entanglements of McKinney’s pompadour?

Forget Iraq. What’s going on with this new Chinese shipment of bags of Black and Kinky #34?

McKinney’s new hairdo does make the congresswoman appear to be a battered woman (dragged up and down the steps of Capitol Hill by an abusive man by her hair) OR a crack-addict who need a drug fix so bad she refused to allow her hairdresser to complete the project OR a drag queen with mad issues leaving the “strip” at 4am after a tryst in the backseat of a wagon (who had to reattach her wig in the dark).

That hairdo says EVERYTHING except BLACK FEMALE INTELLIGENT CONGRESSWOMAN. I am on the verge of writing her an email asking her to hookup with Condi’s hairstylist. Anything but what we are doing now. Anything. I think Tina Knowles could do a better job with her hair. And anytime Michelle Williams’s hair is looking better than yours, you know you ain’t doing too well sweetie.

FYI: Conservative radio host Neal Boortz said McKinney looked like a welfare drag queen. I hate him for that. But....um....isn;t he right?

FORMER NJ GOVERNOR GET A LITTLE MORE PERSONAL

Taking a page from Lindsay Lohan, former New Jersey Gov. James McGreevey calls his upcoming memoir about life as a closeted gay politician "The Confession." Sources tell The Star-Ledger of Newark the book will include details of McGreevey's sex life and his efforts to hide his homosexuality through two marriages. McGreevey friend, state Sen. Ray Lesniak, tells the newspaper the book will also feature New Jersey politics and there are some people who don't come across well

ALLEDGED CHILD MOLESTER R.KELLY’S BROTHER RELEASES VIDEO OF HIS OWN

R. Kelly’s brother says he's not being disloyal to by alleging that his famous brother asked him to take the fall in his child-pornography case.

According to MTV News, Carey says, "I was blamed for the video, and nobody's saying anything about that because I'm a nobody," Well, that AND because you’re not sexy. But continuing…."They questioned me, and they followed me," Carey said. "I moved three or four times, but that was dumb, me not thinking they, the police, can find me. It was like I had done something wrong, a crime, urinated on a girl, and they treated me like I had actually done it. It was humiliating, it was frustrating, and it was aggravating."

On a newly released low-budget DVD (obviously not made on Windows Media Player) Carey claims Robert offered him $50,000, a record deal, and a house before dropping the bombs that the Pied Piper of R&B is really “in the closet” himself, has had multiple relations with young women and is physically abusive. But most shockingly, Carey says the whole ordeal has affected his SIX kids, who started getting teased and beaten up at school. Carey said. “It's not fair for a kid to go through that, especially if I had nothing to do with it."

“…(I)t started destroying my life, started destroying my kids' lives, when I wasn't doing anything but minding my own business.”Carey did not comment on how his own alleged drug use, infidelity, failure to pay child support and bad haircut may have also affected his children’s schooling.

While Carey’s allegations are suspicious because he has his own musical aspirations and equally low-budget CD coming out, it should be noted that he recorded with his brother on "12 Play" and toured with him for six years. He will release an album on the Internet as Killa Kel, that he claims will set the record straight. Good. It seems like he’s ready.

Naomi goes OOPS upside ya head AGAIN!

2006-03-30T23:59:00.000-08:00

Mood: Happy. Peppy. Fun. To be honest with you, I haven’t been like this all week. Earlier this week I had a Naomi Campbell moment. Complete with a flying cell phone. I’m in the market for a new Nokia now.

Mode: DKNY faded blue jeans, black Kenneth Cole boots, vintage black/beige cowboy shirt.

Motif: How can you always be happy? (See below for Liza Minnelli’s advice)

Music: “Black Sweat” by Prince. The first time I heard this song I thought Prince had gone into the lab with Lil’ John cause I had the sudden urge to hop on a table and do naughty things for some much needed singles. The funky vibe of this song is vintage Prince circa the late late 80s (think the Black album). This song does something to me. After all, that is what music is supposed to do. Take you to a higher place. Speaking of which, I had a religious experience in the middle of the Harlem Grill last Friday. After a long night of bar-hopping, me and a friend hit the hottest spot in Harlem for some late night dining and flirting. I ordered up some spicy chicken wings with a glass of water so I could begin the detoxing process, adding a slice of lemon for zest. But my friend had other ideas. I looked up from my glass of water a few minutes later to find the waitress placing a chilled bottle of Verve Cliquot on our table. Chicken and champagne…I felt like a rapper with a hit record. As I downed three glasses and wiped my hands on our linen napkins (that we had specially requested) the DJ took me to another place. Playing the new track from Shawna “Getting Some Head” the beat hit me full-tilt boogie. As the bass pulsated through my body (making me think I had unknowingly put my cracked Nokia on vibrate) I politely grabbed the edge of the table and started doing things in my chair that I have not done since I was a freshman. I wrote my name in my chair using nothing but my waist. I haven’t done anything like that in public since I was a freshman. Ok, since I was a sophomore. Who am I kidding….since my last year of graduate school. But it was a while ago nonetheless.

TODAY’s TOP STORY:

Catwalk diva Naomi Campbell was arrested this morning in NYC for allegedly attacking her assistant with a shoe!

NYPD sourced say the incident occurred around 8am this morning when the alleged victim, a 41-year-old woman, was struck in the head by a flying cellphone, allegedly thrown by Campbell. After receiving a laceration on the back of her head, the victim was transported to Lenox Hill Hospital where she received 4 stitches to the back of her head.

But that is only where the drama started. Or at least where the fabulousity (I think that is how Kimora spells it) of it all began. Naomi was arrested at her Park Avenue apartment and was photographed getting into a police car wearing a black baseball cap, dark sunglasses (they appeared to be Chanel) and a white-mink pancho. Now, it is chilly in NYC, but it ain’t cold. So why might she have been wearing a pancho? Well…glad you asked. She was concealing the handcuffs. It was diva-glam at its best. You would have never even known that she was handcuffed. She looked like she was on the way to a policeman’s picnic in the Hamptons. It was awesome.

By the way, it all started after Campbell accused her employee of stealing a pair of $200 Chip and Pepper jeans which she had planned for an Oprah segment being fimled in her kitchen.

She is charged with 2nd-degree assualt. If convicted she could do a maximum of seven years.

HOT NEW BUMPER STICKER:'SEPARATE CHURCH & HATE!

STICKIN IT TO ADDICTION!

Insiders says the spots inside the earlobes of supermodel Kate Moss stem from accupunture treatments she is using to curb her alleged cocaine addiction.

The 2,000-year-old form of Chinese medicine, using tiny needles to stimulate the body’s pressure points, is believed to help treat addiction according to the 2002 National Health Interview Survey.

TV Highlights:

Saturday night Showtime Cable network will be serving up a little slice of heaven with the rebroadcast of the legendary special Liza with a Z starring the icon Liza Minnelli. First broadcast in 1972 when Liza was at her peak (there has been several) the special was taped shortly after Liza won an Oscar win for Best Actress in Cabaret. Choreography by the legendary Bob Fosse with costumes designed by Halston, expect to see Lady M high-kicking and singing her heart out. She is truly an entertainer.

I was watcing her on Larry King earlier this week and I found her vibrant, witty and simply a delight. A caller asked her how she remained happy and she told him “You can remember things the way you want to.”

Lady M says she chooses to remember only the good times in her life. And even during the bad times, she says she only chooses to remember the fun she had.

And if you don’t recall, Lady M allegedly felt out of her bed during a drunken stupor and broke her hip a few years back. I imagine she only chooses to remember the morphine from that incident. Good times.

Also,
this Sunday evening Tori Spelling (her role in the movie Trick was stunning) debuts "So Notorious," at 10 p.m. on VH1. Tori will be playing herself, an heiress actress,battling tabloid rumors (from anorexia to plastic surgery) and rumors of nepotism that seem to hamper her career. Her mother will be played by the lovely Loni Anderson who I am excited to see return to TV.

The crap Burt Reynold put her through must have taken years and years of Botox to erase. Welcome back Miss Loni!

Last night Britney Spears made her appearance on Will and Grace. I thought the episode was funny, the writing was fierece and Mrs. Federline looked fat. I know she just had a baby. But there was not excuse for the fatness. She could have done some of the same things Nicole Richie and I do. She’s just lazy. Knitting pins, Slim T (available at your local GNC) and the good ole fashioned index finger. You have to do the WORK!

On Broadway

Tonight I am going to see Sarah Jones in Bridge and Tunnel. Meryl Streep simply raves about her. I’ll give you my thoughts on the show later.

Also, James Earl Jones is in rehearsals to play Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall one-man show at the Westport Playhouse.

On the Street

Gwyneth Paltrow was spotted downing a can of Guinness on Tuesday evening while at the lower East Side sushi bar Cube 63 in NYC. That may not seem like its important buy Paltrow is more than a few months pregnant with the follow-up child to Apple (the 1st born). It has been reported that some doctors are saying a little Guinness won’t hurt the baby but dang. She should save all the drinking for after the birth during the baby-naming process….like the last time.

Sexy gay divorcee-to-be Jessica Simpson has plans to adopt a baby. Simpson has been having a hard time with the press as of late with papperazzi publishing bad photos and detailed (sometimes fictional) accounts of her sexual exploits without her husband Nick Lachey. But the plans to become a mother should do wonders for her career. But I’m sure no one at her PR firm thought of that. In between bed-hopping, bar-hopping, and Pizza Hut tart-popping and meetings with lawyers to keep Nick from getting his hands on her money, its only natural that maternal instinct would kick in.

A blind item courtesy of the NY Daily Post:

Which female half of a soon-to-be ex-couple has been charging up a storm on her husband's credit card? We're talking a three-month spending spree including jewelry and a staggering $12,000 in one visit to NYC beauty salon J. Sisters.

My guess:

Burning R.Kelly at the stake! For Teena, Ronald and Charlie

2006-02-19T22:30:00.000-08:00

sippin on the new Marble Mocha Macchiato from Starbucks

Mood: You will have to excuse me but I am having a very "authentic" moment. Questioning what is real and natural. Vivica Fox. Good and pure. R. Kelly's conscience. Untouched and uncompromised. John Legend and his girl. Wild and peaceful. Me and my new friend. In this moment I am experiencing my authentic self. The young boy I had often tried to leave behind. Frolicking in a vast field of grazing grass and wild bushes. Playing with lego blocks all alone. Building a world he could control and conquer. Only to get bored by it all.

Mode: I feel good. I feel at peace. A sense of innocence has come over me sending visions of Raven Symone and Reece Witherspoon running softly through my mind. Fragile. Youthful. Fresh.

I put on a pair of fitted grey slacks I picked up at a thrift store. They cost me all of $1. I accent then with a lovely leather belt. Pulled to the last hole. Me 28-inch waist now a 26. With my tummy deprived of any air, the pants fit me like a glove. Elongating my legs. Cinched underneath my torso. I complete the ensemble with a pink top. A cute v-neck sweater quite pastel. Because nothing says innocence like a man invoking the same primary colors as Paris Hilton.

Melody: “Love and Tears” by Naomi Campbell. “I want to know how to separate love and tears.” I was walking around my room attempting to organize it in such a way that B. Smith wouldn’t mind sitting on my bed to share a joke. Or discuss recipes. I popped in a CD given to me by some former neighbors I sometimes tried to avoid. Living in New York is all about interacting with people you normally would not talk to. Like watching Lisa Loeb’s new show”#1 Single.” Who knew the geeky girl in Batman glasses was so much fun?

You are force to live and experience the lives of strangers. You see their packages. Sometimes delivered to your home. You run into their one-night stands in the elevator. And try to avoid eye contact. You hear their arguments. See their frustration. And when they move out of the building shortly after the 15th. Late at night with a U-Haul. You feel the pain.

But my upstairs neighbors and I shared a love of music. All kinds. Teena Marie. Prince. Chaka Khan. Salt-n-Pepa. Push it real good. Wonderful eclectic music.

There was Katrina. An aging white girl in her 30s with teeth stained from coffee, cigarettes and a few years of drug abuse. Now in recovery, much like Lindsay Lohan. There was Julio, a young Hispanic fellow with teeth the size of Chiclets. He was quiet and demure. And could not hold his liquor. Or his weed. Many nights I stepped over him to get home. And there was Mark. A white man in his 30s who rounded out the group. He threw alcohol-infused socials that he always invited me to.

Once day he gave me a cd. A little mix. Nothing special. Some tunes for the Ipod. Uptown, downtown, lounging music. Perfect for me. And one day at home by myself I put on the cd and across my speakers came a frail voice. One singing about pain and love and hopelessness and longing for someone. The voice was raw and organic. There was no machine trickery. No overdubs. No background singer secretly handling the leads. It was authentic. It was pure. I threw down the vacuum and rushed over to my ibook needing to know who was this woman. Singing my song. The lyric. The verse. All my feelings and emotions reduced to three minutes abstract beats, rhythms and movement.

And right underneath my screen saver with the lime-green neon light show was the name Naomi Campbell (my spiritual big sister). A track from her hit Japanese album “Babywoman.” I put the song on repeat and Naomi and I went through it TOGETHER.

I imagine her walking through some villa in Italy in the winter. Wearing a Versace gown (post-death) designed by Donatella and a long matching white mink coat. On her cellular. Screaming to the top of her lungs at some Italian businessman who is ignoring her pleas. She threatens him. “You be here by 11pm or you will never hold me again.” She slams down the phone and runs into the bathroom. Sits on the floor. She takes a bottle of white pills. One by one. A cry for help. Understanding. Or maybe just attention. But a cry nonetheless. She runs to the bathroom and slams the door. Locking it behind her. She yells at Juan Carlo to never call her again. The phone is off. She thinks about ending it all. He’ll miss her then. She closes her eyes and says “I want to know how to separate love and tears.”

Are they one and the same. Could you have one and not the other. I looked over at the mirror. And I thought about Phyllis Hyman.

Munchies: I am running on fumes. I literally leaped out of bed and was dressed in 15mins. A moment of quick and dirty inspiration. Time for a quick bite. I can’t stop thinking about the two steaks I have been marinating for two days. In jerk seasonings. They will be spicy. And tender. And well-done. Served with a side of fresh vegetables. And a stack of loaded whipped mashed potatoes. I am going to open a bottle of merlot I have been saving for a proper occasion. Inhale the anti-oxidants. Nice dinners like this allow me to think. And contemplate.

This led to me rushing off to the bathroom, slamming the door and bursting into tears over an unreturned phone call. Much like Lindsay Lohan in the “Daughter the Father” video. The Robert Cavalli gown replaced by Ben Sherman soho fit shirt and dark blue GAP denim.

Motif: Should this generation have the power to influence our predecessors?

R.Kelly Must be Stopped!
FOR TEENA, CHARLIE AND RONALD

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was eight years old. Watching Donnie Simpson on Video Soul. Me in my blue flannel pajamas and grey leather slippers. I would sit in front of the TV and mimic the dance moves of each video…that interested me. And then there was Stephanie Mills in a black catsuit and bone straight wig doing the cabbage patch and not wanting to be rushed. With Diana Ross in a wife beater with ripped jeans and a long weave working overtime. And Patti Labelle in concert doing the bankhead bounce as Big Daddy Kane rapped.

I wondered if these artists were chameleons. Changing forms and shapes with the times by their own omission. Or were they being control and manipulated by something bigger than you and I.
I thought about this. At the age of 8. And somehow, I still don’t have any answers. And the cycle keeps spinning.

What is the mark of a truly authentic artist?

A talent untouched by the marketing department of a corporate conglomerate? Unphased by interest groups and consulting firms saying “This is what sells.” “Trust me if you want to go platinum.”

A person sheltered from the cruel and sometimes vicious opinions of tabloids and bloggers. An artist walking in her or her own truth and authenticity. Unbought and unbossed.

I will never forget the first time I heard “Keep it on the Down Low” by R. Kelly. It was boring, uninventive and not very creative. But then, he put out the remix. We were introduced to Mr. Biggs. A greasy old man in a suit fresh from the mall on the predominately colored side of town where you could pick out a matching hat, handkerchief, tie, belt and cane to match your suit all for $99. $89 if its two weeks to Easter.

And I was into it. The song. The video. With Garcelle Beauvais looking stunning.
I bought into it. The whole mess of it all. And so did Ronald Isley.

R.Kelly made a few follow-up videos which I thought were creative. You have to admit, no one flips a remix like Mr. R. Kelly. Then I went to see the Isley Brothers in New Orleans (pre-Katrina) at the Essence Music Fest. I wanted to go on a Voyage to Atlantis. It’s back to you my dear. Hello it’s me. Please don’t change. I want to be living for the love of you. As I hear those footsteps in the dark. You are such a choosey lover. I’m so glad you chose me. Let’s lay together and make a harvest for the world.

It was July 4th in New Orleans and I could smell the summer breeze as Sinbad exited the stage. Then Mr. Biggs came out. Not Ronald Isley. It was the greasy man from the video. With a cane. A zoot suit. And two scantly clad women young enough to be his great granddaughters.
I was confused. Nearly 30 years in the music business and a marriage to the iconic Angela Winbush and this is who you become?

And just two weeks ago I was at home. In my room. Just relaxing. Watching the music channel on the TV since its already paid for. May as well partake of the musical selections. Besides, the classic R&B channel on Time Warner is not to be slept on.

They put you slap in the middle of the funk. Alicia Myers. Womack and Womack. Rufus. Minnie Ripperton. The Gap Band. When they sung a song, you knew it was the truth. It was authentic. If Millie Jackson said she was “Caught Up” with a married man, you believed her. When Roy Ayers sang about the sunshine and living in Brooklyn, you knew it was coming from a special place.

The Gap Band. Outstanding. Girl you knock me out.

From the vocals to the instruments. Even the horn section was speaking the truth. So what happened to Charlie Wilson? I swear I saw him on BET and I nearly had a “Depends” moment. Sitting in a chair. Age 79. Was Charlie Wilson. With cornrows. A big belt buckle. A tight white t-shirt. Several platinum chains. A few rings. And a smirk on his face looking at the camera.
Again. I was confused. You make it through segregation, the Civil Rights Movement, the Black Panther Movement, the Sexual Revolution, the Crack Epidemic, the Cold War and the war in the Gulf…and open your eyes at the ripe age of 87 and you let someone tell you “This is what sells?”

What was going through Charlie Wilson’s head as Keisha Cole put those cornrows in his head? And those platinum chains. And the belt. And then I had an “Aha” moment. Like in this month’s Oprah. It was revealed, by BET’s 106 and Park, that R. Kelly co-produced some of the album. That explains it all.

R. Kelly is the real problem facing black America. He corrupts the youth. Seduces fatherless underage girls. And I guess it isn’t good enough that he has corrupted modern day R&B. Now he is reaching back and screwing with the classics by attacking our iconic legend. Convincing them they are young and sexy. AND THEY AREN’T.

At no point should a man over 40…ok…35…by rocking ANY trend rocked by his sons and daughters. Charlie Wilson sitting up there looking like Chris Brown’s great-grandfather. It was sad.

Is he that hard up for money that he does whatever his record label tells him? I guess that is a story and a truth only he can tell.

LA DONA

And then Teena Marie went down to New Orleans and let Mannie Fresh get at her. I loved “Still in Love.” Any song that blends Lady Tee with Al Green has to be special. But seriously. The bra top. The chain. The hat. I know Teena is gangsta. I mean she probably did lines in the bathroom with Rick James. So she has street cred. But why the album cover?

I do not want my R&B icons compromising to make a dollar. Mixing it up in the dirty rappers. Hiring gay stylists to get them clothes from Soho. Posing for CD pics in tricked out limos. Sleeping with young broke starlets to validate their fading sex appeal.

It’s all a bit pathetic. And quite sad. To have the talent. And the drive. Yet compromise yourself.

Maybe Charlie Wilson likes looking like a dried up recently released ex-con. And maybe Ronald Isley thinks being a Viagra-popping overweight granddaddy is really appealing to his 26-year-old wife. I don’t know this.

All I know is that we need to lock Gladys Knight up in a padded room and only allow Quincy Jones and Clive Davis to speak to her because she is the only “untouched” icon. The others have been corrupted. And I am afraid for the future. I swear if Dionne Warwick ever records a song that has a rap interlude I am going to slit the veins in my leg, Lindsay Lohan style.

I hold my icons to a higher standard. Because who else can I turn to when I am alone in my room. And no one understands me. Except Teena Marie. I would like to imagine she is not somewhere suffering from an identity crisis and money problems. As that would affect my ability to take her advice from the Irons in the Fire album.

I just want my icons to be true to themselves. Until the bitter end.

It makes me wonder will I ever be free. Free to make my own decisions. To be my authentic self without compromising my integrity, career or art. I want to move to a space where our artists and cultural historians can feel free to express themselves without repression. God knows the world makes us mortals do that enough.

I want Issac Hayes with a bald head, draped in silver chains and impregnating a myriad of groupies as a form of social protest against the treatment of Black men. I want Phyliss Hyman on stage singing songs of heartbreak and despairs; not afraid to show us that she felt fat, alone, lonely and that this was the end. I want Parliament. And all of its members sucking on pacifiers and walking around in diapers reminding us that we are all stuck in the oral and anal stages. Just like Freud said. I want Chaka Khan in front of a funky band high and lifted singing about a Sweet Thing before passing out backstage and going home to one of her white husbands…Diana Ross style. I want Shirley Murdock singing about some woman’s husband that she is screwing before flipping the script and singing a gospel number to cleanse her soul. Give me Teena Marie at the piano banging out “Cassonova Brown” about falling in love with a popular playboy who could never love “just you. “

I want the truth in my music. We get enough of the BS and lies and political spins through our other sources of communication. Please don’t touch my melodies.

I want the truth. Fresh and funky. It should be your truth. Your experiences. Your idea for your image. Your idea for the artwork and production. Your heart. Your soul. Your experience.
If after a century of gospel, jazz, blues and soul all the recording industry can give me are repressed homosexuals signing songs to females they haven’t dated since high school or hyper masculine post-prison thugs denying their pasts through the objectification of women, I’m just not interested.

GRAMMY CommenTERRY

2006-02-13T00:34:00.000-08:00

Having a double expresso...and you?

Mood: Bleak and hopeful. Vulnerable and brave. If the academy could turn its back on Mariah after such a glorious year, I shutter to think about what heights I may be denied when I make my comeback this year as an extra on UPN's "All of Us." Oh wait, did they cancel that? Comeback or not, you know it's all about finding yourself and being true to that authenticity. That inner being. Letting that self go. Coming out. A second time for some of you. Setting that spirit free. Emancipation. The glittery side of things. The sparkle and the dazzle. Even when others turn their backs to your light, you just have to put your finger in your ear and fly like a bird. And make sure you stand with your right leg out, breasts perched and extensions flowing. Above those who chained you. Imprisoned you. Denied you. It's about walking tall. Standing within yourself. Standing with yourself. Standing for yourself. Sometimes I feel vulnerable. Yes. Sometimes I feel afraid. Yes. But I stand on the shoulders of those who came before me. I draw strength from their strength. If Michelle could walk on stage in front of millions around the world and not feel the need to explain or validate that wig, surely I can walk tall down 7th avenue.

Mode: Today: In effect mode. In honor of fashion week. Mid-evening relaxation. Uptown vibration. Flat-front chocolate brown slacks. Original print Burberry shirt. Leather ankle boots in brown with peach stripe. Tomorrow: I'm busting out my vintage green and black trench coat with the feathers. Take that Naomi Campbell and Heatherette!

Melody: "You Make me Feel (Mighty Real)" by Sandra Bernhard with much respect to Sylvester. Disco lights/Late sweat-drenched nights. You me and a song/Embraced and p-popping all night long. A beautiful stranger so surreal/Your lips and the Hennessey make me feel mighty real.

Munchies: I had dinner at the China Grill in the CBS building. I ordered the calamari salad for dinner and I finished off with a cup of cappuccino and a slice of Kaluha cheesecake. I was sitting there. Engaged in a deep thought. And all of a sudden. From the speaker system hidden behind the backlit bar. Came a Bonnie Pointer song. Fresh from going solo. Through the air pumped "Heaven Must Have Sent you." Bonnie left her sisters to go solo. She had bigger plans for herself. She walked tall. Just like Michelle. Except she kept her hair snatched back. Just giving face.

Musings for the day: How many U2 songs can you name of the top of your head? Had you even heard the song the Academy claims was the best of the year? Did it touch you in a special place like "We Belong Together." Did it make you run to the dance floor and push a chick out the way like "Hollaback Girl." Did it make you question your baby momma's validity and purpose in the earth like "Gold Digger?" Hmm. Me either.

An evening of rewards and stars

The 2006 Grammy Awards telecast one of the best awards shows since the 2005 BET Awards. The performances were near perfection. Kanye and his chest hair. Mariah and her “natural” breast and sculptured jawline. Madonna and her animated legs. Sly Stoned. Kelly Clarkson channeling Rosemary Clooney. Christina as the latin Billie Holiday. Yolanda Adams singing the devil's music. No host to guide us. Comfort us. Explain to us Michelle Williams hair. I was at times lost. But Mariah got me found. She saved me and Teri Hatcher.

The show began with uber-icon Madonna. With legs of steel she literally gave a kick-butt performance. Her work ethic regarding album promotion aka self-promotion and her workout routine has been putting a strain on poor Guy Ritchie. And that wedding ring not matching her Jean-Paul Gaultier leotard was also problematic. Is her figure worth losing her family and marriage? Absolutely. I would cut all ties with my family for great pecs and abs. And looking at Madonna's legs, I am sure when she saw her own reflection on the set of the "Hung Up" video she had no regrets about leaving Guy and those children back at the English Manor with the three nannies.

You know Mariah wanted to open the show. But so did Madonna. She told producers that either she opened or she wouldn't perform. And we see who won. Sadly, it would only be Mariah's first loss of the evening.

Kelly Clarkson was the Grammy's princess. She walked the red carpet in a tightly-fitted black ball gown. Black chiffon and velvet was the feel. She was gorgeous. For her performance of "Breakaway" she wore a Rosemary-Clooney like gown that her grandmother stitched together in Fort Worth, TX last week. Granny obviously has cataracts. As does Kelly’s stylist.

SIDEBAR: How did Christian Milian get on the red carpet? Shouldn't she have been sitting in the third-balcony screaming at Ciara for stealing any piece of a career she had a chance at? Oh, Amerie was at the Grammys too. Do we care? Ok. Let’s move on.

Mariah Carey opened her performance with We Belong Together…again. No matter how many times I hear this song, it’s just as good as the first time. I believe that is the mark of a really good song. It is timeless. They could play that song at my wedding, baptism and rededication and it would still resonate the same power. She was wearing a beige gown. And the breasts were perched…for a tune-up. Some more caustic commentators have said that Mariah’s breasts seemed uneven. I did not notice this. Perhaps it was hidden from my viewpoint because of the lovely wet and wavy extensions Mariah had sewn into her scalp for the evening’s performance. Oh Mariah. Half naked with a weave and too much makeup. You can take the girl out of the Bronx but…

As We Belong Together began to play…and as her background dancers lip synced their verses to perfection, Mariah began to sing. But something was not quite right. She was shaken. Stirred. Vocals were on the rocks. Perhaps the nasty looks Madonna was throwing her from the first row had her shaken. She went to hit the end note. The one that should have gotten her a standing ovation. But the fermata ended much too soon. She missed it and it was painfully obvious. I sat at the end of the couch. Rocking. Afraid. Confused. I started praying to the gods. To Minnie. Phyllis. Gwen. Nina. Etta. Billie. Jackee Washington. Then the lights went down. And quickly came back up to reveal a minister. I was instantly afraid. Was someone about to get molested?

But much to my surprise…the band began to play “Fly Like a Bird.” Or maybe it was a “backing” track. Nevertheless, the music went on. And then I found myself shaken and stirred. Can Mariah pull this song off live? I asked myself. I fell off the couch and found myself sitting on the floor directly in front of the TV. So close that I could feel the waves traveling through my face and onto the carpeted floor. Then I shocked myself. Mariah pulled it together. She put her finger in her ear and started singing to the gods. The voice returns. Soaring . Screaming. Screeching (but in tune, unlike Mary J Blige…more on that later). She sent the children to church. The sinners. The saints. The scientologists. For a split second, everyone knew Jesus.

Then Mary performed with U2. Yawn. Mary was screaming to the gods…but not in key. But we all know the score here. Due to great marketing and PR, we have been convinced that when Mary screams off-key it’s a good thing because it means she is singing with emotion. So let’s just say I haven’t heard Mary sound that emotional since her live album: The Tour. And that album was jam-packed with emotion.

John Legend performed. In black and white. At a piano. Ordinary people. And you know I would never say anything negative about him. BUT, my friend Bobby says that John sings so close to the mic that is looks like he is deepthroating it. Performing fellatio. I would never say anything like that. Shame on Bobby. But I did tell Bobby I think practice makes perfect. And John looks like he could sing to the gods.

Kanye and Jaime Foxx performed Gold Digger set against the backdrop of a battle of the bands. So very southern. So very Black. So very well done. It was such a throwback to going to a historically black college that you could not help but love it. The performance was total perfection. Everything from the band into to the breakdown were the “gold diggers” got into a stepping competition against broke-phi-broke. WE AINT GOT IT. Jaime’s singing was on par.

SIDEBAR: During one of Kanye’s televised acceptance speeches, he read from card that had “Thank you list “ on the back. Or maybe it said “I told you so” or “Please shave chest hair.” Nevertheless, the joke did not translate. I like Kanye a lot. Respect his music. Love the swagger. But his brand of sarcasm doesn’t translate or seem congruent with the swagger. I love his snotty better than-thou attitude. It comes across well on wax and during carefully selected/edited interview snippets. But, he’s not too entertaining long-form is he? Ever seen him get interviewed? I don’t necessarily find myself laughing. Intrigued. Or interested. He should withdraw any public attempts at humor. Like Michelle Kwan at the Olympics. Not winning any gold in the category.

There was a tribute to Sly and the Family Stone. And Sly was stoned in the name. He rushed off stage to get back to his pipe. Or straw. Or syringe. Or dutch. Whatever he was rushing to it must have been good cause he performed all of 30 seconds. And I personally though Christina Aguilera and Herbie Hancock was excellent. In sum, the Grammy performances were excellent. Grammy choice of winners…a mess.

In my eyes the song and record of year, along with the album of the year, should be something that touches the masses. Like a Catholic priest. Not something that resonates with a very specific audience. U2. Really? I went to racially integrated college…actually, I went to a racially integrated HBCU, so I know all about U2, Ani Difranco and all those other eclectic musicians and stuff who will never get played on black radio. But seriously…why not Mariah?

MEMO to Mariah: Let’s not let this happen to us next year. Where did we go wrong? You have no one to blame but yourself. You are too selfish and self-absorbed. You and Benny Medina need to take a page out of the U2 handbook and go over to Rwanda and rescue some kids. And then go someplace where there are roadside bombs and landmines and call a press conference like Angelina Jolie. Then go to China and adopted a mixed raced baby like Meg Ryan. Then release Fly Like a Bird as a single and donate proceeds to an AIDS center in South Africa. It is about humanitarian work Mariah. That is why U2 beat you sweetie. What have you done all year besides go from city to city in short skirts looking like a confused pin-up? Have you bequeath anything to the nation? Angelina Jolie came in the game stole Jen’s husband, destroyed a family, got pregnant out of wedlock and adopted a black baby for her and her white husband and is still America’s sweetheart. Why? Because she cares. I want you to win the big prize next year, but you gonna have to give back to the nation. No one likes a self-absorbed celebrity. My bad…it works for Paris Hilton but you are no Paris Hilton sweetie. I’ve seen your catwalk.

My last comment of the night. When Michelle Williams of Destiny’s Child hit the stage, didn’t you start singing Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know?”

So nice of her to pay tribute. But Michelle, when Whitney did it…it was cute. Not on you boo boo. Your face is too big.

Musings about Daisy, life, validation and Child Stars of the 80s

2006-01-24T19:50:00.000-08:00

Mood: “Feelin good” Nina Simone has me going through some emotions today.

Mode: Dark seven jeans. A horizontally-stripped shirt that is blue, red and orange. Brown Kenneth Cole boots. Music: “Don’t Explain” by Nina Simone Hush now, don’t explain/Just say you’ll remain/Unless you’re mad, don’t explain/My love, don’t explain/What is there to gain/Skip that lipstick/Don’t explain/You know that I love you/And what loving does/All my thoughts are real/For I’m so completely yours

I put the record on and it took me right on through. About a lover who reappears. Nina was heartbroken. Hurt. Sad. But pleased. Happy he returned. Not interested in explanations. Just wanting the love. I played it three times. Then I cut of the lights. And I listened intensely. And I thought to myself. Maybe she is not singing to a lover. Sometimes we loose ourselves. The person who once were. The innocence we once had. Sometimes we need to return to ourselves. Just then a glimmer of myself flashed before my eyes. I remembered myself at 19. At 20. At 21. Before heartbreak. Before I knew real pain. Before I knew dishonesty. You know I think we never really loose that person. In spite of the abuse, the torture, the emotional drain. The push and the pull. He’s always in there. I felt him come back. Through Nina. I saw him. I felt him. I don’t know where he was. Or why he ever left me. And I choose not to ask. I am just happy he is back.

Munchies: I baked a Chicken, broccoli and rice casserole today. A special recipe my mom taught me that makes ours a bit meaty, hearty and healthy. It’s a real man’s meal. I ate it with Ritz crackers and I indulged in a glass of white wine. You know it’s good for the heart.

Motif: What nationality should your first-born be? I have recently learned that Meg Ryan is adopting a Chinese baby after having met the girl at a U.S. consulate in China. And with Angelina adopting from Ethiopia and Cambodia it seems the new “in” thing is a child from a nationality not of your own. And I love to be trendy. I am already online plotting. I was going through my closet today looking at all my hues and shades of brown and amber and then it hit me, I must adopt from an ethnicity that will match Ben Sherman’s Fall 2010 collection (the year I’ll be ready to adopt). The child must have red-undertones in his/her skin and should look good placed on my right hip when contrasted with my red Jack Spade bag. I can see me and my mixed raced baby now. Comparing and contrasting backgrounds and beliefs. Walking down the Avenue of the Americas (aka 6th ave). Me the Black writer. And my lovely Cablanasian child. She in a headwrap with hair freshly braided. Me dressed like a Samurai warrior. I can see the cover of VOGUE Magazine now. “Are babies the new accessory?” Me and La’Quinthia (I am going to give her a stereotypical name).

MISERY, THE BLOG, AND LIFE AND TIMES IN NYC

I have been called out today. A good friend of mine name Sparkle took me to task about my blogging drought (she is married to Andre 3000 in her head and we often go out on double dates – her/Andre with me/Nicole Richie). She told me “Don’t make me pull a MISERY on you.” So before you start pulling out the hammer and the wooden block, let me catch you up on the city. And the tiger.

You know you can really get lost in this city. Manhattan is only 12 square miles long but it is dense, intense and requires resilience. You have to be able to shake and bake, as Texas Tiger Sr. used to tell me. You meet people. Diversity is what I would call it. And not just amongst race and religion and creed. That is to be expected. But in New York you are separated and judged accordingly based on your pedigree (inherited and earned). Where you work. What position you play. Where you went to school. How much money you come from. Whether you summer in the Hamptons. Where you live. Is your beauty natural or altered (inner and outer).

And the questions go on. And on. Like the R. Kelly “In the Closet” series. Along the continun It becomes a bit grueling to endure. And the underlying and sometimes forebearing justification for all of this is summed up by the recently cancelled ABC series: The reasons why not.

New Yorkers search for reasons why not to have you in their social circle. Why not to date you. Why not to acknowledge your existence. Why not to validate you.

You know the whole “I don’t judge people” statement carries about as much weight as the Golden Globes/Academy Awards/Grammy statement “It’s just an honor to be nominated.”

Tell that to Susan Lucci.

We do judge. Some more than others. Some reasons valid. Others not.

There is a young lady in my building who says hello to me and I always nod back graciously. But I won’t allow her in my space because she has a certain energy about her. It may be drugs. It may be a seedy crime-induced lifestyle that includes gangbangers and greasy rappers. Or it may just be she is a Scientologist. Either way. I am not interested. And sometimes I feel bad about it. Then I think back to certain individuals I wish I would have NEVER allowed into my social circle and say to myself sthat the negative energy I feel from her is probably valid….so I keep it moving.

But I do not often like the high school like atmosphere of this thing we call life. We still have the outcasts, the trendy kids on the cusp, peppy bright-eyed cheer leaders, hypermasculine athletes, the uber-artists, and student council control freaks. They just each pick different career paths and we go on perpetuating the same insecurities that drove many of YOU (not me, of course) to drugs, premature sex, and underage drinking.

We replace those same vices with more adult pleasures like porn, gambling, backstabbing, career-climing and Kabbalah. And for what? So one day we can open our eyes in a hospital room and wonder what it was all for?

Is that all there is to this thing call life? Get as much as you can until you die?

Maybe it is. Perhaps. I only know so much at this point.

What I do know is that I did meet some great people in high school. And in my life I have been able to recreate some of those people.

DAISY'S WINTER WONDERLAND

There’s Daisy. She really is a flower. She blossoms. She blooms. And in some reversal of mother nature, I feel as though she waters me. And gives me nourishment.

So when I got an evite to celebrate her birthday I cleared my calendar. I was so excited that I mistakenly showed up to Flute (on East 23rd) a FULL week ahead of schedule. Evite and it’s small print!

But Thursday, I pick the right day and time. Daisy is so uber-known in New York her party even made a New York website with TWO pictures of the Texas Tiger AND one on the FIRST page!

The joint (FLUTE) was classy. What else would you expect from Miss Daisy. Her friends were all gorgeous in that New York way.

Fresh weaves. Hot hand bags. Glamourous labels. Noses slightly askew and lifted. Attitudes elevated. Men giving poses that say “yes, I am beautiful AND heterosexual.” Some believable.

Pasted smiles that were reminiscent of that Chaka Khan classic “Hollywood.” Men avoiding eye contact with each other. Pretty girls cloistered in enclosed and impenetrable circles amongst reflections of themselves. And the trendy white people who bring their own unique flavor to the trendy blacks parties.

It was one of those nights for me. A little bit of “Oh my god. I live in New York.” And a little bit of “Oh my god. Its like being back in the high school.”

I wasn’t unpopular in high school so I know how to navigate the sharky water but still…can we have one night where everyone acts like they have just popped an E-pill? Love. Angel. Music. Baby?

And then there was Daisy. So refreshing. So happy. And I had the pleasure of making a personal greeting for her birthday tape. Much like the homage I am subconsciously writing for
her know.

HONORING YOUR INNER CIRCLE THROUGH VALIDATION

I think for 2006 you should honor your friends. I think about the great people I know and I wonder do they know how much I appreciate them. Because I know some great people. Who have been there for me and who I know I can rely on. And since I have had friends lie to me, use me, sleep with people I am dating or just act out their jealousy in a number of subliminal exercises…I know the value of have good people in your life. And Daisy is like that.

That is why I like to call the people in my inner circle and say thank you. Sometimes I really say thank you for being a friend. Other times I just call for no reason and listen to them ramble. That’s also a way to show appreciation. I am so grateful to the people in my life who listen to me talk endlessly about Star Jones and Nicole Richie because I need that. I mean who else will listen to me if not my friends.

By that way, I had lunch with someone last week and I was going on and on about Star Jones and he stopped me and told me I was annoying him. At that moment I took the compass on my inner circle down from 90 degrees to 15 degrees, and sadly his point on the graph was excluded.

We need validation. We are social beings and we want to know that we exist to others. For me and Star Jones, it’s not just talking about her but it is what the whole Star Jones persona represents to me (which you will learn about in my tribute).

At that particular moment, I did not feel validated. Sure, you can get tired of my talking but if you are my friend, perhaps he could have asked “what does this Star Jones woman represent for you that you need to talk about it so much?” Rather than just telling me to shut up.
I try to validate my friends. That is what the intimacy of friendship is about. Understanding. Hearing. Sharing. Without that…what is the point?

I can get ignored by strangers on the street. No need to waste my time going dutch with you on shrimp and lobster.

If I need to clear my list of conversation topics with you, it’s a lunch I can skip. I’d rather eat alone.

Would have been more interesting company.

CommeTerry on all you need to know.

First Mary Kate battles bulimia (all the while looking fabulous I might add) Then Jamie Foxworth goes on Oprah to denounce her porn past while Leif Garrett gets caught on a heroin bust. AND NOW Jodie Sweetin (of Full House) is addicted to crystal meth. What are we doing to the child stars of American TV?

I am going to tell you right now, as God is my witness, if any crazy tabloid-esque drama ever pops off with Raven-Symone of the Cosby Show I am going to write the Bush administration and show them how a simple google-search of “child star” links to tons of drug induced porn sites and then I will lobby Congress with corporate sponsorship from Planned Parenthood and the Conservative Families of America to make sure child actors are banned from sitcoms. They are destroying America! We will see how Hollywood responds once I get Bill O’Reilly and Rush Limbaugh on their backs.

SIDEBAR: Don’t you wonder why pretty girls do porn? I mean I don’t think guys will want to see unpretty girls doing naughty things but Jaime IS beautiful. Did you see her on Oprah? I mean, she could have become a high-priced call girl of something. But porn? And she has the nice cocoa skin and long “good “ hair, she could have at least pulled a rapper. But that is what happens when you don’t love yourself. She needs to be like me and read Shine: A physical, emotional and spiritual journey to finding love by Star Jones Reynolds. Before you do porn, at least try do a C-list rapper.

A shout-out to my Texas Idol Liz Smith. I lifted this from her column today and I think she sums up the whole Hilary Clinton debacle quite famously:

'IDEAS MOVE rapidly when their time comes," wrote author Carolyn Heil brun. It's odd that Sen. Hillary Clinton's "plantation comment" caused everybody to get into such a lather. If you read the entire statement she made, it's clear she was talking about the problem of one-party rule, nothing whatsoever to do with race. (But because she had a largely black audience, she was misconstrued.)

She said, "When you look at the way the House of Representatives has been run, it has been run like a plantation, and you know what I'm talking about. It has been run in a way so that nobody with a contrary view has a chance to present legislation, to make an argument, to be heard."
The New York senator said this same thing about a year ago on CNN, and nobody flinched. And the Republicans' Newt Gingrich said something similar when the Democrats controlled Congress.

At the time he complained: "Since they (the Democrats) think it is their job to run the plantation, it shocks them that I'm actually willing to lead the slave rebellion."
So both these polarizing politicians were remarking from their own positions that it is never a good thing when one party controls everything.

Republicans who are in a snit over Hillary's remark were very quiet when their man Newt said the same thing some years ago.

Goggle won’t get in bed with Bush

Google is standing firm, refusing to give in to the Bush administration insistence that the No. 1 Internet search engine allow government to do some searches of its own in regard to downloading porn. But you should all know that Yahoo and AOL already gave in to Bush. Damn you! From now on I would suggest you search for porn on google or away from home (like at work) just to be safe. Luckily I am not worried about porn searches, however, I have no desire to explain to anyone why I spent 4 hours googling fansites for the 1980s TV series Dynasty. It’s my own personal pleasure and I will not stand for ridicule. And FYI – I will be devoting a full day of coverage to a Dynasty tribute very soon.

VENGEFUL VIXEN

OH, no, she didn't! How's this for B-list logic: Britney Spears stole away Shar Jackson's babies' daddy, Kevin Federline, so Jackson has struck back by sleeping with Spears' ex-husband, Jason Alexander. Jackson showed up at the 25th-birthday party for singer Ray J, Brandy's younger brother, in L.A. Saturday night with Spears' redneck ex-hubby in tow. A spy says, "They made out all night before going upstairs to the off-limits bedroom area of the house." The rumpled duo rejoined the party an hour later, we hear - much to the surprise of Brandy and her new beau, Nick Cannon. A rep for Jackson declined comment.

STILL TOO HEAVY

WHAT does Star Jones expect? She writes a book about her stunning 150-pound weight loss, goes on the road to promote it - and then blows her stack when someone asks her how she did it. The formerly porcine princess had it out last week with Steve McCoy, co-host of "The Steve and Vikki Morning Show" on Atlanta's Star 94 FM, when he said he heard she had "the procedure" done in Atlanta, referring to her rumored stomach-stapling. "The fact that you would irresponsibly repeat gossip you have no factual basis for . . . that is categorically incorrect," Jones fumed over the phone. "I'm surprised you would repeat something that is clearly gossip. I don't fall into these games," and hung up. She later called McCoy the "single rudest person who ever interviewed me." Jones' rep insisted, "She did not hang up on the radio station."

BLUE OVER BLACKBERRY GALS

VOGUE editor-at-large Andre Leon Talley is putting his enormous foot down when it comes to the "CrackBerry" addictions of his friends Mariah Carey and Naomi Campbell. Talley complains in February's Vogue that his glamorous gal pals are constantly tapping away on their BlackBerrys, even while dining at fancy restaurants. Detailing a trip to Russia with Campbell and Marc Jacobs in his column, Talley writes, "On this trip, the only out-of-control Naomi Campbell behavior I witnessed was compulsive BlackBerrying. Personally, I find this new BlackBerry culture annoying to the point of exasperation. On several occasions, I have observed other iconic personalities, such as Mariah Carey, forget that while at a formal dinner it is not exactly good manners to drop the BlackBerry into your lap and start e-mailing." Informed of Talley's tsk-tsk-ing, Carey's manager, Benny Medina, told PAGE SIX, "The utilization of this technology is commonplace and it's unusual that he would actually feel the need to single her out. They were just speaking over the phone last week about outfits for the Grammys and stuff . . . I'm sure Andre didn't mean any harm."

A big corporate merger

From Defamer.com - : After some aggressive flirtation, Disney’s Robert Iger and Pixar’s Steve Jobs were finally permitted by their respective boards to succumb to their mutual lust, shed their inhibitions, and fall into Jobs’ rotating, Mickey-shaped waterbed in a tangle of mouse ears and iPod accessories to “complete the transaction.” The two companies have announced that Disney will swallow up longtime hitmaking partner Pixar. and the pair shared a sweet, postcoital cigarette to celebrate the love that once seemed all but snuffed out by a sour break-up with former Disney boss Michael Eisner:

Another Merger

Two small, long-struggling television networks - UPN and The WB - will shut down this fall and programming from both will be used to launch a new network aimed mainly at young and minority viewers.
The new network will be called The CW - "C" for CBS Corp. and "W" for Warner Bros. - each of which will own half of the new entity and contribute programs, assets and executives to the venture.

Britney Baby’s daddy gonna impregnate your ears

The rap debut of Kevin Federline - known as K-Fed to some but to most as Mr. Britney Spears - features only a snippet of his lyrical prowess. Given the response to it, even less might have been better.
"PopoZao," Brazilian-inspired groove which features Federline rapping about large posteriors in-between a few yelps and a gruff-voiced chorus, made its debut on the Internet earlier this month. Though the track is three minutes long and Federline's rap lasts for less than a minute, it has already become a popular music track circulating on the Web. But not in a good way. The track has been getting TERRIBLE reviews but if William Hung and Ashlee Simpson can get hit records, we may be seeing a lot more of K-Fed. I mean, he raps better than Trina.

Kate Moss to appear in London to answer questions

Kate Moss has finally agreed to be questioned by London police in the coming weeks about her alleged cocaine use, but that hasn't stopped her partying. The 32-year-old model celebrated her birthday with a 13-hour bender in Paris on Saturday, reports London's Mirror. Moss started her day drinking at the Ritz, then went to a dinner with a gaggle of model friends, including Naomi Campbell. The group returned to her $1,700-a-night hotel suite at 4 a.m., and were only heard from the next afternoon when she ordered room service …

Is J Lo preggers?

Jennifer Lopez, 36, and Marc Anthony, 37, have been doing "tons of shopping" for baby gear lately, says a source near to the couple. "He was at Fred Segal on Melrose Ave. in Los Angeles last week and bought a Guys Infant Gear diaper bag for $120," a spy tells msnbc.com's Jeannette Walls. "He said something that made it pretty clear that it wasn't a gift." Lopez's rep still insists that she's not expecting.

Race to the Altar – Raise to Judge Mabeline

A trend that may be occurring right beneath your radar is the tendency of moneyed men to call it quits before they're forced to fork over serious sums.

Consider billionaire Ron Perelman, 62, so to split from actress Ellen Barkin, his fourth wife. With five years of marriage under their belts, their prenuptial agreement allots Barkin $20 million in the event of a breakup. But here’s the hitch, she could receive a lot more if she makes it past their preset date which is right around the corner.

But Perelman will have none of that. He has gotten burned before. His third wife, Patricia Duff, "reportedly got $30 million after 17 months of marriage," said a source. "Ellen has been married to him for five years."

Like Perelman, Tom Cruise left Nicole Kidman just one month shy of their 10-year anniversary in 2001. The Hollywood couple didn't have a prenup; instead, under California law, Cruise was required to pay alimony for half of the length of time the marriage lasted. Makes you wonder how long Miss Katie will last doesn’t it? Or maybe we can assume Katie will be able to date a heterosexual man by the times she turns 35. Not that I am saying Tom is a hetero….I’m just sayin.

And Donald Trump de-trumped Marla Maples by filing for divorce just weeks before their fourth anniversary. Had they survived the date, Maples would have netted millions, but walked away with the sum dictated by the couple's original prenup: $2 million and child support for their daughter Tiffany.

Now to be married to a billionaire and only walk away with $2 million, Miss Maples did not seem to have the power of the P. She should have at least been able to throw in a 360 –spin and get iut up to $5 million, right?

Moral of the story – when the due date on your pre-up is around the corner, reach under the bed and pull out a routine your partner didn’t know you knew. My good friend April (shout out to April) always told me “Never show ‘em ALL your tricks.” It’s really good to keep at least 5 secret back spins and leg lifts to yourself – cause you never know.

The return of my TV Idol!

Former Minnesota Viking Ahmad Rashad - who's 56 but looks 10 years younger returns to ABC this Saturday: "NBA Access With Ahmad Rashad," a behind-the-scenes, up-close-and-personal "real-life drama" about the personalities in pro basketball. (The debut episode, at 1 p.m. on Channel 7, features Shaquille O'Neal and Sacramento Kings owners Joe and Gavin Maloof.)

Mr. Rashad, divorced from "Cosby" star Phylicia Rashad, is dating Sale Johnson, the rich ex-wife of billionaire Jets owner Woody Johnson. The couple were introduced by Donald Trump on a golf course.

So for all of you hating on my IDOL cause he has a white girlfriend, how many millions would you be bringng to the table? And it ain’t about money but its not like this is a “typical” story of a rich black man trolling a trailer park for a “come up” wife.

Hi Montel!

One last note: The family of slain rapper Biggie Smalls is still fighting for justice in the unsolved case in which they've accused rogue cops of plotting the murder and coverup.The Brooklyn-born rapper's mom and his widow, R&B singer Faith Evans, may add a civil-racketeering charge to their soon-to-be-filed renewed wrongful death suit against the city and LAPD, one of their lawyers said yesterday.

The family alleges convicted corrupt LAPD cops Rafael Perez and David Mack conspired with Smalls' archrival, Death Row Records honcho Marion (Suge) Knight, to have the rapper killed after a party in March 1997.

TOMORROW……

And please tune in tomorrow night at 8, NBC will air "Jamie Foxx: Unpredictable," a one-hour special featuring musical numbers, including songs from his new CD, plus filmed vignettes highlighting points in his life. During the special he performs songs with Stevie Wonder, Common, Mary J. Blige, Snoop Dogg and the Game.

CommenTERRY - Ray Nagin, Clay Aiken, Golden Globes and SWV are fat

2006-01-18T06:40:00.000-08:00

I'm having decaf. And you?

Mood: Focused. I know where I am going and I know where I have been. And I am still Terry from the block.

Mode: Just some regular low-rise jeans with a grey and red v-neck sweater. I threw on my wool STRUCTURE trench coat and some Banana Republic loafers. I selected a wool grey hat today that matches the shirt as we are anticipating rain today in New York and I’d like to be prepared. And I am rocking glasses. Looking very studious.

Motif: Is God mad at America? (I cannot take credit for this extremely thought-provoking question. The honor goes to New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin, who I am sure will be looking for another job as soon as he is up for election. Sitting at home last night next to the heater as the New York evening was quite chilly, I thought about the series of hurricanes that have plagued the US. And about the mudslides in California. And the mining accident. The disappearance of Nancy Holloway. And how the Golden Globes tragically snubbed Nicollete Sheridan. And I pondered the realization that we might be under attack. When I saw Mayor Nagin on the FOX News Channel speaking with such venom and fire and brimstone about the tragedies of Hurricane Katrina and his plans to restore to New Orleans back to the great chocolate city it once was with the nation’s highest murder rates, dilapidated ghettoes and proliferation of gold teeth it just gave me the chills. I said to myself, this is what Martin Luther King’s dream was about. And for Nagin to give this speech on MLK day, how appropriate.

Munchies: I have been eating a lot of fresh fruit lately. Today I ate a batch of grapes (the whole vine), some watermelon, pineapple and a few orange slices.

Last night my best friend Bobby Brown Jr. honored me with his presence and his visit turned into an impromptu sleepover with us eating pizza and watching American Idol in our PJs. Sometimes I feel like I am the only man in America who wears pajamas as most people I quiz tend to go nude. In Chicago. In New York. In DC. Knowing its 15 degrees outside and you are inside naked just baffles me. I wear PJs in the summer. I also sleep with an electric blanket on my bed cause I like warm my sheets. A cold bed is a pet peeve of mine. I need heat in the summer and fall. Artificial will do, until natural comes along.

The highlight of the evening was when my roommate Claudine came home and gave me and Bobby an impromptu belly-dance. Claudine is very-European and speaks several languages. We often have these very intense conversations at 3:30 in the morning in front of the refrigerator as we both have a love for food and most importantly, we treat ourselves to cupcakes and ice cream in the wee hours of the morning. If I began to tell you about the late nights and early mornings me and Claudine have met in the kitchen to dish the dish on love, life and fantasy over Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies and Baskin & Robbins ice cream you would think I was describing a pilot for a very twisted episode of Will and Grace meets the Golden Girls. But I adore Claudine. All of my friends do. With her accent (which is so trendy in New York) and her fiery personality and talkative nature. She is a voluptuous redhead, very Lindsay Lohan before the Columbian marching powder and her two index fingers got the best of her.

But it was a sight to behold as Claudine strapped on a golden belt full of flittery shingles and noise-makers. In a black halter top with her breasts pushed up and out thanks to a newly purchased trinket from Victoria’s Secret, Claudine gave us a shimmy and a shingle which made me break into an impromptu rendition of that new Negro spiritual “Won’t you come over and check up on it, I’ma let you check up on it, dip it pop it check it stop it, check on me tonight.”

SIDEBAR: I gotta get me a gold shimmy belt. It was VERY cute for about a good 15mins. HOWEVER, 30-mins later I had to tip-toe over to Claudine’s bedroom and ask her to take that damn belt off cause she was starting to wear me out like an Ashanti remix. It’s REALLY hot the first time you hear it. Then once you get into it, you’ll be like, “Um. I pass. Next station on the dial please….”

A few days ago I had the pleasure of seeing John Lithgow in his very last performance in the Broadway musical Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. I accompanied three of my African-American friends and as we entered the theater I looked around and the entire audience (save the four of us) seemed White, Jewish and over 55. And for the first time in the 18 months I have lived in New York, I FINALLY felt like I belonged. These are my people. I began to sing a very mellow rendition of the Broadway show-stopper “Home” to myself (Diana’s version from the Wiz, not Stephanie’s version from the show – cause that is a whole other emotion.).

The show was amazing and I ended the evening by going to the Juan Valdez Café in the center of Times Square where I ordered a chocolate nevado. Let me testify about the chocolate nevado.

First giving reverence to God who is the head of my life. My pastor IV Hilliard in his absence, members, visitors, backsliders, drop-ins and other Christian friends. One day I was walking down Broadway and I noticed a new coffeeshop. Now I have been loyal to Starbucks up until this point so I resisted temptation the first day. But the sprit was heavy on my soul and something spoke to my in a quite voice. It was that same quiet voice that spoke so eloquently to Karen Clark Sheard on “He loves me” as she answered herself over and over again in five octaves. And that little voice told me to go in and order something sweet and chocolate. Usually I fill those kinds of orders in online chat rooms, much like Clay Aiken, but today I wanted a more personal connection. Iesha, my coffee specialist, told me that I would love the nevado after I told her what my heart desired. And let me tell you. It was an experience. It was so chocolaty. So smooth. So rich. So creamy. Like velvet on my throat. I had never experienced anything like it. Well….actually I have but, I didn’t know you could get this feeling from coffee too.

The chocolate nevado runs RINGS around any Mochiatto, Cappucino, or any other –iatto/cino that I had sipped on at the other place. I am now a loyal devotee to Juan.

This is not the first Juan in my life. There was Juan Carlo. I hope this lasts longer.

There has been so much happening. In New York. In LA. In Paris. In all the meccas of life and love and art and culture. It’s time we catch up with our celebrity friends. Our cousins. Those friends we love and hate. We go through their pain. We share their joy. We suffer the breakups, the makeups and the hookups. We are pregnant, we are no longer engaged, we are overcoming bulimia, we are hooking up with African American Oscar-winners, and we are ordering up chocolate trade to satisfy those nights of idol-boredom. In case you missed what was going on in your family, here’s an update:

BLIND ITEM COMMENTERRY
(courtesy pf NY Post’s Page Six)

"WHICH pop-singing sensation likes to troll the Internet for gay quickies? After one unsafe session, his homo hook-up contacted a tabloid to sell his sordid story and offered a DNA-encrusted washcloth as proof. If the truth comes out, the singing idol's fans, mostly middle-aged housewives, will be very upset ."

SIDEBAR: Unsafe sex? Not the non-threatening asexual christian 2006 version of Barry Manilow! You aren’t having sex in Iowa anymore. When you have sex in the city you have two strap on two or three of those things.

Mr. Clive Davis, I saw what you did for Whitney. You took her out of the projects
of New Jersey and convinced the world that she was a bourgeoisie princess when she was really ghetto queen. And we thank you. Now, can you please do another intervention? Take our friend and teach him the lesson that Tevin Campbell didn’t get.

When you are a famous queen, you have to hire HIGH quality trade who won’t sell your secrets. That means NO bathrooms, no parties and NO internet. Isn’t there like a gay Heidi Fleiss out there? I mean, how did Eddie meet Johnny? (Allegedly).

Well one thing is for sure, for any enterprising businessmen out there, there is obviously an untapped market for high quality male trade. Anytime our celebrities have to reach into the dumps of common-folk desperation and troll Craigslist.com for dates…there is a void that MUST be filled. For all of you looking to expand your business portfolios get started! www.smallbusinessloans.com

QUEEN OF HIP-HOP SOUL GETS GULLY WITH PETA

Mary J Blige warns animal activists to leave her coat alone

Soul singer Mary J Blige has warned animal rights campaigners to steer clear of dousing her in paint, because she insists it's her right to wear fur if she wants.

The No More Drama star is a fan of coats made from animal skin and refuses to adhere to the concerns of animal activists, including People For The Ethical Treatment Of Animals (PETA).

She says, "Those PETA people don't want to mess with me, they don't want to throw paint on my coat because it's not just going to be throwing paint. It's going to be Mary in the news the next day, you know what I mean?

"What gives them the right to destroy someone's coat because their opinion is that you shouldn't wear animals? Understand what I'm saying?"

SIDEBAR: We understand loud and clear. Mary J. Blige is NOT Joan Rivers or Anna Wintour. Throw some paint on this chinchilla and the bamboo earrings from the cover of the Breakthrough album are coming off. She will be tying up the long golden weave-braids from the My Life Album. Taking off the white Fendi sunglasses from Share My World. Pulling a razor from underneath the hat that hid her eyes from us on What’s the 411? And then carving a niche in some PETA A$$ to match the scar she bared for us on the MARY album. She told you No More Drama but don’t take a chick back to the hood. Religion will not save you from a good knife fight.

RAIN Pryor follows in Dad’s comedic steps

SHE doesn't have the comedic chops of her legendary dad, but that didn't stop Rain Pryor from trying to crack up the crowd at Caroline's on Broadway last weekend. Richard Pryor's daughter, describing her mixed ethnicity during a surprise set, said her father had a weakness for white women. "It's called WWD," she quipped. "White Women's Disease. My father loved white women. O.J. Simpson loved white women. And Michael Jackson is one." IT doesn't sound possible, but Chanel managed to turn Reese Witherspoon into a fashion victim at the Golden Globes.

Reese Witherspoon SWEARS off Chanel for good!

Witherspoon, who won Best Actress for "Walk the Line," wore a white-and-silver "vintage" Chanel dress - only to find out it was a mere 3 years old and that Kirsten Dunst wore the same frock to Globes after-parties back in 2003. Whoops!

Witherspoon's rep, Nancy Ryder, is said to be so angry at Chanel for giving her a recently recycled gown that she's vowing not to accept anything from Chanel again - or let her other clients, including Jennifer Lopez and Renée Zellweger, wear anything from the French couture house.

Ryder said, "Reese was told the dress was vintage. It was not. I'm not angry - just a little disappointed, but the big deal is Reese won the Golden Globe."

Mizrahi touches the Golden Globes

E! is said to be looking askance at its new red carpet commentator Isaac Mizrahi after he grabbed Teri Hatcher and Scarlett Johansson's breasts and asked Eva Longoria about her bikini wax. "It was odd and uncomfortable," sniffed one TV veteran.

Melissa Rivers likes her goodies

Melissa Rivers, on assignment for the TV Guide Channel, went ga-ga for a Globes goodie bag. Joan Rivers' daughter, who looks like she loves plastic surgery as much as mom does, tried to wheedle a bag, worth up to $60,000, from the staff at the Beverly Hilton. Quipped a wag, "One gift was a $1,000 certificate for plastic surgery - I wonder if that's why she wanted it so badly."

An EVA and a FOXX

Longoria and Jamie Foxx showed up together at CAA's after-party at L.A. hot spot Chaya. But despite Internet reports of them tongue-kissing, Longoria's pals swear it never happened, and that lovely Longoria is still with San Antonio Spur Tony Parker.

But Longoria and Foxx were spotted later at Prince's post-post-Globes party at the pint-size funkster's Beverly Hills mansion. Prince played his guitar to the delight of partygoers while Sheila E. performed with a salsa band. Peter Jackson, Mary J. Blige, Mariah Carey, Sanaa Lathan, Terrence Howard, Chris Rock, Jessica Simpson and Adrian Brody were among the revelers.

INSATIABLE supermodel Kate Moss can't be stopped. Just days after her wild night of pole dancing at Scores with Lindsay Lohan, Moss celebrated her 32nd birthday at her house in Malibu on Monday night - and partygoers report the revelry went well into the wee hours. Guests included oodles of "bad boy" types, but no word if Kate's latest squeeze, model-turned-songwriter Jamie Burke, was there. Moss - whose last boyfriend, junkie rocker Pete Doherty was arrested again this week in London for cocaine and heroin possession - couldn't have been happy when Aussie papers claimed Burke has a live-in girlfriend, model Jessie Leonard.

GAY is the new Black

With "Transamer ica" 's Felicity Huffman getting Best Actress and "Brokeback Mountain" getting Best Picture, get it straight. Gay is in.

OVERHEARD in Beverly Hills.
(courtesy of Cindy Adams)

First gal: "Who has the most thankless job?" Second gal: "The writer of Streisand's Web site editorials. Barbra doesn't do them herself. Just rants her anti-administration ideas, and this other lady whom I know shapes them."

JESSICA Weiner, who kicked an eat ing disorder, has written the slim vol ume, "Do I Look Fat in This?" Now, if you're already not already up to your windpipe reading diet dreck about the vanishing Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, she says:

"Shrinking Hollywoodites, proud they're under 100 pounds, affect celebrity-obsessed teenagers. Kids who don't know the secretary of defense can name every character on 'Desperate Housewives.' Body hatred now impacts over 10 million women who speak a secret language of fat that masks other feelings. Easier to compare the size of their thighs than confront a co-worker, handle a spouse or deal with a mother."

BOBBY WHITNEY. Has the blunt’s flames gone out in their ashtray of love?

Word on the street is that the namesake of Being Bobby Brown has been telling his friends that he and part-time lesbian, Whitney Houston, are putting an end to their 14-year marriage. (SIDEBAR: Lesbian is such a loaded word. And I didn’t use it, the “source” said so.)

The weekend before last, during a visit to the Foxwoods Casino in Mashantucket, Conn., Brown was spotted trying to get his game on with some eager sluts.

"While flirting with a bunch of women, they asked, 'What's up with your wife?' Bobby said, 'We ain't together no more. We're getting a divorce,' " says a witness.

The 90s are back! And they are fat!

New Edition aren't the only R&B artists on the comeback trail: Keith Sweat, Guy and En Vogue also performed at "Body & Soul." Guy announced onstage that they will have a new LP out this year and it looks like En Vogue will be following suit: The Funky Divas performed a brand-new single at the show. For the most part, all of the "Body and Soul" performers look the same as they did a decade ago, and their voices stand the test of time well.

On a related note, SWV were not at "Body & Soul" but have been performing dates with Keith Sweat and Guy. They also have plans to release new material this year: an SWV LP and a solo gospel project from group member Coko.

SIDEBAR: Everybody is selling chunky. SWV are the NEW Clark Sisters.

WHAT IS THE POINT OF THE TEXAS TIGER CHRONICLES?
(summed up by this quote)

'I HATE to spread rumors - but what else can one do with them?" asks performer Amanda Lear.

Happy Birthday Dr. MLK

2006-01-15T16:03:00.000-08:00

Today we celebrate and honor the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and all that he represents. But in honoring Dr. King and making him the face of the entire Civil Rights Movement, we ignore the myriad of contributions that other notable African Americans have made. I would like for each of you to visit a blog called "Thoughts and Reflections of a Black Man in America" as I think Quaheem did a great job expressing his frustration of our collective dismissal of other very important contributors to this continuing struggle. See Quaheem (http://quaheem.blogspot.com/)

Hello Big Apple, Here comes the TEXAS TIGER

2006-01-12T06:41:00.000-08:00

We are trying to redesign the blog to give it a more uptown-downtown feel...hang in there with me......

MY VIEWING PARTY

Mood: I am wildly optimistic. This is a year of fulfillment, gratitude, humility and personal growth. It's time to SHINE. Mentally, physically and emotionally. I wake up with a smile on my face and I thank God for the day and the blessings on my life and I thank him for a productive and fruitful day before it even begins.

Mode: Brown flat-fronted slacks with brown squared toed-shoes. A Ralph Lauren shirt with horizontal stripes with three colors in succession (pink, green and yellow). My top-coat is a vintage button-up suede jacket (the color is camel).

Munchies: Grapefruit, orange slices, three pineapple rings and a strawberry.

Music that started my day: "The Dream that Will Not Die" by Shirley Murdock. Remember the R*B diva who slept around with other women's husbands? (at least in song). Well, much like Kirk Franklin she has been delivered and is now singing the gospel. I think this song is particularly important for people who may be dealing with a health challenge, an emotional set back, a personal failure or a spiritual disconnection. Sometimes I wonder how do you keep your fire, your desire and your passion for your dreams alive. Shirley sings that God put the dreams in your spirit and your dreams will not die because God CANNOT lie. God gave you YOUR dreams and YOUR dreams are the TRUTH. The song continues to get me through life's bruises and cuts. I encourage you to download it. And while you are at it, download "Go on without you" It's one of Murdock's power ballads (likely about some woman's husband). She screams and wails and carries on. Perfect for a breakup. Then you put on the gospel track and heal yourself knowing that your dream for true love will not die.

Motif: Are you ready to walking into your life's anointing and calling?

Friday evening I made a small and quiet entry into New York's social scene as a party host. I have been here in the Big Apple for a little over a year now and I finally feel like New York City is home. When I first set foot here a year ago and I was cursed out by a cab driver, yelled at by a bus driver, screamed at by the deli slicer at Pathmark, accosted by a panhandler on the #6 train who sat next to me and lit his crystal meth pipe, insulted by a man in a gold hat, gold pant and gold boots yelling religious obscenities at me on 125 th street, and not allowed to shop at Hermes during store hours (yea….it happened to me too!).

I was just a little boy from Texas. With champagne wishes. Beluga dreams. John Varvatos aspirations. And upper-west side penthouse in the sky goals. And the city was taxing. More taxing that Reaganomics. And the "niceties" of Southern folk did not always trickle down. My heart has been broken by lovers. My back has been stabbed by coworkers and my existence has been questioned by Tom Cruise and the Scientologists. But I am still here. Dammit, I am still here.

And for me, Friday was to show not only that I was still here, but that I plan to stay here and make my mark. It was my way of living loudly, much like Star Jones’ wedding.

And just like Star Jones’ wedding, I traded a lot of favors to get things for free so the night could be perfect. And man do my knees hurt. But it was so worth it.

For my party I was thinking Martha Stewart meets B. Smith meets Katie Brown meets Rachel Ray meets Lloyd Boston. I know. I had a lot going on in my head. And for one lucky guest I also channeled inspiration from Superhead. I am kidding!

Seriously, I was kidding.

So the day begun like any other day. I got up and made a small pot of gourmet hot chocolate. As of late, I have been mixing white chocolate with dark chocolate to give myself that French café feel. I just love Godiva.

I had to pick up last minute party essentials (e.g. food) from Fairway Markets and the Harlem Citerella as I wanted everything to be fresh, fresh, fresh. As I stood in the center of the supermarket I had a CRASH moment. Just like Sandra Bullock, I broke down right in front of the fresh veggies on aisle 6 as the mist sprayed over the lettuce and radishes. I didn’t know what to buy. What to cook. What would make my guests happy. Which foods would match the décor. And why oh why was I always angry! And every since I had to fire my maid I don’t have any friends. And it was ALL my fault because I knew it was going to happen!

But after I calmed myself down with a shot of Smirnoff Vanilla, I was quite fine again.

My good friend Samantha came over to help me decorate the apartment and set up my serving table. I took a little inspiration from Katie Brown in terms of decorations because she always says you should use items from around your house to give it a more "welcoming" feeling. That is why I used vintage canisters as ice buckets and empty wine bottles as flower vases. I decorated the table with white flowers (I used artificial flowers) and arranged my wine and martini glasses on a small stand near the serving area. We put little trays of gourmet cookies and candies at various locations through the living room and dining room so no matter where you turned there was always food, drink and snacks within arms reach.

Samantha was such a god-send because she really helped me pull it together just like Nona Gaye helped Sandra Bullock’s husband pull it right together during all those long assignments and stuff. On my way to run some errands in Harlem, I had Sam drop me off on 125th street and it was through the grace of God, praise Jesus, that I made it safely. Sam has a severe case of road rage and every car trip with her tests my faith in Christ Jesus. Once I got in the car with Sam I looked on the floor and found a piece of paper that read

"Look Crackhead Fiend. Stop trying to break into my damn car. I don’t have money for this sh*t. Damn!"

Yea, she put it all on the line. For whatever crackhead fiend has been trying to break into Sam’s car, I am sure he is walking around New Jersey sitting a little funny since she ripped him a new one. When I asked Sam about the note she repeated it to me with so much venom I thought I had done something to her car. Between the note and her road rage, I was really happy to reach my barbershop unscathed.

My barber is a whole other ball of wax. He is a self-styled playboy who cuts my hair while wearing Burberry shirts with solid print ties. I am so into that. One thing that stands out to me about my dentist is that he cleans my teeth while wearing Burberry shirts and his platinum Rolex. It’s kinda hot. It makes me a lot more relaxed than a barber who wears a do-rag to work. But me and my barber have a few issues and he is on thin ice. As he attempts to match his snarky comments with my off-handed sarcasm we end up in many heated debates and sometimes he cuts my hair in silence because the air is so thick between us. But this Friday I was in a good space and I really wanted to start the new year of right since I had to send him to the Harlem hospital in stitches a few weeks back. But as soon as I sat in the chair and started telling him about the week, he tested my faith.

I told him about the viewing party and how I wanted to thank him for hooking up my fade and the back of my neck before I did the show. He said it was cool and proceeded to tell me about all the NBA players whose hair he cuts. I would ramble off the list to you but I don’t know who any of those people are and for all I know they may play for the Harlem PS 145 and not the
New York Knicks.

But I was trying to do the Christian thing and invite him to my party as I thought it would be good to see him in a more social setting.

Tiger: Hey, so I am having a viewing party at my house tonight. I would love it if you could come (and I said this very nicely with an air of genuine sincerity in my heart. Then he pulled out a knife).
Playboy: (First he looks at the barber sitting next to him and then he looks off into space and says…) "Will there be any girls there?"

SIDEBAR: One point for the Playboy. Now I had put all my knives up because after my mini-breakdown that morning I thought it would be a bad idea to be walking around with a sharp object….but no….negroes in the hood all ways want to test you. Always.

Tiger: There will be tons of pretty girls at my party. Some naturally born.

SIDEBAR: I am good for the recovery.

After I left the b-shop I headed to Spanish Harlem to pick up a digital camera. At this point it is 4pm and I still need to get home to hook up my ibook and playlist, prepare my food, and have some "me" time before my guests arrive.

I got home and immediately cut on the Rufus classis album Ask Rufus. My favorite song is Better Days. "We’ve got better days ahead." Not a bad line to repeat to yourself over and over.
My friend Daniel showed up a few minutes early to hang some of his artwork on my wall to give my apartment some artistic flair and ambiance. I lit candles in each room of the apartment (vanilla in the living room and Citrus in the bathroom) and I loaded up my playlist of party songs which was pretty much an ode to the 80s.

Sample Playlist:
Cherelle "Saturday Love"
Loose Ends "Hanging on a String"
Al B. Sure "Off on Your Own Girl"
Pebbles "Mercedes Boy"
Kanye West "We Major"
A Tribe Called Quest "Bonita Applebum"

As my guests began to arrive I opened up a bottle of chilled white wine soon followed by a few bottles of red. But the hit of the party were the martinis. Mind you, I had no idea that the martini would outshine the wine at a wine party….but it did. My friend Leshawnda brought the apple and cranberry martinis and they were enjoyed by all. One or two or three or four times the enjoyment. And I am not a fan of cranberry juice but even I was sipping on the cranberry martini.

For hor d’ourves, I had veggie quiche, pigs in a blankets, buffalo chicken, egg rolls and chicken taqitos.

For dessert I served an assortment of cheesecakes (chocolate, strawberry, turtle) and I had a few bottles of dessert wine which no one ever got to.

I put on a copy of the "BET News: 2005 Rewind" after a comfortable number of guests had arrived and we all sat down to watch the show.

I was so honored that the show’s illustrious producer, Shannon, showed some love and stopped by.

I had a lovely turnout and best of all, I got a chance to introduce some great New Yorkers to other great New Yorkers who have made my move here very special.

And the other "best" event of the night was when Daniel came into the kitchen and asked me did I like the yellow portrait he hung on my wall. Of course I said yes. Then he said, "Good. It yours."

So now I have a Daniel "original" hanging in my home that I will cherish for many many many years to come. Now all I need is a friend who designs Bentleys.

Coming Soon – "SHINE" When I met Star Jones Reynolds….

Reconnections, the Shine, and doing NYC with Jackie O.

2006-01-03T06:23:00.000-08:00

I am Under Construction, and I hope the finished product will be much better than Missy's album of the same name. Right now I am going through some changes and transitions and today's post is going all the way here and there. Everywhere.

You remember when you were sitting next to your mom on a Sunday morning in your local missionary Baptist church and a young soloist would walk up to the microphone during the alter call and give a gospel disclaimer? It usually began, "Giving honor to God, my pastor, members and Christian friends. The devil is busy. As I attempt to sing this song, please pray inward and I pray outward…" and then the song would begin. Well, I am not giving you a gospel disclaimer this morning but should my thoughts seem disconnected or random, just start praying while I sing my song.

Mood: Nervous. I having a small gathering at my house on Friday and it will be the first time I have had more than three people in my apartment at once. I am a nervous wreck. Plus I don’t know what I am wearing or what I am serving for Friday. It’s just too much going on in my head right now. I cannot stop shaking I am so nervous. I feel like Bobby Brown before a piss test with his parole officer.

Mode: Today was one of those "I know I look fabulous, but seriously, I didn’t try to" days. I literally threw on some fade jeans and a Kenneth Cole shirt that I didn’t bother to iron. I matched those up with some KC boots and a vintage Structure wool trench coat. I say vintage because Structure no longer exists which therefore classifies my coat as a "classic." My beard is growing back and I am showing a 5 o’clock shadow, very Richard Greico from 21 Jump Street.

Munchies: I ate two chicken breasts marinated in olive oil and herbs and spices.

Music of the Morning: "Help Me Make it Through the Night" by Gladys Knight.

I remember the first time I heard this song. I was in the midst of a spell of puppy love. I was 22, and I had just discovered what it felt like to sleep with someone all night. And I was a little hooked. And then, the sleeping stopped. And so did the visits. And so did the conversations. And I thought my world had ended. I felt like I would die. Was this love? Is this the thing so many people had told me about? This feeling of emptiness. The feeling of powerlessness. As I seemed to have given someone else power over my sleep. How can your absence keep me awake at night? I have slept alone for over 21 years, why do I need you now? I do not like being in a space where I do not have control. There is nothing sexy about being helpless or needy.

As I sat on my bed in the dark one night in New Orleans, I popped in a CD I picked up on a trip to the UK. And then came Gladys. And she began to speak to me in words and verses as if she was reading my heart. Every line and lyric pulsated through my veins. Provoking thoughts and questions. Leaving no answers. How did I go from being self-sufficient to being this person? And why do I need you to help me make it through the night?

I don’t know why I put on such a love ballad this early in the morning. I had a conversation last week, I think I shared it with you earlier. I think love does not always make you stronger. I think it makes you vulnerable. That’s what Gladys was signing about. It wasn’t about love, or hurt or loneliness. It was about being vulnerable but being comfortable in acceptance of your vulnerability. The song took me back to my own age of innocence and vulnerability. I haven’t felt that way for a few months. The first time I ran into Mechad Brooks in public I went all the way there. My heart was open. Vulnerable and fluttering. Open to sharing. Talking. Conversing. Discussion. Talks. Exchange. He looked at me and walked away. I was crushed. Why won’t he help me make it through the night Gladys?

Motif: Ask yourself, are you ready to SHINE?

This week I have begun my countdown to destiny. Four days. This Saturday there will be hell up in Harlem where I will be front-row and center at the book signing for Shine: A Physical, Emotional and Spiritual Journey to Finding True Love. Written by Mrs. Star Jones-Reynolds. I am sure this book will be as life-altering and informative as her many
witticisms on The View. For 2006, are you ready to SHINE?

RECONNECTIONS

New Years Eve afforded me a series of welcomed reconnections with the past. Old friends, old flames, old emotions and old resentments. But like the newly emancipated and newly overweight Mimi, I decided I was leaving it all behind.

As part of my personal road to spiritual, physical and emotional happiness, I hired a financial planner (for the creative artist "in" me who hates numbers), signed up for ballet lessons (for the child in me who loved to dance but was denied by my mother) and I have placed designs on a life-training course (to work out the kinks that may be holding back the SHINE).

The eve of the New Year also allowed me to reconnect with Jackie O., a very good friend from the days of undergrad. Back when we had fewer worries, traveled Europe together, partied in Barcelona and rocked 5th Avenue.

Jackie is about 5’11" out of her 4-inch stilettos and she isn’t a stranger to a short mini skirt. Right now, she is wearing her hair in locks, which I have seen her style in many variations. We met in Times Square which I think may have been the first place we met nearly 10 years ago. Jackie figured prominently into my first visit to New York as we shopped at Dolce and Gabanna together, went clubbing, and basically soaked in the city.

It was really good to connect with an old friend. Jackie is a friend who has visited me in nearly every city I have ever lived in. She will find her way to me, like a river finds the sea.

I always remember the little things. The friend who helps you with your campaign for freshman-class president. The friend who volunteers to pick you up from the airport. The friend who buys you Tropicana Orange Juice with extra Vitamin C when you are sick (without being asked) The friend who puts on a black shirt and takes to the wheel to drive you to your ex’s house as you sit in the passenger seat in a drunken stupor screaming obscenities. The friend who takes your cell phone from you in a jealous range as you throw down your martini glass and proceed to call each and every person still stored in your cell phone who has hurt you.

And then there is Jackie, who offered to clean me up after I drank three vodka martinis and literally painted her bathroom floor my own color of happiness. Making it to the porcelain throne was a goal that I sadly missed. It takes a true friend to pick up a can of Comet and a sponge and stand in the gap between you and the porcelain god.

Thank you Jackie O. For being there always.

I do hope you saw the BET Special. I will give up my thoughts after Friday’s event.

Gossip Headlines:
From fellow Texas Liz Smith (of the New York Post):

'GOSSIP CAN alleviate depression by making people feel connected with the larger world. Studies at the University of Wisconsin and at Yale found that water-cooler and backyard-fence chatter actually serves several useful purposes."
So write the editors of The Week magazine in their sum-up of American health issues at year's end. Well, they are essentially saying what I've been saying for years. I wrote in two books about how gossip helps us form our opinions, helps us come to moral conclusions, entertains us, and is cathartic in the manner of Greek tragedy and comedy. Studies at Princeton and Cornell also show gossip as an important means of making us more interesting and entertaining. Sometimes gossip also exposes deceptive, self-serving souls and creates a sense of unity for those trying to do the right thing!

Terry Cheated on gay Husband

NEVER send nasty letters to a spouse you want to divorce - they just might haunt you later in court. Best-selling author Terry McMillan found out the hard way during her ugly split with ex-husband Jonathan Plummer. Her marriage to the much-younger Jamaican, which inspired the book and movie "How Stella Got Her Groove Back," imploded earlier this year after Plummer confessed to a gay affair. But recently obtained divorce papers reveal he wasn't the only one getting his groove on. In a series of letters submitted to the court by Plummer, McMillan throws her own affairs in his face: "I wonder how you'd feel if I told you that I had plenty of sex when I was in New York. When I was in Spain and Paris," McMillan wrote. "That I have been cheating on you for three years because you were a drag, because you were boring, because you got on my nerves because you were embarrassing . . . you acted like a homosexual and you couldn't carry on an intelligent conversation." McMillan won her case in spite of the screeds, paying Plummer just $50,000 to walk away, reports Justice magazine.

Paris lies in deposition – Could jail ala Lil Kim style be in the mix?

THINGS aren't looking good for Paris Hilton in her legal feud with diamond heiress-actress Zeta Graff. Just before she left to frolic with man toy Stavros Niarchos in Maui over the holidays, Hilton gave a deposition in the $10 million slander suit Graff filed against her last year, in which Graff claims everyone's favorite heir-head deliberately maligned her. A source close to the case said Hilton admitted lying when she planted a story in the press that Graff, who had dated former Hilton fiancé Paris Latsis, attacked her in a jealous rage at a London club. According to the source, Hilton admitted in the deposition that Graff never attacked her. Hilton's former publicist, Rob Shuter, said in his deposition that the attack tale came straight from his client. (Shuter had the foresight not only to have Hilton sign a waiver so that she would be liable if he got sued, but he also saved her e-mails and logged her phone calls). Graff said in a statement to PAGE SIX: "Hilton will learn a valuable lesson about what happens when you try to ruin another person's reputation. She made a number of false statements about me, and she repeatedly lied under oath during her recent deposition. I look forward to her explaining all of this to a jury." Hilton crisis manager, Elliot Mintz, would only say, "In view of the fact that it's an ongoing matter, I'm not in a position to make any comment."

The Texas Tiger Chronicles

2006-01-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

The Texas Tiger Chronicles: "NEWSFLASH: TEXAS TIGER ON BET NEWS at 9:00PM ET
“The Good, The Bad and the Ugly” The year in 2005. Please check me out tonight on BET and let me know if you enjoy the show."

Meeting Sandra Bernhard + The Beautiful Ones and the Gossip Folks

2005-12-29T06:00:00.000-08:00

Mood: I am wearing a Colgate smile today. I am peppy, happy and bright. I am wearing bright colors and walking with a little octane in my step.

Mode: VERY preppy. I am wearing Diesel jeans and an orange Ralph Lauren shirt. I have topped that off with a very lightweight cashmere sweater that is green, grey and orange. I have the collar of the short-sleeve polo sticking out of my sweater. I am wearing light brown loafers. My jacket is a chocolate brown corduroy button-up.

Music that started my day: Check on It by Beyonce f/Slim Thug. The video for this song gave me chills. I remember the first time I saw Crazy In Love I said to myself, this girl is a star. In the new joint, Beyonce takes center stage paying tribute to Diana Ross with the largest weave on TV since Diana performed at the Superbowl. The wig took over my 21-inch screen. I especially like the part where Beyonce rocks the braids and gives us the ghetto jiggle. HOT. Her choreographer must be a FLAMING queen who is living out his pseudo-female fantasies through her. In my opinion, there is no way her clothing stylist, choreographer or hair stylist are women. When I see her it screams “DRAG QUEEN.” Message to all the ladies reading this: If you want to be the best woman you can be, get a few queens on your team.

Motif/Question of the Day: Are you going to watch me on BET so you can Check up on It?

NEWSFLASH: TEXAS TIGER ON BET NEWS at 7:30PM ET
“The Good, The Bad and the Ugly” The year in 2005. Please check me out tonight on BET and let me know if you enjoy the show.

*The Day I met Sandra Bernhard *

Today I met my comedic inspiration, the incomparable Sandra Bernhard. The wit. The sarcasm. The drama. The mayhem. The madness. The insight.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Miss Sandra on television. I was about twelve years old and it was on a Wednesday night, on a hot summer evening in Texas. I was watching the David Letterman show. Actually, I was passing through the channel and I saw this woman who made me stop and ask myself “Who’s that girl?” This was back in the day when you had to walk up to the television and change the channel on the cable box. There was no remote control and since I have a short attention span, I used to sit right in front of the TV so I could rapidly change channels in-between commercial breaks. But there has always been a weird connection between me and Miss Sandra.

I never watched David Letterman, and why should I? He was no Arsenio Hall and back in those days he came on AFTER Johnny Carson and that was way past my bedtime of 9:30. But my parents let me stay up late during the summer. But what was weird was that anytime I passed through the David Letter man show on a Friday night or maybe another night during the summer, I would always see Miss Sandra. I do have it on good faith that Miss Bernhard has always been one of David’s favorite guests, but it was so funny to me that I never watch his show, BUT the few times I do tune in Miss Sandra is always a guest.

La Bernhard hit her peak in the mid to late 80s. It all began after she left Arizona and moved to LA to become a comedian. Along the way she met Paul Mooney who described her as “A cigarette come to life.” He became her mentor and she made her first TV appearance as an original cast member of the Richard Pryor show on NBC (which I blogged about during my “Pryor” tribute to the icon).

From there she created an off-Broadway show called “Without You I am Nothing” which became all the rage in New York and turned her into a celebrity. From there she toured the country, starred in some indie-films, wrote three books, had several HBO specials, hosted a TV-show on VH1 and had a highly publicized falling out with former best friend Madonna (it was very Paris/Nicole but in the 80s).

I have never been one for the average stand-up comedian. I find the list of talent-free comedians they parade in front of us on BET’s Comic View and on Comedy Central to be sad. And what makes me angry about Black comedians (despite the fact that most of them wouldn’t be funny at a backyard bar-b-q) is that most comedians come on TV and tell sexual jokes. Guess what, that doesn’t take ANY talent. It takes more talent to be witty and insightful when discussing politics or everyday life circumstances that everyone can relate to than to get on stage and simulate sex. When you go to the sex jokes, it lets me know you don’t have confidence in yourself. Especially when you are unattractive. NEWSFLASH: If you are unattractive, no one wants to see you simulate sex on stage because we do not want to imagine you screwing. I wish someone would take a memo and pass it around backstage at BET Comicview. There is not one person (male or female) I would sleep with who has been on that show. We don’t care what you do with your spouse or lover. Trust me, we don’t.

But the ones who get me are Sheryl Underwood and Sandra Bernhard and Paul Mooney and Sarah Silverman. Those comedians whose jokes make you think, ala Richard Pryor. And did I mention that Sandra sings? She has a new CD out on her website called Gems of Mystery. Visit: http://www.sandrabernhard.com

And oh, so I met her today. She was wearing True religion jeans and a tight brown shirt. She didn’t have on any makeup. Her brown hair was pulled back into a brown ponytail. On her wrist was a diamond encrusted platinum watch. I watched her perform Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again” and I was mesmerized. I just love her. After her performance I went to her dressing room and I told her I forgot to bring my copy of “May I kiss you on the lips Miss Sandra” because I did not want to be late for work. She laughed and said that was cool and that she would sign a piece of paper for me. She gave me an autograph that reads, “To Terry, Keep it Real/Love&Peace Sandra Bernhard.” You may wonder why I am not posting a pic. Number one, I don’t really post pics of myself and my friends here. Number two, I don’t run up on the celebrities at work and pose for pictures. It’s tacky. The only reason I went up to Miss Bernhard is because she is a mental mentor for me. If it was just a regular celebrity I liked I would fall back. But I would never miss out on a chance to talk to Teena Marie, Nicole Richie, Ed Bradley, Oprah, Bryant Gumbel, Wayne Brady, Chaka Khan, Millie Jackson, Paul Mooney, Barbra Streisand, Kathy Griffin, Madonna, Janet, Prince, Star Jones, Cornel West, William Julius Wilson, Earl Graves Sr., Anna Wintour, or Bill/Hilary Clinton (to name a few). They are all celebrities, politicians, or academics who inspire my writing and my politics in some way. Even with people like Nicole Richie or Star Jones, I feel like I identify with them in some way and it would compel me to talk to them. I like Mariah Carey, and she will be at my job on Saturday but I won’t be running up on her cause it just ain’t like that for me and her. I wouldn’t break my neck to meet Beyonce either. But there are some people I feel I have to talk to. FYI – I will be attending Star Jones’ book signing and I will give you a full report. I hope to god that Al Reynolds is there cause I am going to corner him and give him the third degree.

The Beautiful Ones

Last night I attended a birthday party at “Light” in midtown. It was full of beautiful people. Male and Female. Mostly Black. Though you had your usual suspects (assistants, publicists, producers) this party was a fashion industry party. And with most NY parties, people are more concerned with who you are (e.g. where you work) than they are with who you are (e.g. what are your passions and inspirations).

Light is in midtown and its one of those restaurants by day/club by night kinda joints. You walk down two flights of stairs to an expansive space that is black and beige with lighting along the floors. Very swanky. It was a mix and mingle joint cause you know no one in NYC likes to dance. On the back wall was a row of “cute” girls. They were at least cute under the light with all the gobs of makeup they were wearing. But with their attitudes and last season’s fashions it made them appear a lot less attractive then they apparently “thought” they were. All the pretty girls were with me. A few of my good friends were there and they are some flawless girls who all work at top-notch magazines, we are talking Conde Nast honey! And a few are lead designers at some labels in New York. They are pretty, flirty and talented.

I have long said before unattractive women should not give attitude, but that also goes for the “cute” girls. Honey, you are cute, not pretty. If you were pretty you wouldn’t be working behind the scenes. AND If you were pretty, there would have been a bi-sexual brother buying you a drink and a gay boy dancing close to you on the dance floor. Cause that’s what happens to pretty girls in New York. Lose the attitude.

Naomi Campbell has the right to be a bitch. From you, I am going to need to see a little less Naomi and a little more of that inner-Kelly Ripa. Ok. Thanks.

And shout out to all the bruthaz who were staring at me last night (much welcomed looks of lust). Had you bought me a drink I might have let you Check Up On It.

HEADLINES you tune in for everyday. I scan the web for gossip so you don’t have to.

Tom Ford gives head to guests
TOM Ford-ophiles will surely wig out if there's any truth to a rumor making the rounds of the international fashion set. According to a well-placed spy, the designer turned sunglass-hawker recently subjected guests at a cocktail party in London to an impromptu demonstration of his "balding toupee." According to the source, famously vain Ford said he employs the partial hairpiece to cover what would otherwise be a glaringly chrome dome. But rest assured, boys - we hear the chest hair is all Tom.

SIDEBAR: I told you earlier about my artist/muse fantasy. Tom Ford is a man I know I could inspire should our paths ever cross. He is ultra-sexy. Had he met me when he was at the helm of GUCCI it would have been fierce. Together we would have designed a line that would have rocked the world’s of skinny bitches all over. Me and Calista, and Lindsay, and Nicole and Mary Kate. It would have been OVER!

K-Fed aka Britney’s Baby Daddy drops a single for dem haters
BRITNEY Spears' trashtastic hubby Kevin Federline couldn't find a label lame enough to release his rap single, so he's distributing it on his own. K-Fed is dropping the song "PopoZao" on New Year's Eve, according to a mass e-mail sent from his myspace.com page. Federline cryptically notes, "I love you all. The ones that Love and the ones that Hate. The ones that Fight and those who Bite." "PopoZao" is presumably the track in which Federline has been reported to say "Pavarotti" when he means "paparazzi." The single will be available on his Web site, kevinfederline.com, which promises, "I am coming." We can't wait.

New tome psychoanalyzes the rise, fall and demise of Michael Jackson
(this story courtesy of Liz Smith)
December 29, 2005 -- 'MICHAEL JACKSON speaks to and for the monstrous child in us all." So goes the summation by Pulitzer Prize winner Margo Jefferson in her new, relatively short but effective treatise about the pop star. This slim volume titled "On Michael Jackson" comes from Pantheon and runs 138 pages. Jefferson, in quick, cut-to-the-bone strokes, examines Michael's bizarre, brutal working childhood and adolescence, and how that formed and deformed his own and the public's image of him. Nobody comes off well, certainly not Michael's parents, Joe the brutal taskmaster and Katherine the religious "pacifier."

Jefferson, an African-American and an admirer of Jackson's work - certainly the first 10 years - pinpoints many essential career moments, the fabulous original style, his slow, then warp-speed transformations, his hubris, childishness, arrogance and bewilderment - all of which led to his child molestation trial of this year. He got off - got away with it, as his bete noirs Diane Dimond and Nancy Grace insist - but the cost was everything that meant anything: his career and his reputation.

Jefferson also bravely writes of the reality of some children: that at ages 12, 13, 14, 15 they are not necessarily "innocent." They are curious. She writes: "They have sexual desires, impulses and they want to act on them. I am not trying to turn Michael's accuser, Gavin Arvizo, into a youthful seducer. I am simply trying to say there was almost no public acknowledgment of these everyday facts, known to anyone who has had a child, spent time with children, or remembers being a child."

Former rocker buys off girls he alledgedly “molested”
HANOI - Pervy former glam rocker Gary Glitter has paid $2,000 each to two Vietnamese families of girls he is accused of sexually abusing to get them to ask cops to drop the case against him.
"If we pay the money for the two families, when this case goes to court, maybe Mr. Gary will receive a lighter penalty," said his lawyer, Le Thanh Kinh.
Rape charges involving the two girls, ages 11 and 12, were recently dropped but Glitter, whose real is name Paul Gadd, still is under suspicion of committing lewd acts with children.
The 61-year-old faces up to 12 years in jail if found guilty.

Will Smith ID thief will hum few more (cell) bars
PITTSBURGH - A man on parole for stealing actor/rapper Will Smith's identity to run up a $33,000 credit card debt is going back to prison for two years for violating probation.Judge Alan Bloch found that Carlos Lomax, 45, formerly of Duquesne, Pa., was "not amenable" to probation.
Lomax failed to rehabilitate himself and make restitution to his victims while on supervised release, U.S. Attorney Mary Beth Buchanan said.
He was previously sentenced to 37 months in prison after pleading guilty to opening 14 bogus credit accounts at Pittsburgh-area stores using the identity of Willard C. Smith, the legal name of the superstar rapper-turned-actor.

Lohan crasher gets off
LOS ANGELES (AP) -- The photographer whose collision with actress Lindsay Lohan helped prompt California to adopt an anti-paparazzi law won't be charged with a crime, the district attorney's office said.
"Based upon the damage sustained to both the victim's and the suspect's cars it appears that, although the suspect was most likely driving carelessly when he collided with the victim's car, it was not an intentional assault," said Deputy District Attorney William Hodgman.

Barbra Streisand takes the Kirstie Alley Challenge
Barbra Streisand is trying to take inches off her waist — but not off her wallet.Despite her obese bank account, we hear the diva and her increasingly tubby hubby, James Brolin, have turned to Jenny Craig to shed pounds. "Oprah hired a personal nutritionist," sniffs a source. "But Barbra wants to save money, so they're getting their meals from a Jenny Craig center."

Eminem to re-wed ex-wife he threatened to kill and stuff in car
After years of writing scathing lyrics about her in his rap songs, Eminem finally has something nice to say about his once and future wife, Kim Mathers.
"This day I will marry my best friend, the one I laugh with, live for, love," reads the invitation to their Jan. 14 wedding in Michigan obtained by Star magazine. The simple invite shows two children sitting side by side, perhaps a symbol for the pair, who met when Kim was 12 and Eminem was 15.

Nicole and DJ AM to ring in 2006 together
Management at Pure in Vegas got so excited about DJ AM moving his residency there from Body English in 2006, they touted him in the booth for their New Year's Eve bash. Guess they didn't know he has been very publicly booked to spin at Mansion's Sapporo party in Miami for months. Despite his split with Nicole Richie, both are confirmed to attend the Miami bash, along with Wilmer Valderrama, Mischa Barton, Val Kilmer and Molly Simms. Wonder where everyone will be looking at midnight?

80's Flashback - and the 1st time I called a boy

2005-12-28T05:42:00.000-08:00

Mood: Nostalgic. Looking back and reaching back like a Regina Belle album of classics.

Mode: A long sleeve shirt from Express Men formerly known as Structure. Unlike now, I didn’t grow up a Banana Republic boy. I hated the store and most of the young men I knew who shopped there. Black guys who wore Banana Republic were often men I didn’t care to befriend. There was a certain air about them. You may know what I mean if you think about a store brand and who shops there. There is most certainly a "type" of African-American male who shops at Abercrombie and Fitch exclusively. And I am not talking about a shirt here and a pair of socks there...I mean a Black guy who is AF down. A Black guy who only does J.Crew or Phat Farm, or BR. I think certain brands cater to personality types. But anyway, I am wearing Express Men because I used to wear Structure exclusively and I am flashing back today.

SIDEBAR: Can I just tell you my low-rise jeans are so tight I can barely breathe.

Munchies: A plate of fruit (pineapples, oranges, kiwi, and grapes)

Music that Started off my Day: Memory Lane by the late great Minnie Ripperton. Oh thank you Minnie. For the voice that has inspired the voice that is THE VOICE: Mimi. The great Mariah. Emancipated and free. Minnie, you sang a song so softly. Quietly moving from sultry to sexy to innocence to wisdom without wavering. Soaring high among the clouds yours was the voice of an angel in falsetto. Twirping like a bird. I fly freely.

Motif/Question of the day: Is being totally in love with someone a weakness, a strength or a bit of both?

I felt like revisiting the 80s and early 90s today. Those years that helped shape who I would become. The years that still affect who I am. The years that will still haunt me and I become who I will be. Yesterday there were two experiences in my life that had become foreign. They were not unfamiliar, but it had been such a long time since I had visited those emotions that I felt distant and cold.

I called a boy.

As of late, when I meet someone of interest it usually ends with me picking up a business card. From there I usually email the new connection. This is something I picked up along the way from a few friends in college. My good friend Clare will talk to a guy via email exchange for a month before she talks to him on the phone. And these aren’t little "Hi how are you doing" emails. She asks thought provoking questions. She wants to know about his family, his religion, his beliefs and his past loves. All the while you are discovering and uncovering, you become familiar with that person’s communication style outside of a phone conversation or a casual greeting. Often, people are most expressive in an email as you have to find words to take the place of body language, sadness and anger.

You get to see a side of their sense of humor that will inherently be different from their "in-person" conversation. And you can often detect a little about a person’s mode of communication. Is he facetious? Sarcastic? Verbose? Stimulating? And now I realize that I ask the same questions Clare asks and I often do it over email as well. But yesterday was different. A boy gave me his cell number and NOT a business card. I was forced to sit Indian-style in my room, in my bed, on my cordless phone with my music on low and nothing but the flicker from my lamp on the left side of the room. And then I called him.

And when I called him, it took me right back to high school. Back to tenth grade. When I used to finish my Geometry homework and rush to the phone with butterflies in my stomach and a smile on my face. When conversations were innocent. About what happened in homeroom, or at band practice and what movies we could go see together. As I dialed his number I felt jittery and giddy.

What if my voice isn’t deep enough? What if he thinks I am corny? What if we don’t like any of the same movies, or music, or museums? Will he think my Nicole Richie obsession is weird?

I never feel that way over email or in-person. But last night I went to a place I had not been for a while. Then…

I had a blind-meeting (we won’t call it a date per se) with a 1st-year grad student.

It has been so long since I went out with a total stranger. Not someone from a club or party or school or work but someone recommended. And he was 23. I never go out with anyone younger than me. Actually, I tend to only date men who are at least 5 years older than me. And meeting with him last night took me back to my first year of grad school at Northwestern. When I was so inquisitive, so argumentative, so dramatic, so anti-climatic. And I don’t know why he brought this out of me but as I sat there talking to him I quietly thought to myself that I could have been having this same conversation when I was 23. And he could have been 35.

I thought everything he said was wrong and e didn’t stimulate me intellectually (and it was not for his lack of education or fashion-sense. He was a snazzy dresser.) But his attempts to counter my points were pretty futile as was my level of engagement.

One thing I’ve noticed about persons who are not well-adept at expressing their opinions, (or perhaps they just choose not to share them as often or as loudly as persons like myself), is that instead of challenging my opinions and beliefs and where they come from, they would rather say "A contradicts B and that makes you wrong). So unimpressive.

We were engaged in a discussion and he went back to a point I made earlier (and mind you my point was facetious) and said I was wrong because I contradicted myself. Generally, I lose respect (intellectually) for persons who used contradictions to discredit another’s statement. It’s the one thing boring communicators have in common with lawyers. And I realize in court many cases are won based on contradictions and technicalities so that is useful, but if we are talking about fashion or cooking, don’t come at me saying I am wrong because I said we should sauté the chicken in olive oil but I actually used butter.

As you can gather from my profile, I own up to my contradictions. I think my contradictions are a big part of my character. I am totally pro-choice AND totally for the death penalty. I would say that is a contradiction. And I am fine with discussing my opinions and reasons for both and no one could convince me I can’t be both.

We ended the evening with him saying I was opinionated, manipulative AND interesting. Things I already knew. But it was good for the flashback.

Do you remember ………………..Oaktown’s 357?

I remember when this trio (later to become a duo formed by Terrible T and Sweet LD) were simply background dancers for MC Hammer. But MC Hammer had a heart of gold (and pants to match) so he thought he would give them a record deal and teach them to rap. Their first single was "Yeah Yeah Yeah." It was a big hit in Texas. I remember dancing to it in my bedroom with my door closed. I would watch the video on Video Soul with Donnie Simpson then I would run to my bedroom, close the door, pop in the tape and practice their moves. This was back in the day where all rappers danced. And they could dance!

Their next single was Juicy Gotcha Krazy featuring B. Angie B. And I will be honest with you, I remember the video so vividly that I can reenact the dance sequence for you. From the opening down to the dance breakdown at the end where B. Angie B. steps out from the pack and starts vibrating and rolling in front of a water fountain. I performed it this weekend in my bedroom.

After that, they only had one song I liked. It was their third single "We Like It" which sampled KC and the Sunshine Band. I remember this video but I have my own dance routine for this song. Can I show you?

Christmastime in Harlem - Life and times of a Pretty Boy in the City

2005-12-26T03:34:00.000-08:00

Christmastime in Harlem and the City

I have had such a busy social season as-of-late. But I can’t bear to bore you with my usual dramatic reinterpretations and play-by-play minutes of each event as there as several I want to share with you. So, consider this the abridged, edited and cliff-notes review of my holiday weekend. And honestly, I would prefer to spend this entire blog talking about my attire as I painstakingly muled over each and every choice of shoes, ties, shirts, jeans, slacks and accessories. But that would be just a wee bit vain AND boring (since I won’t be sharing any pics). And if I am being honest, as I usually am with you – in fact, a little too honest, I will be very upfront and let you know I have been wrestling with how much I should share with you because I do not think it is socially productive for me to use this space to vent my frustrations with persons who are not necessarily Christian-like in their dealings with me. In other words – there was some hating going on this weekend. Some overt, some subliminal. But I am used to taking it both ways (pun intended). BUT I have to share a "zinger" with you cause The Texas Tiger had to show a few boys up in NYC that I didn’t make it all the way to New York from Texas without being one of the brightest light bulbs in the bunch. I am going to condense my usual section and tell you how I have been feeling the past three days…..

Mood: Super Filthy Gorgeous AND hot tamale (a deadly combination). In honor of the holiday season, I would like to share a drink recipe I concocted this weekend that is fruity and strong (you now how I like my drinks). And it will make you feel like bubblin brown sugar.

Terry Tamale
1 part Minute Maid Cherry Limeade (The best drink in your grocer’s freezer!)
2 parts Bacardi Apple Rum
1 part Stoli Vanilla Vodka (optional)
1 splash of Hennessy
shake and serve straight-up or on the rocks

Mode: (Friday) I went retro-Euro trash. I wore some faded Diesel jeans with a vintage ripped Euro trash shirt. Very RENT meets Soho. My shirt was brown and had hundreds of intentional creases. The front of the shirt was lace up. (Saturday) I went Mary-Kate post bulimia. Everything fit my slim body so tight you could see my heartbeat. And of course I made a few hearts race all night J Tight tight tight mustard shirt, plaid bell-bottoms. (Sunday) I went cosmopolitan and classy. Form-fitted slacks, button-up shirt with French cuffs and vintage trench coat.

Music that defined my weekend: "Men All Pause" by Klimaxx. In the words of Bernadette, "I knew I was looking good…somebody slap me"

"Buffalo Stance" by Neneh Cherry. For those nostalgic moments. The moments that took me back to grammar school and dancing in my room. Back when black men in rap videos wore biking shorts, make-up and had smiles on their faces.

"Get Together" by Madonna. I play this before I leave the house for a party because it takes me right back to "Get Into the Groove" where I am dancing with a gorgeous stranger wondering what the coming night will bring.

"Starchild" by Jamiroquai. I love this man. He is white, British and full of blue-eyed soul. Much more than the over-hyped Joss Stone. And he loves Rufus and Chaka Khan as much as I do. If I could sing, I would model my music after his. He is my secret British alter-ego. Well, him and Naomi Campbell. This song makes me happy. The music is such a spiritual journey.

"Say Say Say" by Alicia Myers. Now you all know I love the old school. This is one of those early 80s songs that mixes the remnants of disco with the emergence of r&B/funk. It’s a song about love and finally finding that someone you have been searching for. Can we see a theme?

AND……

"I Don’t Want to Lose Your Love" by B Angie B. You remember this? I used to be in Houston vibrating on the dance floor working the kids out to this track. Remember B Angie B in a white halter top with shingles and a long-flowing black weave? I get in my mirror and work the bridge out….

Question of the weekend: Why are you hating (and this question was for several party-goers)? P.S. Hand to up to God, I was on "good behavior" all weekend. Any negativity directed toward me was totally unsolicited and unprovoked.

FRIDAY (a well-appointed apartment in Harlem)

After some light shopping in the city to celebrate the overcommecialization of the holiday season, I decided to stick to my prior decision about limiting all of my social activities to those in my neighborhood of Harlem. I was thinking that the MTA would be on strike but it miraculously ended Friday morning. After a quick power nap and a dinner of baked red snapper and roasted potatoes, I picked out my wardrobe, made a chocolate martini and did a quick dash for the door.
The event was top—notch as could be expected from good friend who is a director at one of the city’s Ivy-League institutions. Well, technically there is only one ivy-league school here in the city but you know I like to keep it vague. Anyway, the hor d’oeuvres included chicken and veggie egg rolls, assorted little quiches and other nibbly things. I do not know who catered that evening’s events because my friend "Peter" was intent on pretending that he has cooked for the party. As if…

This is the only zinger I will share with you from the evening but it was so appropriate and much needed.

BACKGROUND: There was an older gentleman (we will put him in his early 40s), about 6 feet, nice build and fairly attractive with a small tummy (not a gut but clearly not a six-pack). His outfit was nothing to blog about and neither was his highly uppity and opinionated attitude. Well actually, that does make him blog worthy. I remember him from an earlier party because he made some shockingly evil comments about two persons who are HIV+ and that pissed me off to the highest level of pissosity that can be reached in a social climate without blowing your cool composure. I have several very close friends in this situation so yes I am admittedly sensitive and apt to go off when people say things I think are unbefitting of "supposedly" progressive and educated folks. So needless to say, he was on my short list of "Folks I can’t take."

Scene: We are in the kitchen and I am with Andre (whom I will introduce to you in a second). Andre is a vegan so we were concerned about which egg rolls had meat. Now, Mr. 40 was all-up-and-through the egg rolls so I thought it fitting to ask him if he knew what was in them. Mr. 40 turns around and looks at me with an EVIL look as if I am supposed to know that he has three private chefs at home (mind you the kitchen is full of strangers) and this is how it all went down:

Mr. 40: Do I look like I cook?

FREEZE FRAME: It was nasty. The room went silent. Such unnecessary evil. It was that type of look you get when someone decides that they are social "better" than you and expect you to cowtow to them. I just want you to imagine Mr. 40 giving me sizzle in a crowded room while I stand there looking stunned YET stunning J . Get into it…now snap out of freeze frame and remember I told you about his kangaroo pouch. Now I need to repeat the quick exchange and how it went down so you can catch the flow. But I want you to know that after he said that to me, time stopped. If you were somewhere doing something special at 10:45 ET you know what I mean. Cause I stopped time here in NYC. With a quick bat of my bubblin brown eyes I looked Mr. 40 in his eyes, scanned down to his stomach and then brought my eyes square back up to his…

REPLAY-----------------------------
Mr. 40: Do I look like I cook?
Texas Tiger: No, but you sure look like you eat.

And silence befell the kitchen.

And with that I batted my eyes one last time and walked out of the kitchen. And I’ll have you know, not only was Mr. 40 taken aback by that exchange, he asked me out at the end of the evening. I respectfully declined.

I went to the party with my good friend Andre, who moved back to California this weekend to pursue an acting and modeling career. Andre is about 6’1" and it Black and Egyptian. He’s gorgeous. He was getting a lot of work here but really wants to break into movies so he went back to Cali and it was our last party together (at least for now). And Andre caught hell at the party too. Now I can see why people were threatened but when you are in a room full of pretty boys who are all educated at elite schools, all Black, all employed and supposedly intelligent, you would expect an evening of political discourse that is simultaneously thought-provoking and enlightening. That is what I hoped for. WRONG. Those boys took out their Christmas daggers for me and Andre. I guess all those boys who got knives for Christmas had unwrapped them earlier that evening and wanted to test them out. But I’m not one you test a knife out on. You must bring your shown and proven swords. I am so happy my retro outfit came complete with an inner lining of steel and armor. I could have been bloody.

NOW…that is the only zinger of the weekend I am including because I have a lot to share with you and I don’t want you to check out.

ANDRE: Good luck in Cali and I hope you get some big contract that pulls you back to the NYC. See you on a billboard really soon!

SATURDAY (a well-appointed art gallery in Harlem AND LATER a nice little hot spot in the East Village aka where they supposedly made RENT)

This is the party where I created the Terry Tamale drink and let me tell you, I enjoyed myself so very much. A very New York evening. The crowd was eclectic and I was able to dance a little and work the room meeting a few artists, producers and activists. I so love meeting artists. In my dreamworld, which I visit often, an emerging artist falls madly in love with me and I become his muse. In my dream the artist is sometimes a painter, other times he is a fashion designer. Nevertheless, at some point I am at a suzy-affair on the Upper West Side amongst a room full of publicists, writers and photographers and the "artist" announces that the collection he is debuting is totally inspired by the Texas Tiger who is the most fascinating man he has ever met. Isn’t that a cute little dream? I remember a Woody Allen interview where he said that Diane Keaton is the most fascinating woman he has ever met in his life and that she totally inspired several of his movies. She won an Oscar in the 70s (1977 I believe) for starring in his acclaimed movie Annie Hall.

But what also made this a New York moment for me is that I went out onto the terrace (something you can’t do in Texas) to get some air. A nice fellow followed me outside and we had a fabulous conversation about man-bags (which you also can’t rock in Texas), movies, the commercilazation of the season and how it obscures the existence of any "gods" and how very different it is to be Southern and to transplant yourself to the Big Apple.

I just had to take in the moment. Those precious moments. The moments where you step back and take stock of what is going on in your life, in your space, in your "self." I truly do love New York. I can’t think of any place I’d rather be right now. Except maybe the bed of Mechad Brooks somewhere in Hollywood, California.

Then I moved on down to the Lower East Side. Where the funky people like to hang out and pop happy pills, do lines of Coca-Cola and drink expensive martinis. Then they head back to work on Monday as our lawyers, doctors and accountants like stiff conservatives who spend their evenings reading. Now at this point, I was beyond bubblin brown sugar. I was simmering and frothy.

There was some HEAVY flirting going out. The prior party was only a precursor to what was about to go down. Let’s just say I have a busy week and a happy new year on the horizon J
I ran into a fellow I have been secretly lusting after for a few weeks but he had had a few too many Terry Tamales and it was one of those weird situations where I started a conversation then struggled to end it awkwardly. But he was so pleasing to the eyes. Then I had a drink of the "sit-down." I don’t know what it was, but whatever my friend bought me mixed with my prior cocktails made me SIT DOWN.

We ended the evening by going to my favorite late-night burger spot, Big Nick’s on 77th and Broadway. I ordered a Cajun Cheeseburger and it was dreamy. I love burgers and at BIG Nick’s you have a choice of over 30 burgers. I kid you not. If you are hungry at 4:38am after a night of clubbing, hit Big Nick’s on the Upper West Side.

SUNDAY:

I celebrated Christmas by waking up with a Christmas Eve buzz and a smile on my face. Happy Birthday Jesus!

I called the family in Texas and apologized for having to work during the holidays. I spoke to my six-month old niece who knows how to pick up the phone and say "Hi." I hear she took her first few steps yesterday as she was determined to make it towards a toy she wanted. She is gorgeous. I am so happy she takes after me cause I was a little fearful she would come out looking like my brother-in-law. He’s not bad looking but why settled for being a 6 when you can be a 10…ya know?

My friend Nina came over and we celebrated Christmas together. I cooked her a dinner of prime-rib (well done) with my special Texas-loaded mashed potatoes and green peas. Nina in turn brought a bottle of Verve Clique which I promptly popped open and we toasted to the holiday season. We finished dinner and threw on our coats in time to make it to the 7:30 performance of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. The performance of Revelations was riveting. I had chills, literally. I was so inspired that for 2006, I have decided to sign up for a 10-week course in ballet at Alvin Ailey. I have always wanted to study ballet but it wasn’t of any interest to my parents. I figure I owe it to myself since I have the means to make my own decisions. At this point in my life, there is only so much I can blame on mom and dad. I have to take action.

After heading back to Harlem, Nina and I finished the bottle and went searching desperately for some trouble in Harlem only to find that EVERYTHING was closed. It was pathetic. You would think with all of the gentrification someone would realize that there are young adults in Harlem who want to be able to kick it at midnight seven days a week. But we were not accommodated. Nina dropped me off, and might I add Nina looked quite smashing in her knee-high crocodile boots, with black pants, a mustard shirt (that matched mine and no we did not plan this) and skin tight black top. Nina is a "Hollywood-thin" girl about the size of Nicole Richie if she ate three-days straight.

And before I go, I want to tell you about Thursday. I had the day off so I decided a while back that when I have days off during the week I am going to visit museums and exhibits. Because of the strike, I decided to stay in Harlem and visit the Studio Museum of Harlem on 125th Street between 7th and 6th. The title of the exhibit was "Frequency" and according to the museum’s director Thelma Golden, the exhibit was a "post-Black" forum for emerging artists around the country. The exhibit did not have a theme per se, but it was a described as a forum for artists who do not wish to be view only as African-American artists, but rather seek acknowledgement as artists who are simply individuals whose work interrogates and critiques the African-American experience. That’s how Ms. Golden describes "post-Black." Isn’t that hot?

I am a post-Black blogger.

Anyway, several pieces left an impression on me so I highly recommend it. Two short films are especially noteworthy: Kalup Linzy’s Conversations with de Churen III: de Young and da Mess AND Michael Paul Britto’s Dirrrty Harriet. Linzy walks us through a gay relationship that ends as one man cannot go through with a commitment ceremony because of his church’s reluctance to accept the union as well as his families’ disapproval. Britto reinterprets Harriet Tubman as a gun-tooting slave revolutionary and literally left me in stitches when he ends the movie with Harriett Tubman front and center leading several slaves to freedom as they danced a routine to Britney Spears "I’m a slave 4 U." I almost lost it. Such creativity.

Ok, love you all. But I gotta go. And as I take my final bow, Iike to share this with you:
Gossip Worthy----

What did Oprah Winfrey get her best friend, Gayle King, for the holidays? Apparently, a man.
A source close to the best buds say that the queen of talk has hooked King up with none other than one of her other pals, gospel star BeBe Winans.

"Gayle and BeBe have known each other forever. But Oprah figured that since both are divorced and looking to date, why not date each other?" the source tells us.

After King spends time with her kids and ex-husband in Connecticut, she and Winans will meet up with Winfrey and her boyfriend, Stedman Graham, at the talk-show host's Santa Barbara estate, where they plan to ring in the New Year together.
So see, they're not lesbians!

SIDEBAR: As you all know, I do not allow any negative comments about Oprah Winfrey in my presence. However, you kids can wear this lil gossip item out cause I have no relationship with BeBe Winans. But um, seems like he’s more Eddie Murphy’s type…if you know what I mean.

All I have is me. Loving and living with myself PLUS Christmas wit the Browns

2005-12-23T06:36:00.000-08:00

Mood: Happy. I am not the type of guy who needs to look to the outside for happiness. Ok, here I am rambling. I have so much I want to share today. Let me just tell you I am happy today. The MTA strike is over so I rode the #2 to work today as I always do. My feets (yea..my feets) are not tired and I am well-rested with no bags under my eyes. Today is a man-hunting day.

TIGER ON THE PROWL. TIGER ON THE LOOSE. TIGER FEELING HOT TAMALE.
TIGER FEELING FILTHY GORGEOUS.

Mode: Today I am wearing some auburn and grey sneakers, blue jeans and one of my favorite little casual/urban preppy shirts that has "78" on the front. The shirt is baby blue and the 78 are of the auburn persuasion and is enclosed by grey lines. And the funny thing is that both of these items were mutually exclusive purchases and I just realized (this morning) that they match perfectly. It's kinda funny that you have tools in your life that match perfectly with other life tools you pick up along the way. You never realize that you have everything you need to survive and make it in life until you really put forth the effort. Sometimes we think we can't make it and that we don't know what we are doing, but little do we know that we have been equipped with all the survival skills we need. Despite the pain, the hurt, the anger, the turmoil....it has all given us little facets of information that will help us throughout the journey. I thought about that this morning as I put on my perfectly coordinated outfit.

Music that started off my day: Centipede by Rebbie Jackson. I was almost late to work cause I was getting my groove on. Unless there were studio dramatics going on, did anyone catch that gospel wail that Rebbie does at the end of the song? I was like...oh...can Rebbie really sing? "And its crawling like a centipede." And by the way, that song is about sex right? More specifically, is "centipede" a metaphor for a penis because I was listening to the song's lyrics and I think I would have been offended if I lived in one of the red states. Rebbie is freaky.

Question of the day: Why is there so much intra-group animosity? And this applies to all of our sub-categories as well. More to follow.

For those of you who are not celebrating the Bible or Jesus or anything semi-religious this season, I would like to share with you the religious symbolism of The 12 Days of Christmas so you can elect to refrain from singing this religious ditty.

1. A partridge in a pear tree is the one true God.
2. Two turtle doves represent the Old and the New Testaments.
3. Three French hens are faith, hope and charity.
4. Four calling birds are the four gospels.
5. Five golden rings signify the books of Moses.
6. Six geese a-laying are the days of creation.
7. Seven swans a-swimming are the gifts of the Holy Spirit.
8. Eight maids a-milking are the Beatitudes.
9. Nine ladies dancing are the fruits of the spirit.
10. Ten lords a-leaping mean the Commandments.
11. Eleven pipers piping represent the faithful apostles.
12. Twelve drummers drumming hail the Apostles' Cree

Last night I had a wonderful dinner...at home...with a special guest. The menu: bar-b-qued salmon, honey-mustard roasted potatoes, fresh green beans, and long grain wild rice. And the perfect bottle of 2002 french white wine. I have to thank No4real4real http://no4real4real.blogspot.com/ for a little inspiration because we had a conversation about salmon and I immediately went out and purchased some. And it was delicious. You all know I have shared with you tales of my kitchen skills. I have skills in several rooms on the home front, I just choose to share my culinary aspects with you (wink).
So back to last night...I had a special dinner guest. Now like I told you in my opening, I like to think that I can be happy within AND without anyone else. I discovered this while I was in high school. I got my first car at age 15, and like most kids, you want to hang out at the mall and go to the movies with all of your friends every chance you can get. I used to use my allowance to put gas in my car and drive my brand new black Toyota Tercel over to the Mister Carwash, cause I was not about to wash my own car in Houston (it is too hot to war your own car in Texas). And I loved going out. I went to the movies a lot...allegedly. My parents were like prison wardens and they rarely let me out the house and parties were a no-no. So I always had to pretend I was at the movies when I was really at someone's house on the floor dropping it likes its hot. I never drank or did drugs but I did sneak out the house to dance. Just like on Dirty Dancing.

For some reason I have always had socially flaky friends. The kind of friends who will call you at 8pm and tell you about a party. Call you at 10pm and ask what you are wearing. Then call you again at 11pm and tell you they are not going out. And the bad thing is that if this did happen I would have several friends cancel. Very much like saying if one person doesn't go then I won't go.

I learned early on if I waited around for other people to want to see the movies I liked or go to the concert and restaurants I liked that I might miss out on some experiences and pleasures. That is why to this day I do a lot by myself. From lunching, to shopping to the theater....sometimes I do not even consider buying more than one ticket. I think it is good to have that "me" time. I remember Cindy Adams said something one day that made a lot of sense to me. She said you should learn to enjoy your own company because YOU are the ONLY person you can count on being around for the rest of your life. I have a lot of friends who only go places if they have someone to go with them. Which I think is sad. Then I have some friends who see nothing wrong with saying "I am always in a relationship." I mean, they will get with anyone just so they can say they have someone. Cause some people fear being with themselves for even a small amount of time. Isn't that just a wee bit pathetic. I mean if you don't even want to be with yourself.....

But anyway I shared that with you because I often treat myself to nice meals both at home and away from home. And I like going out alone. Even at home, I pull out my cook books, go to gourmet grocery stores and get my ingredients and I have prime rib, stuffed pork chops, baked salmon, crawfish etoufee all by myself. Have a nice bottle of red or white and throw on my Teena Marie and I am happy. People often ask me who is coming over when I tell them what I am cooking. I reply "No one. I have to eat well for myself." I mean, honestly, do you expect me to eat bologna sandwiches just cause I haven't asked someone to join me? Makes me wonder what the hell other people eat at night. I don't do fast food. I don't do those Raman noodles and I don't do frozen food/frozen pizza/tv dinners.

But last night I did had a guest. A wonderfully handsome guest who entertained me with discussions of Bush's secret phone taps, the deconstruction and reconstruction of Madonna as a cultural icon, the mess and abyss that is Janet Jackson's career (a recurring theme with me) and the new releases by Jaime Foxx and Mary J. Blige ( I have not heard either).

I will tell you something that I can't experience alone. I like to cook for someone and walk back to the kitchen with a clean plate. I love it when I can feed someone and they devour every dish. Makes me really happy.

So did you watch Bravo's Christmas with the Browns?

Why was Whitney Houston walking around the house in a mink coat? She is SUCH a diva. And I loved it. She even put on a semi-combed wig. It could have been beat out just a little more but it was a step-up from one of those wigs she used to pick up off the closet floor and throw on her head. And by the way, she looked like she was coming down. She didn't look high. She looked like she was coming down...I'm just saying.

And Bobby Christina lost weight! I am sure they sent her to a fat farm for rich kids but hey....they're rich. Why they didn't do that a long time ago I don't know. The TODAY Show did a whole series on obese kids and little, I mean Big Bobbi Chris was a shining example. But you know what, with the loss of weight and the fresh long bone-straight weave they put in her hair she looks kinda cute. She still ain't cute enough to hang out with Lenny Kravitz and Lisa Bonet's wild child, but I am happy to see her look decent. Maybe she will hang out with some other wild rich black kids, get a drug habit, an older boyfriend and a few DUIs. Then we can find her interesting outside of her parents. Wishful thinking for 2006.

Oh, back to the question of the day. SO let's pick a sub-group. Like black women in corporate America or gay black men in the fashion industry. Just pick a particular sub-group you are a member of but go deeper than just race or just the job or just religion. Add on like two or three additional markers. Now, why is it the smaller the pool gets...the nastier and cattier people are?
I allow people to set the tone of their relationship with me. You decide how I act towards you. But I make sure everyone meets nice Tiger before I show any other side.

GOSSIP:

I don't have any gossip to share with you. I hope someone gets arrested, divorced or dumped over the holidays so I can have something to report.

I want you to have a happy holiday season. I have quite a few parties on my agenda and I plan to give you all the gritty details as soon as I can. I am going to be styled-down. Pulling out the good stuff. Tiger is on the loose.

Cheers,
TT

Mary's Breakthrough and the MTA Madness on my Buns of Steel

2005-12-21T03:48:00.000-08:00

Mood: Furious. I WALKED all the way from 117th street to 42nd street to get to work today. And guess what, turns out I have the day off. So yes, I walked for an hour and 15 mins for nothing. Damn you MTA strikers! Damn you to hell! But I hope ya'll get your paper and have a blessed Christmas and stuff.

Mode: Continuing to hate on the MTA. So I wasted a perfectly cute outift today. I am selling you urban preppy style today. I have on this really cute Tommy Hilfiger long sleeve dress shirt. No seriously....I know you are thinking to yourself that it has been years and years since Tommy made anything that was hot but I swear to god or allah or buddha (who ever you serve) that I am wearing the hell out of this shirt. The shirt almosts looks like its Burberry because it is plaid ( I love the plaids). It is basically a pink dress shirt but the plaid pattern has patterns of brown, yellow and white. I love pink and I love brown. I am wearing jeans and the same Banana Republic sneakers I told you about yesterday. I have to be comfortable cause I walked 60 blocks. And I topped it off with a hot hot hot full-zipper sweater. The zipper is black and grey, just giving your urban down and the sleeves have yellow and green. It fits me very snug and I feel kinda hot tamale right now.
Music of the Day: "Seven Days in Sunny June" by Jamiroquai. I have mentioned this song before but I love to play it cause it always makes me feel like I am the one sexy Black boy in an Abercrombie and Fitch campaign. The song just makes me want to play rugby in a $200 shirt and khaki pants.
Motif/Question of the day: How do you imagine your wedding will be? I am asking cause Elton John (the world's most famous queen) just got married in the same place Prince Charles and Camilla got married. Isn't that hot? To have your wedding the same place as royalty.

Today's gossip is so so so short. I know I have been so long winded for the past few days I think you deserve some quick snippets. I swear to you, I have searched all over the internet today and this is the only gossip for today that should concern you.

Mary, quite contrary

Mary J. Blige — who isn't talking to her sister/manager after she fired her — probably won't be sending Christmas cards to her many family members this year. But if she did, this is what they would say:

"They'll be mad at me, but it's the truth — they were angry, hateful, jealous, ignorant, prideful people. My aunts were very, very mean people. I didn't want to be like that," she told London's Guardian.
And don't get her started on Mom.

"It might be that she's living vicariously through me, but I believe she's gotten real bitter about it," says Blige.

"It's probably why we've never really got along. Even as a child, she was a little rough on me, because on top of my father leaving, I was singing as a child, and it was what she wanted but she didn't use it. She didn't have the courage to use it." And you thought your family was tense during the holidays.

SIDEBAR: So Mary's breakthrough is ever since I got off drugs and got a man I have realized my sister and her husband are haters and my momma is a jealous beotch? I don't need them kinda breakthroughs in my life. I like to pretend I am a Cosby kid and my family is perfect.

Kathy Griffin (aka my 2nd favorite comedian after Sandra Bernhard) gets axed!

Just a week before the holiday, Harbert informed Griffin's lawyer her services would no longer be needed at E! To make it worse, she found out she'd been axed only because her lawyer called asking "what the deal was" with the upcoming Golden Globes.

When Griffin's people called Harbert, "Apparently Ted told my reps that the E! red carpet is a puzzle and I am a piece of the puzzle, which is a wonderful puzzle piece, but I don't fit this particular puzzle and that when I see the puzzle, I will get it. I am a piece that doesn't understand only because they can't tell me who will take over.

"They kept saying, 'When you see the new puzzle, you will know it is not a personal insult.' I was like, are you kidding? I got canned, bottom line. I can't even be like Star Jones and be like, 'Oh, I have a book tour coming up!' "

Jones briefly worked with Griffin at E! covering the red carpet events, but was criticized for being too much of a suck-up to the stars. When her contract wasn't renewed, Jones claimed it was because she needed to publicize her book, "Shine," out next month.

According to Roger Friedman of FoxNews.com, Michael Jackson is now in default on a $2.2 million loan which he secured last April with his family's estate in Encino, California. Jackson missed his December payment, which had a grace period up until the 10th of the month. For the moment, Thomas W. Smotrich and his group, who provided the singer with the loan, will not foreclose, but the option is theirs should they change their minds.

Us Weekly reports that Gwen Stefani is pregnant. Sources tell the magazine that the No Doubt singer, 36, and her husband, Institute singer Gavin Rossdale, 38, expect their first child in June. "We are delighted!" Rossdale's father, Douglas, told Us in an interview from his home in London

A swanky affair at 40/40 and my Banana Republic ad campaign via the MTA Strike

2005-12-20T07:33:00.000-08:00

Channeling emotions from last night…
Main event: Jay-Z’s 40/40 Club – the Jay-Z Private Room
Mood: Filthy Gorgeous
Mode: Square-toed beige Prada loafers (from a few seasons ago giving them a vintage look), loose fit Ben Sherman slacks, tight fit Ben Sherman vintage print shirt in brown with puce and pink patterns throughout the shirt.
Munchies: Little nibbly things. 40/40s famous mini-burgers, steak, chicken, hot wings, shrimp AND open bar with top shelf everything. My drink of choice: Chocolate Martini
Motif/Question(s) of the evening: Is MTA going to strike? Are you getting Mary J. Blige’s album? Are you an ultimate hustler?

A few conversations ago I shared with you some insider knowledge involving my appearance on the BET News End of the Year Wrap-up Special set to air on Dec.31st and Jan 1st, repeating six times after those dates. The special takes a poignant look at this year’s top hard-news stories, comedic moments and notable pop culture events and mishaps. The producer of the show, True Religion (not his real name, but I like to maintain the privacy of the guest stars of my blog + he was wearing an ill True Religion velvet dinner jacket that was so hot I cannot even find the adjectives to describe it to you) invited me to be a guest pundit on the show, and from what he tells me, you are in for a treat. He tells me Wendy Williams was hilarious. Remember I told you she came on after me? I was right in between Wendy and a hilarious comedian who you will discover once the show airs. They were both hard acts to be sandwiched between. But the Tiger held his own.

But let me segue into the evening…

True Religion’s production company threw a very suzy party in the Jay-Z room at the 40/40 club in New York’s Flatiron District. I must say I am impressed by the décor and design of Jay-Z’s club, but with all of his wealth, he would have no excuse not to have a swanky joint. The bar is very unassuming from the outside. With the mandatory big beefy black man outside checking IDs, my beefy black guy studied my ID as if he was preparing for the newly-designed SAT. This usually makes me fearful because you don’t know if the bouncer is memorizing your address so he can be sitting outside your apartment after his shift ends or if he is looking for your social security number so he can run an online credit scheme that will have you living with your momma for the next ten years. For whatever reason, the bouncer gave me back my ID and asked me if Texas was going to beat USC this week. First of all, who is Texas and what is USC? Secondly, is this a conversation about basketball, football or baseball? These are just some of the questions in my head that I did not share aloud. Then I said to the bouncer (in my deepest butch boy voice) "Oh, I am sure we will." Then he said to me "Ya’ll better."

I so enjoy those ultra-masculine exchanges that center around sports and team activities. I have begun to watch ESPN every morning so whenever I am confronted with a conversation about sports I always seem to have an informed opinion.

Once I passed the bouncer, I entered 40/40 which has a wistfully elegant display of whites, greys and blacks with a masculine edge. It’s pretty yet sleek. Sexy yet gangster. I don’t think for five minutes Jay-Z was deeply involved in designing the interior, some things are best left to the gays. And I am sure it was designed by some suzy gay male who knows how to keep it urban. The bar is two floors and I need to reiterate it’s a sports bar not a club per se. When you walk in the door you face a bar that is slightly on your left surrounded by bar stools. On either side of the bar are tucked-away booths where you could have a secret rendezvous with someone’s husband or lover without being too obvious. To your right is a very small dance floor, large enough for about 25 people to do a two-step but not much room to get crunk. The DJ is suspended above your head. And as you go upstairs, there is a long diagonal grey staircase which sometimes appears to be white depending on the clubs lights and how much Grey Goose is in your Pimp cup. Once atop the stairs (which has unique little resting spots along the way) there is a second bar and beyond the second bar are all the PRIVATE rooms where I am sure it all goes down on the weekends.

There is a cigar room among the private rooms where you can partake of the clubs cigars. Funny thing about New York…it is illegal to smoke cigarettes but you may smoke cigars in certain bars. Maybe cigars don’t cause lung cancer? Wait…..has the TRUTH campaign addressed this?

I hit coat check then moved onto the party where it was all going down. The first person to greet me was True Religion’s brother who was wearing a blue body shirt which screamed "I work out 8 days a week." And as my fitted Ben Sherman shirt screamed "Nicole Richie Fitness Club" I thought we made an odd couple. He asked me for a drink recommendation as he said he wasn’t much of a drinker. So I recommended he get a fuzzy navel aka what I drank when I was a 21-yr-old virgin (and yes, I was a virgin up until age 22). Once the waitress (who was like a hybrid Gwen Stefani meets Kirsten Dunst with cornrows) got to me, I ordered a chocolate martini (because I am well beyond those virgin years, sweetie).

I picked that particular drink because it is strong and sweet….like me. And most importantly, the dark chocolate of the Godiva liquor mixed with light cream liquor produces a rich creamy brown hue which perfectly matched my shirt. You know a DEVO has to always give you coordination.

So in the Jay-Z room is a pool table on the left-hand side of the room while the wall is adorned with autographed Jerseys from Jordan, Irving, and Sanders (all persons I had crushes on when I was 15-years-old and confused about my feelings). I used to ask myself, why do I keep watching Atlanta Falcon games to see this Black man with the juicy wet S-curl in his head?
The food was fantastic. If you ever visit 40/40 in NYC or Atlantic City please get the mini-burgers. I love hamburgers and the burgers there are very tasty. But what was even tastier were the guests at the party. I immediately made my way over to a producer who calls herself Butter Pecan and her friend who is also in the industry whom I will call Butter Pecan II. I made my way over to the Butter Ps because they were beautiful women. Both had butter pecan skin, warm and inviting smiles, and sickening boots that extended up their long and luscious legs and they had those New York girl personalities. A New York girl is aggressive and feisty, usually has a warm and bubbly laugh and you always want to see her a second time. The Butter Ps were fabulous. I leaned over to Butter P and started my own version of the whisper song:

Me: I am so over stimulated right now. Why is everybody in here so damn fine?
Butter P: Well, who are you talking about, the girls or the guys?
Me: (looking at her with a PERPLEXED eye) The guys!

We both laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

Butter P II: What ya’ll laughing at?
Butter P: I asked him who he thought was good looking here, the girls or guys.
Me: And though I think you both are very beautiful or else I wouldn’t be over here (I have a thing about surrounding myself with beautiful women), I am on the market sweetie, and I gotta have my game face on.

And then all three of us laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

At some point in the evening, I ended up with a cue stick in my hand and I got into a vicious match with a pool shark name Sin (not her real name). So Sin looks like an all-American Black girl from the suburbs. But she has a shady side. She let it slip in our conversation that she used to troll the pools halls of a large urban city and trick unwitting men into playing pool with her for money. She has the sweet face and personality to play it off. She told me that she always got her books and tuition paid on time. SIDEBAR: Me too (but you know I danced my way through college. Did I ever tell you how I got my nickname Chocolate Thunder?)

Anyway, Cindy broke the set, then she messed up and let me get in the game and I started wearing her out. It was an evil match and the martinis kept coming. We got down to fours balls (two for me, one for her and the 8 ball). I missed my shot and Sin killed me. Luckily I didn’t bet her any money. Cindy actually whipped every man in the room until Mike showed up on the board. With fewer expressions and lines in his face than a severely botoxed Upper-East Side princess, Mike showed Sin no mercy and sat her down…finally.

I enjoyed the crowd. It was a variety of types. Mostly African Americans with your models, producers, reporters, personal assistants etc. You know in New York its all about the slash. Everyone is at least three things. "Hi, I am a model/actor/dancer." "Hi I am a stylist/entertainment correspondent/painter." I am still working on my slash. I want it to be, "Hi, I am a talk show host/spokes model/life partner of Mechad Brooks"

I met a lovely lady who works at ESPN and we talked about sports (what we do and don’t know). And we had an interesting talk about the competition between black women and men who both date Black men. We both tended to agree that sometimes it gets vicious and catty. I told her that sometimes I can tell that some Black women take offense to me and my desires and they react negatively. Is this jealousy? My mom often says gay black men are "wrong" because every gay black man is depriving a black woman of a husband. But that is so not true!

Then I met someone who I will call Thug Passion (his words…not mine). I think Thus Passion was trying to work me…or was it the other way around? I got the number….details to follow. Or maybe not. Boys like me never tell.

I also ran into my fashionable sister who loves Ben Sherman as much as I do. I will call her Bennia.

Oh, and let me tell you about Mr. True Religion. He shows up an hour late. Now, I have been known to be fabulously late myself. My Chicago friends can attest to my 24th birthday party which I arrived at a full 45 mins after my guests. But Mr. True Religion took the cake. He arrived an hour late with full fanfare. He was rocking a red velvet True Religion jacket with a red print shirt with hues of beige and white. And he didn’t stop there. His jeans were black and had a red stripe along its contours. I failed to detect which brand of jeans they were. But knowing Mr. True Religion, I am sure they were in that (I got my $200 jeans from the denim department at Saks Fifth Avenue) category. And did I tell you about the red boots. Yes, he was sickening. And then he topped it off with a hat cocked over his right eye. Don’t you just love New York?

The New York people give flavor.

I also met a guy who looked like Lexington Steele….which I shared with him. He looked slightly perturbed. I can’t help it you look like a porn star!

Oh, and I did a shot of tequila with Butter P II.

I just love being amongst the black glitterati. But it was time to go because I knew I had to get home before the trains stopped running. They have the nerve to strike! Messing up the social lives of over 700,000 people. I knew Tuesday morning was going to be a hot mess, and it was….

TUESDAY MORNING

3 Am. I wake up to find the strike is in full effect
3:30 Am. I dress warm yet light cause I know I am going to have to do some serious strutting down 7th ave.
4:30 Am. I pull out the scooter and head downstairs.
4:33Am. My concierge laughs at me because he knows I am going to catch hell on the way to work.
Let’s begin shall we?

Mood: Weirdly fascinated at the fact that I am about to embark on a journey over 60 blocks on a push scooter.
Mode: Blue long-johns (top and bottom). Loose fit blue jeans and a thick brown shirt I picked up in London a few seasons ago. For the kicks I choose some brown and burgundy Banana Republic casual sneakers. I wore a brown kangol floppy hair to protect my ears. Add the trench coat and I am ready to jet.
Munchies: I don’t eat at home. I was feeding off adrenaline.
Music that started me off: "I’m Catching Hell" by Natalie Cole.

I walked up to 7th avenue and proceeded with my journey down Central Park West on my scooter. Now, to get to Central Park West I have to first get out of Harlem…which made me a little nervous. Imagine a slender black guy in a floppy hat and loud trench coat at 4am riding down the mean streets of Harlem on a little push scooter. I know right! I was so hoping I didn’t run into some G-Unit wanna be who was gonna hit me with a brick so he could join some tacky Tookie Williams type-gang. I know every time I pump down 116th I am taking a chance but that is what New Yorkers do…take risks.

So, I pass the bodega (corner store) and some guy, in one of those very "common" and might I add UGLY black North Face bomber jackets, says something under his breath as I scoot by. Then I hear him yelling "hey" like he wants to get my attention so I can come back and holla at him. Needless to say, I didn’t even look over my shoulder, except to see if he was following me and I needed to call 911.

I continue my adventure.

Now, here I am on the picturesque Upper West Side scooting by all the multi-million dollar high-rise condo buildings made of the world’s best limestone. The sun is in the horizon and if you were to take a snapshot, I could be the cover boy for the next Banana Republic ad campaign at sunset/dawn. As I continue to pass the police officers, (who are stationed on the street to enforce carpooling rules as a result of the strike) they marvel at me as I give them cover boy poses as I scoot by making eye contact with each of them. I am single remember….and I don’t know where my next life partner may come from. so I smile at everyone.

Just then, as I scoot by giving very Banana Republic ad, I approach a guy who is giving me very Source magazine ad. At first I am a little nervous. A little afraid. Then he looks at me and says "Wassup, man that scooter is better than the train." We both laughed and proceed. Now that I have been giving gangsta approval I proceed down the street armed with street credibility. Now I know what a rapper feels like. I am so keeping it real on my scooter!

But the time I get from 116th down to 72nd, my back is killing me. I begin humming
"I’m coming up, on the rough side of the mountain. I am doing my best to make it in."
Like that old commercial they used to play on BET in the 80s. BET must have given them cheap airtime because I swear they played that commercial every two hours. That was back in the day where you could order an album or cassette and CDs were extra.

I finally made it to Times Square and I was so tired. Then I started singing to myself

"My neck, my back….." as I slid into my cube.

Today was such an adventure. I hope Bloomberg gives the MTA what they need because I can’t take too much more. Meanwhile, my workout this morning was great. I know I really got the buns of steel now. I was singing in mezzo-alto B Flat again. And like I told you, my B is far from flat.

Manic Monday - Bobby B. Star Jones and Lisa/Lenny

2005-12-18T16:33:00.000-08:00

Mood: Reflective. Now that the alchohol is out of my system I am reflecting on the weekend and trying to remember who i gave my number to cause I been getting sketchy private calls.
Mode: I am wearing a Kenneth Cole cowboy shirt. Very Texas meets New York. Blue jeans and KC boots.
Munchies: Scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage.
Music to start the Day: "You remind me" by MJB. Have you ever dated someone who reminded you or someone you wished things had worked out with? I am. I always feel like no matter what, i am dating the same set of people. The new always seems to remind me of the old in terms of the way I am touched, kissed, "handled," treated, ignored, dissed and rejected. Such sweet memories...such bitter sorrow...why does it hurt so good?
Motif and Question of the Day: How many drinks does it take for you to be able to deny responsibility for your actions? (SIDEBAR: Someone took advantage of me and now I am pi$$ed)

I have thought long and hard about this post but honestly, does this next picture require any commenterry? The mere title alone should conjure up emotions in all of us. Sit back and enjoy this picture and title and tell me what you think. Because honestly, aren't we all looking to experience an emotional, physical and spiritual journey to love with a gay black man? Or is it just me?

Must see TV:

To be young, rich, bad and beautiful. This is a pic of Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz's 16-year old daughter smoking outside of an LA club. She is boozing and partying at age 16, looking fabulous. She's like a black Hilton sister. Fabulous!

Saturday Night Fever, and feeling filthy/gorgeous

2005-12-18T06:48:00.000-08:00

Mood: Hung Up...and over. Singing Madonna to myself but at a really low decible.
Mode: Giving you emotions from last night. I was rocking the Seven jeans and a multi-colored vertical striped shirt (black, grey, blue and white). The stripes were very thin...just enough to give you the hint of a pattern. The shirt was tricked out with ruffles. Yea, ruffles. Giving you very tuxedo after 5, but it was really after dawn. The shoes were some vintage square-toed wingtips in a color I would describe as coffee with cream. The mood was Hot Tamale.
Munchies: I had a liquid dinner. Apple Smirnoff, Watermelon Smirnoff, a dash of Remy Red and some ginger ale (I made this up all by myself). I don't know what you call it but it was fruity and strong. Like me. It was my take on the Texas iced tea.
Motif/Question of the evening: How long are all these passive-aggressive types gonna stare at me before they try to get my number?

HELL UP IN HARLEM (x2)

I was a man about town yesterday. Doing things. Seeing people. Changing outfits. Giving attitude and stuff. My friend Daniel called me and invited me to a late night gathering (we are talking after 12:30am and three glasses of Shiraz) in Harlem. Because I am a part of the new Harlem, one of the brothers who is helping usher in the new Renaissance, I quickly took Daniel up on his offer as I never miss an opportunity to put on my dancing shoes/sandles/boots/sneakers/beach tongs when the option is presented.

Let me pause for a moment and introduce you to Daniel who is a fabulous 20-something artist in Harlem.

This is a mere sample of some of the fabulously abstract works you can find in his well-appointed gallery (http://www.df13.com/). You know, meeting Daniel was so very New York for me. Coming here from Texas, I imagined myself with friends who were artsy and bold and outspoken and who would break out in song whenever inspired by mother earth and her blessings. Just like Leroy on Fame.

Just all different and artistic. Individuals with wonderful spirits who live in work/lofts amongst their creations. Who wore clothes from thrift stores and pumped around town with well-appointed man bags and things from Gucci and Prada.

So very "Rent" minus the drugs, poverty and power ballads.

It has inspired me to be artsy myself. In fact, next week I am going to distress my walls, paint the bathroom, add surround sound that plays some abstract world beats from Europe and attempt to restyle my closet ala HGTV. Daniel can live in his work/loft but I want to live in the Banana Republic flagship showroom.

SO anyway......Daniel hit me on the cell, told me where the spot was, so I threw on the wool trench and hit the front door. As I walked down the long hallway from my apartment the Hot Tamale kicked in and my walk turned to a strut which segued into a full TexASS swagger that simultaneously worked legs, waist, backfield and chest. I like to give you visual from both angles.

I said wassup to my concierge and he said, "You always on the go," as he looked at his watch. I looked over my shoulder as I headed towards the door and said, "I didn't move to New York to sleep, I moved here to live."

And with that, I hit 118th street with a bottle of wine in my right hand and my cell phone in my left, feeling like the male counterpart to Mary Tyler Moore (I have to use her cause she was a writer.) And like Bobby Brown Jr. says, I was Cory Bradshaw, Sarah Jessica's illegitimate Black brother.

We get to the spot in a newly renovated brownstone with exposed brick (loving it), hardwood floors and gorgeous guests. And I should also mention Daniel's friends were all hot boys and we were giving you southern flavor with a dash of the Midwest and some East Coast swing (like Boyz II Men on Motownphilly) our collective hot boy steelo was the harmony. I was giving you mezzo-alto in B flat. Actually my B is far from flat but you get what I am saying.

The music was great...some new jack swing, some rap, some soul, some beats that made me hit the dance floor.

I met a gal from Ohio. At some point the DJ played some reggae. And the gal, we will call her Bethany, looked me in my eyes and started moving my way. I immediately knew how it was about to go down. Bethany was about to try to work me. She got thisclose to me and proceeded to dance. First she was very slow, very gentle. She made me feel safe and secure. Then she got just a lil bit aggressive. She stopped dancing in first position and put her legs shoulder width apart and then she dropped it like it was hot. I looked at Bethany with the eye of the Tiger....cause she knew not what she had done.

I put my drink down.

Then I put my legs shoulder width apart. And dropped it like it was scorching. Then Bethany got closer and I got closer and then we were in the midst of a dirty tango fit for BET Uncut on a Wednesday morning at 3:13am. She went to the ground not thinking I would come after her. Bethany - sweetie - I AM FROM TEXAS. I can sweep the floor with a martini in my hand and not spill a drop. She gave it to me good and she could keep up. I lost my breath AND my innocence in the eyes of those who were watching. But I didn't care. I dance with reckless abandon on the dance floor. Just like Madonna in a pink leotard with the Farrah Fawcett flip in "Hung Up."

There was a lot of flirting going on. A lot. And I was loving it! Everytime I would get involved in a conversation with one cutie ANOTHER cutie would jump in and then we would all be flirting. It was like with each new introduction I was working on a threesome. Or orgy. It was so Hot Tamale.

And as always amogst us, there was a lot of male posturing, some subliminal challenges as well as some lite-hating. But ain't that always the case? You gotta get that dirt off your shoulders.

I had a very weird conversation with some very unique individuals in the "smoke" room. Now, if you can't tell, I was such a goody-goody in high school and college. I was never one to be in the smoke room with the "cool" kids. Ok, who am I kidding. The parties I went to were so lame we weren't even cool enough to have a smoke room. But I was getting love from the weed-heads in the smoke room last night.

So I got into this conversation with them about mushrooms. Of course I have never done them so they immediately started making fun of me for being naive. But it was all in love. So many tastes, so many flavors. You can have your mushrooms, your weed, and your coke, just give me a chocolate martini and a chocolate dance partner and 80s soul song and I will be as "lifted" as I need to be.

But I had to dash off to another event further uptown. I winked at a few people, said my good-byes, got the trench and left. So very New York. So very New York.

Tell you about the other party later...it's not a story I feel comfortable sharing on a Sunday cause it was far from holy......

2005-12-17T13:44:00.000-08:00

Channeling my emotions from last night -

Mood: Hot Tamale.
Mode: I am wearing some fitted brown pinstriped slacks from Ben Sherman. The pants are brown with stripes of pink and grey. My shirt is a fitted Ben Sherman cosmopolitan top in dark chocolate brown with pink pinstripes. My boots are chocolate brown Kenneth Cole with a pink stripe going down the center. I adorned my outfit with a vibrant pink tie from Banana Republic. And you should have seen the pink stripe in my boots catch the tie that caught the shirt that caught the pants...SICKENING! It was a chocolate brown/pink affair. I finished it all off with my vintage trench coat, collar turned-up added the Colgate smile and a dash of Texas swagger.
Munchies: Macaroni and Cheese at Cafeteria....as seen on Sex and the City. A green apple martini and one mojito.
Song(s) that started off my evening: "Starchild" and "Seven Days in Sunny June" by Jamiroquai. These songs ALWAYS make me feel sexy/sleek/stylish and HOT TAMALE.
What song makes you feel sexy?
Motif/Question of the evening: What is your favorite song from the 80s?

Last night I had the pleasure of accompanying 7 gorgeous and successful black men to a holiday concert starring Dianne Reeves and Freddy Cole in Newark, New Jersey.

Now I know what you are saying to yourself: Ain't that where Whitney Houston is from? I am not sure, but as I exited the PATH train I was confronted by a police car chase and I immediately got on my cell phone and told my best friend Bobby (fyi - my best friend is Bobby Brown Jr....hand to God...that is his real name) "Hell to the Naw!" You and Rodney need to come pick my sheltered a$$ up cause I am scared!

Instead of waiting outside alone and vulnerable, I walked to the Burger King next to the train station because I needed something quick and fast. As I woofed down a double whopper I thought to myself about the irony of the situation. Here I am in new clothes (the only thing I had on that had not been purchased in the past two weeks were my shoes) on my way to a fabulous concert and I am eating at Burger King alone. But instead of feeling sorry for myself, I thought back to my childhood and all the Saturdays I spent at Burger King, age 6, with my mommy and my sister. I would always order a double cheeseburger. Back in the day you could get a kid's meal with a double cheeseburger. What fascinates me is that one burger used to fill me up. And I will be honest with you, even now, if I am hungry I can order a double cheeseburger and be that same filled-up 6-year-old. I just love double cheeseburgers. Thanks for the memories Burger King. I just wish that were still 99 cents.

Rodney and Bobby picked me up and we dashed off to the New Jersey Performing Arts Center which is a fabulous venue where the old meets the new. You know the building is modern based on its structure, fresh colors and hues and steel-reinforced staircases. But I miss the feeling you get when you go to an older venue and stare up at the ceiling admiring the facade and the thought that must have gone into the artwork painted on the ceiling or the intellect behind the crystals in the chandeliers. We didn't get any of that last night, but I didn't care because I knew Dianne was going to take me to a place far beyond the drugs and crimes of Newark. And I was not disappointed.

As I walked into the venue, the scent of old money mixed with newer money topped with thick stock portfolios filled my nostrils like a good cup of Godiva hot cocoa on a winter morning in Chicago. All at once I felt at home and welcomed. Adding this feeling to my already HOT TAMALE attitude I walked through the crowd looking at the well-appointed and seasoned African Americans I encountered as if they were all lost-friends of my parents whom I had not seen for years....but was happy to be reacquainted with.

I was introduced to Bobby and Rodney's friends and we took out seats. I ended up sitting at the end of the group (away from Bobby and Rodney, whom were the only persons I knew before hand) and I immediately feel rejected, alone, aloof, forgotten and lost. But then the lights went down and Freddy Cole appeared on stage with a band of three instrumentalists and I felt at home again.

I will admit to you. I had just met Fred Cole that night. He was a familiar friend in my soul. His voice was a rich and deep tenor. As I watched him work his majesty on the piano, I imagined what it must be like to be his grandchild. To hear granddaddy sing such wonderful carols this time of year. My granddaddy died when I was six. I remember his laugh, his dentures, his grey hair and how he loved me. His slow walk, him taking me fishing, him taking me shopping and him developing cancer. I remember him sitting in our living room in my dad's recliner watching football (which of course didn't interest me at all). And then I remembered his love of the Donny Hathaway song "This Christmas." I wish Fred would have sung that song, then again maybe it would have been too painful.

I should mention that the Julliard trained Cole is the brother of Nat King Cole. And Fred does not make any apologies for sounding like his brother. And he shouldn't. I think the sound is what welcomed me and made me think of Granddaddy.

After intermission and a quick hot cocoa break, Dianne Reeves took the stage. Also, this was my first time meeting her. I had heard about her but I didn't know much about her artistry.
She is a well-appointed African-American goddess who I would say is a well-kept 45 (at least). Hair was upswept (of course) with diamond sparklers hanging from her ears (naturally) and she presented us a simple black gown (which I imagined had straps) and topped off the gown with a light black jacket with sequins and little glittery things (very Diva-like of course).

The show called "Christmas Time is Here" took me on a Christmas journey that at times left North America and visited Brazil, the motherland, a little village in France and at one point the Rockaway as Dianne took out a moment from scatting and stretched her arms open wide and told the audience to "Lean Back, Lean Back."

As any Diva should, Dianne made me extremely emotional. At times I listened to her sing and I closed my eyes thinking about my life, my career, what I want, what I need and how I need to go get it. I thought about being single and how I like dating and meeting new people. And then some songs made me think about love and what type of person could make me happy. I was happy, I was sad, I was fearful, I was excited, I was lonely, I was alone, and I was overwhelmed. Not since the release of Lindsay Lohan's "A Little More Personal" album and her heartfelt tribute to her incarcerated father "Daughter to Father" had a woman touched me so deeply without ever knowing me.

Thank you Dianne for a wonderful evening.

After the concert, I slid into the luxury vehicle of a new friend (along with three other new friends) and ended up at the Chelsea hotspot Cafeteria (It was so very "Riding in the car with boys"). Cafeteria was featured on the show Sex and the City and the prerequisites for working there are that you be male, gay, slender with a gym body and have a little attitude. So very New York. So very Chelsea.

I started off the evening with an apple martini and a conversation about the virtues and misdeeds of Janet Jackson (an issue I addressed in an earlier post). Throughout the course of dinner and a second beverage we talked about 80s music, The Color Purple, Jackee's Back, The Apprentice, and R.Kelly (here it was said that "everyone has issues"). I do not think we can easily dismiss pedophilia as an "issue" cause it’s a "sickness" to sexualize a minor in my eyes, but whatever. Most of my dinner partners liked R.Kelly's music and I have already said on several occasions I think we let R.Kelly and Wacko Jacko get away with crime because they are talented, but that is b.s. If a 45-year-old man pissed on your niece you would get pissed and you would not easily say, oh, he has an issue. Neither would you let a 50-year old man sleep in the bed with your 10-year-old son just because he is a "thriller."

Alas, it was a great evening. I enjoyed myself. I adored my company. And I discovered some great music. So very New York. So very New York.

GOSSIP & HEADLINES:

Hillary runs up on Cheney - Brooklyn style!

Washington - During a very brief encounter, Senator Hillary Clinton (D-NY) offered Vice-President Dick Cheney some unwelcomed advice telling the Cheney to gocheck out the progress in Iraq.
Clinton, who has visted Iraq twice since the war began, offered her remarks only moments before a war breifing at the White House yesterday, a source tels the New York post.
Shocked and stunned into silence, the source says Cheney remained mum. Ya'll didn't know Hillary was an OG? Hillary and Barbara Boxer (D-CA) are two of the most gangster senators sitting on the Hill today. Imagine them running together in '08, I couldn't stand it!

ADAM Goldstein, a week after breaking up with his stick-thin fiancée, Nicole Richie, having lunch with an attractively chubby woman at Fred Segal . . .BA$TARD! Even one knows how I feel about my sister (Nicole) and her feelings. I am furious. Adam, I hope your stomach expands and you gain back all 300 lbs you lost after your gastric bypass surgery. I hope you end up twice the size of Star Jones after a 1988 Christmas buffet.

The Liza-fication of Ashlee Simpson continues.

Jessica Simpson's chanteuse sister was rushed to a hospital following a live MTV performance in Tokyo Thursday night. She collapsed offstage after telling fans she felt unwell - adding, "I love you guys" - before being taken by ambulance to a city hospital.

Her rep had no comment yesterday, other than to say she was being treated for exhaustion.
You may recall the teeny-popper recently made headlines for clambering on top of a McDonald's counter in Canada, calling for the manager and generally doing a wonderful impersonation of a drunk.

"Ashlee's exhausted because she's been working so hard promoting her No. 1 CD," explained a pal, spinning so hard that he scrambled tornado response teams in three Midwestern states.
Actually, it's unfair to compare Ashlee with Liza Minnelli. God knows Liza can sing.

Ivana's No "TRUMP" after all

Has Ivana Trump's much-hyped desert tower turned out to be a castle in the air?

Word out of Nevada is that the 80-story Ivana Las Vegas project, which had been billed as the city's tallest luxury residential building, has been scrapped. Developers are now trying to unload the land for $49 million.

DJ denies putting smackdown on woman at club

Radio personality Ed Lover was freed on $1,000 bond yesterday after pleading not guilty to punching a woman at a Chelsea nightclub last weekend, basically saying his fist "though seen at the scene of the crime" was not the reason she needed 20 stiches.

Prosecutors claim the Power 105.1 deejay struck Letitia Belford, 26, in the face after she argued with a female friend of his.

Belford's attorney, Andrew Laskin, said Lover's pal had bumped into his client on the dance floor but there was no physical altercation until the 6-foot-3, 230-pound Lover jumped in and "cold-cocked" his petite client.

"We have a different view of the facts, and I'm confident we'll prevail," said lawyer Michael Berger, Lover's attorney. "He did nothing wrong."

Cancer-striken Rawls fights to Keep Money-grubbing wife away from Estate

In Los Angeles, the wife of Lou Rawls is trying to pull an Anna Nicole and "transfer" his estate into her own accounts as he lay in the hospital.

Rawls, being treated for lung cancer, is said to also have brain cancer and little chance of surviving much longer, according to his estranged wife Nina.

But in the middle of chemotherapy and other medications, Rawls has managed to file for annullment since discovering that Nina has absconded with nearly $350,000.

In her defense, Nina says she was attempting to prevent one of Rawls' two adult daughters from seizing the money. After all, why should his children inherit his life savings? They haven't been layed up under him for two years like Nina.

Rawls, 70, has sold more than 40 million albums and won three Grammys during a career spanning more than four decades. His hits include "Love is a Hurtin' Thing," "Dead End Street" and "You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine."

Al Sharpton gives Viacom Hell and Still Cashes their Checks

The Rev. Al Sharpton, who has plans to star in a new sitcom on CBS, says the deal will not stop him from outing the wrongdoings of corporate monstors...like his new parent company Viacom.

Sharpton is demanding that Viacom spend up to $3 million to fund city anti-violence programs in response to violent ads to promote 50-cent's flim "Get Rich or Die Trying" among others.

"If the price of doing the show is silence, then I won't be involved," Sharpton told the Daily News yesterday. "If it's between the two, I'm an activist first, and the [sitcom] can wait."
"We're seeing bloodshed in the city, and this is not a time to glorify violence," said Sharpton.

"It's certainly not a time to market it to our kids."

Sharpton and other Brooklyn leaders slammed the signs last month, charging that Paramount singled out poor and minority neighborhoods for its ad blitz. Unlike Jesse Jackson, Sharpton has discovered how to line his pockets and still remain relevant to "the struggle" or whatever it is he is pushing in terms of his own self-promotion and glorification.

CommenTerry on The Apprentice with Donald Trump and a letter to Ms. Jackson

2005-12-16T05:52:00.000-08:00

Mood: I am a little under the weather. That was the real reason I was so evil yesterday. But I am confessing my healing, praise Jesus, and walking in the anointing. I am also doped up on Drixoral and codine so I feel WONDERFULLY NUMB.
Mode: Today i am wearing ANOTHER signature Sean John shirt with dark GAP denim and a J.Crew tie. Oh, my shirt is cocoa brown like my skin and the tie is orange/blue in a checkered pattern. I am wearing Kenneth Cole boots that come slightly above the ankle.
Munchies: I had scambled eggs with cheese AGAIN - with coffee, OJ, and ham.
Motif: How can we learn from our past so that we do not continue to revist lessons we should have learned?
Music that started off my day: "You Can Call me Crazy" by Guy. This is my jam!

CommenTERRY on The Apprentice with Donald Trump

Randall Pinkettt won.

I know Randall personally. He was an inspiration to me as a sophomore in college. I was awarded a big scholarship from Citibank and as a Citibank Fellow, I was introduced to Randall whose consulting firm ran a seminar that taught me interviewing skills, resume writing and job hunting techniques. Let me tell you frankly: he is everything you would imagine him to be. I would describe him as amazing. I have long since finished my undergraduate degree as well as completed graduate programs at the London School of Economics and Northwestern, and to this day I still use the tools Randall’s firm taught me. I am so proud of him.

He is a Rhodes scholar AND has a PhD from MIT. He has a resume that puts everyone I have ever met in my life to shame.

Now onto the dirt: So for all of you who don’t watch the Apprentice, I am going to sum up the entire year as well as last night’s show in a few lines cause all you need is the juice. Ok, basically, the show boiled down to Randall and Rebecca (a sickening female who put everyone else on the show to shame. She broke her foot and completed the entire show on crutches! SICKENING! But she wasn’t as fierce as Madonna who fell off a horse and had Chanel design her a couture arm sling. Rebecca was rocking the cheap hospital crutches.
Rebecca – this is national TV sweetie. At least have someone get Banana Republic to trick out a lil walker for you. Had it been me, I would have asked Sean John to design me a funky walking stick, you know, the hood meets the suburbs or something. You learn how to pimp the game in the introductory course to DIVA/DEVO 101.)

Also, let’s all be honest. One of the reasons I watch the show is for its brutal (yet sometimes subliminal) honesty about the inner workings of corporate America. I hope this show proves once and for all that African Americans do have a place in the Trump organization. You are going to need five degrees from elite universities but hey….ain’t that always the case?

And let us not ignore the other subliminal battle here: affirmative action. I AM NOT AT ALL saying that played a role here, but what I would like us all to visit is that most scholars on corporate America and work force dynamics agree that white women have benefited far more in the work force since the 1970s when compared to Black males and females. And here on the Apprentice, the battle came down to a Black man and a White female. Mind you, Rebecca is only 23 and has one degree while Randall, who is 34, runs five companies and has five degrees, so you can see that the Blacks always gotta bring a lil something extra to the table.

Now back to the dirty, unlike the first seasons’s disappointment (aka Kwame Jackson) Randall also played the role of the passive-aggressive "very nice non-threatening Black guy" but when it got down to the final show he pulled out his big knife and slashed Rebecca from ear to ear and left her spewing blood on the desk of Donald Trump!

Zinger Number #1 – Donald asked Randall why he should be hired over Rebecca, Randall looked at Rebecca (who is a business journalist) and looked back at Mr. Trump and said "Mr. Trump with all due respect, I run businesses, Rebecca just writes about them."

SIDEBAR: The audience was aghast! You could clearly here the amen corner (aka all the black folks Randall brought down from Jersey, probably the same area Whitney Houston grew up in) cheering. He just slayed her on national television! If you remember from the first season, Kwame didn’t bring any knives to the table AT ALL. Randall brought a few butchers, two daggers and a chain saw AND he pulled them out accordingly (at all the right times). Rebecca was not ready.

Zinger Number #2 – Ok. Get ready for this one. Hold onto your seat. Cause I thought he slashed her and left her on the desk with zinger number one. But get ready folks. Mr. Passive Aggressive Black man showed his true colors of RED GREEN AND BLACK. So, Mr. Trump tells Randall "You’re hired."

Then, Donald (ok, brace yourself for this part cause I want you all to just gag about this and then tell me what racial/sexual dynamics you see playing out), tells Randall, you are BOTH stars. You know, I COULD be TEMPTED to hire BOTH of you. But Randall you are the Apprentice, so let me ask you "Should I also hire Rebecca?"

SIDEBAR: Ok class, passive aggressive Kwame would have enthusiastically said YES! Hire Miss Rebecca. Then we can get an office together and I can slay her with my big black schlong one night while we are working together (by the way, rumor has it that Kwame ONLY dates white women – since divorcing his 1st black wife; meanwhile, Randall is married to a black woman).

Now I am no where in this debate concerning black men who screw and impregnate black women yet date and marry white women cause I ain’t interested in dating or marrying or sexing either HOWEVER, I just wanted to point that out cause I am a vindictive little southern gentleman. I serve up my sarcasm with a glass of iced tea with honey and lemon.

Are you still holding onto your seat? Ok. So, remember the question Mr. Trump asked? Now, we finally get a black apprentice and Donald tries to steal Randall’s thunder by hiring Rebecca too, but he doesn’t want it to look bad so he asks Randall if he should hire Rebecca. Ok…..ladies and gentleman…….Randall looks at Mr. Trump and says…..

"With all due respect Mr. Trump, the name of this show is the Apprentice, not the Apprenti and there is only ONE apprentice."

I want you all to know I wiped a tear from my eye as paramedics from The Upper West Side hospital rolled Rebecca away on a stretcher. I am told she lost 5 pints of blood and needed several transfusions (one for her self-esteem, two for her newly developed fear of "nice" black guys and one for her bad perm and choice of attire)

Christmas list for Rebecca: Sea breeze, cocoa butter and band-aids. Time is needed for healing.

Oh, and a Kirk Franklin CD cause if God can deliver you from porn he can surely heal some wounds. Amen.

Now ladies and gentlemen (both natural and surgically altered) here are today’s headlines (or as least the ones that interested me)……

PERSONAL PLEA TO JANET JACKSON

May 16.

The day is a day so special to me. Janet Damita Jo Jackson was born on this day. And so was the Texas Tiger. Because we are both of the sign Taurus and because we were born on the same day, I understand Janet and her motives, moods and moments.

Now, I am not going to be nasty. I am not going to be mean. I am not going to be malicious. But I do want Janet to grapple with some issues I often have to deal with myself. And maybe you can relate. I had a very Oprah-fied moment when I realized (courtesy of the goddess Oprah) that we will continue to repeat issues and situations until we "get" the lesson we were meant to get. If you do not successfully get the lesson, life sends it around to you again via another situation, another meeting, another individual...but the message is that you will relive the cycle until you learn from it. I grapple with this a lot and I still struggle with it. Another thing I struggle with is getting myself into uncessary situations. What I have come to learn is that we do not need to experience ALL the facets of life. I do not need to try crystal meth to know it could potentially ruin my life. We should also be able to listen to our inner voice and step back from certain life experiences and say to ourselves, "I don't need to do this because I already know the outcome." Likewise, we should be able to look at those who have paved the way before for us, and be able to learn from the foundation they have laid. Sorry for the verbose prose but I want to set you up for my conversation and suggestions for Janet. I am attempting to be brief because I know you are busy and what I have to say to Janet is very short:

#1. Dump Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis (this is a behavioral pattern you should have learned from already)

#2. You are the Black Madonna. I hate to reduce you to a charicature of another woman, and a white woman at that (cause I know all the sisters are going to get evil with me) but I want you to look at how she has paved the way for you to be a "break out" diva and learn from what she has done.

Let's visit #1.

This is about you as an artist. I do not know you as a individual. But I have been with you every step of the way as an artisit.

You are sweet. We get it. You have cute chubby cheeks (even post-surgery). We get it. But what we also get from your first two albums is a woman who was not in control of her life, her music, her abusive husband (shout out to James Debarge) or her family (shout out to your "nonexistent" 18-year-old child). Coming off the heels of FAME

as the sweet "Cleo Hewitt" WE WANTED SO MUCH FROM YOU BECAUSE WE KNEW YOU HAD THAT FIRE IN YOU. THE SHY INGENUE WHO GOT ON STAGE AND SHED THE SHY GIRL ROLE AND BECAME A SASSY VIXEN. WE ATE IT UP.

But you were in such turmoil. Such distress. I knew, you knew, I think we all knew that the only way for you to grow was to run away, so far away from the pain, the drama, the hurt. To leave James (no time for getting slapped around), to leave that baby (no time for breasting feeding, and it looked too much like James anyway), and to leave the family (got tired of Joe yelling, and screaming, and yelling, screaming and calling Michael a fag). Like Mariah Carey running through a green and misty field with a big ole white horse in a white slip dress, you had to go to Minneapolis and spread your wings to prepare to fly. Cause you wuz about to become a sassy Butterfly.

Joe Jackson put you in a box, like Tommy Mottola did Mariah and like Berry did Diana, and like Clive did Whitney and like Rick James did Teena, and like Jay-Z will HOPEFULLY do to Beyonce. A diva needs to breath, and fly, and have room for all those wigs and weaves and gowns and sequins. A diva cannot be smothered by a controlling man. It affects the music. There are only two divas uncontrolled by men in life: Barbara Streisand and Madonna. And they are still banging out the beats. But I digress.

You broke free and when you went to the midwest, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis allowed you to breathe. I am sure they admired your talents, your writing, your dancing and the fact you never questioned "their" relationship.

And once you broke free and had time to exhale, you put out the beats.

Control - Sassy sexy Ebony vixen. Anti-Jody Watley. Jody was sassy for the street kids and the urban life. But you were sassy for the bougeoise and the suburbs. A rich girl with problems (Pleasure principle). A crazy daddy (Control). Looking for love (He doesn't know that I'm alive). Needing reciprocity (What have you done for me lately?). Not giving it up on the first date (Let's wait awhile). Tired of nasty boys (Nasty). You were so OVER. We were not ready. Who is this masked woman?

And then.............

Rhythm Nation 1814 - Sassy sexy Educated Ebony vixen. The pre-Angelina Jolie. Solving world problems with body and brains. You were the safer female answer to Public Enemy. With your foot-soldiers of all races and hues and sexual orientations, you opened our eyes to what was really going down. Crack epidemic (Black Kat) Illiteracy (The Knowledge) Racial injustice (Rhythm Nation) Social ills (State of the World) Still yearning for love (Miss You Much) secret rendevous with married men (Escapade) loving a man you know you need to leave cause he crazy (Love will never do without you). You were a better woman. Still in control but breaking the kids off properly with the knowledge. Bigger. Badder. Better. You were so Over. We were not ready. Who is this brilliant woman?

And then............

Janet. - Sassy sexy Educated Ebony DIVA Vixen with a THEME. This album is where you really put your foot in Madonna's a$$. You were everything she was but classy. Yea you were half naked but you pushed the envelope to a safe center of the table whereas Madonna pushed the envelope off the table and in the middle of the floor. And we were not always feeling that. SIDEBAR: Was Madonna's SEX book really relevant to anyone?
Back to Janet: But you had evolved. You were not just a singer. You were an artist. You had gowns, and wigs, and movies, and a hot Puerto Rican Lover and you were giving us an album with a storyline. Ya girl was doing shows. Candles, and soft lights and fluffy pillows and stuff. Getting remixed by R.Kelly and getting jiggy with rappers and stuff. Telling us the real. Aids/Stds (Youwant this/Be a good boy) still chasing after a man you need to leave (Again) finding love (That's the way love goes) sexual fantasy fulfillment (If)
meeting a man with a big schlong (Throb) racism (New agenda) subliminal stripper's anthem (Anytime anyplace). You were so OVER the kids were done.
Madonna who? Jody who? Taylor Dayne who? Vanity/Appollonia/Lisa&Wendy/Sheila E/Sheena Easton who? We were not ready for Janet. with the six pack, freshed dyed auburn weave and perky breast implants accented by a newly sculptured nose. WHAT? WHAT! Who is that gorgeous goddess?

And then....................

You sold 8 million albums and sold the hell out.

You may not agree with me, but hear me out. After Janet., every subsequent album was a remix. Now this is just my interpretation of the songs but really, have we covered ANY new ground. Yes, I love the albums and I have favorite songs on each...but what new issues did she tackle? And before you even try to go there, don't come at me with the Velvet Rope was her dark album. That was a cheap publicity ploy (a very BAD imitation of a Madonna tactic). The only thing she dealt with on the Velvet Rope was writers block and a bad stylist.

I think from Control to 1814 to Janet., she was growing. But after Janet, the worldwide acclaim and pressure from the record company to sell 8 million records every time was too much for her, and Jimmy and Terry. Mind you, the Velvet Rope was the second album after the switch to Virgin so I am sure she had to deal with industry pressure to match her own success, and keep in mind, Madonna had hit a rough pact with Erotica, the Sex book and the movie Body of Evidence. Public approval ratings were at an all time low and Janet was the only Diva the kids could turn too. I think the pressure was a lot. Was she banging out the hits? Yea. But she was no different that Puffy who just remixed the 80s. 8 million of ya'll loved Janet., so every 2-3 years she put in some new tracks (in her hair, not in the studio) and gave ya'll some fresh dance moves and a dirtier, sexier world tour and you got tricked into thinking she was coming at you wit the new Janet. The deep Janet. Janet in control. Yes, controled by market forces and exterior expectations.

And all of that pressure, the pain, the need to top Madonna and Mariah (the new light-skinned girl on Columbia who was killing it and breaking every record ever set!), the need for validation...it all culminated into that infamous Superbowl performance....and then the bottom fell out...along with her breast.

And I blame each and every one of you reading this for allowing this self-destruction to occur. And I want you to think about that before you go to bed tonight.

SIDEBAR: Even the Superbowl performance was a remix of her first two tours. NOTHING NEW since the 90s. A hot mess.

JANET - leave Terry and Jimmy alone. I know you love them. I love them too. I mean, who else could make me go buy Mya's album. (fyi -they produced "Free" the only Mya song I can stand).

But Jimmy and Terry are the new Joe Jackson in your life. You are not in control, their production is in control. And the three of ya'll ain't giving it to us the way we like it anymore. Learn this lessson. Get the Oprah boxed-DVD set and realize you didn't become who you were until you broke free of Joe and found some hungry producers to work with you and help you find a new voice. Jimmy and terry aren't hungy. They are now rich and very talented industry fat kats. You need to leave. Go find some hungry producers who need some money and exposure and give us some gritty, grimey dance beats with some fresh moves. Its the only way. Look back on your life (like you pretended to do on the Velvet Rope) and see that you have to find your voice. We are not interested in the old Janet anymore. No one bought Damita Jo. Why should we? I already have Janet, Velvet Rope and All for You. In a world of bootlegs and illegal downloads, ain't nobody bout to drop $15 to hear you repeat yourself.

#2. Look at those who paved the way. I hate to say it, but Madonna is doing it like you should have. I do not need to recap Madonna's career or reincarnations (virgin slut (Madonna), material girl slut (Like a Virgin), pregnant slut (True Blue), religious slut (Like a Prayer), queer-loving slut (Vogue/Immaculate Collection), r&B black man loving slut (Bedtime Stories), reborn slut (Ray of Light), mother/world slut (Music), political slut (American Life) and retro virgin/materialgirl/pregnant/religious/queer-loving/r&B loving/reborn/world slut (Confessions on a Dance Floor). SIDEBAR: I need you to elevate your mind and know I am saying "slut" in a politcal sense. Madonna spent her ENTIRE career challenging conventional definitions of behavior and sexuality and has often been deemed a slut. In my reading of Madonna, she was not a slut but she was a woman who took charge of her sexual power. The world called her a slut. She called herself: "WOMAN" and we heard her roar.

But Madonna used Confessions to revisit EVERYTHING we loved about her while she pushed to a new frontier by expanding the depths of her music giving us 1985 but in 2005. Taking the best of the 80s, the confusion of the 90s and the enlightenment of the new millenium and putting it all back on the dance floor....where we first met her.

I love you Janet. Lord knows do (in my wavering Miss Sophia voice from the color purple) but I fell in love with a beautiful woman who taught me to take control and dance. Who the hell would pop out her breast on national tv for children to see? Whether that was a malfunction or not, no one needed to see ANY part of your body on the Superbowl. It was the Superbowl. What the hell is wrong with you?

My suggestion - Take everything you wuz, you were, you are and you is and roll it into a ball and take us back to the dance floor. Notice I said the dance floor...not the clubs. There is a difference. You should not be in the studio with Kanye West, Jay-Z, 50 Cent, G-Unit, Fat Joe, Ashanti, Beyonce, Usher or ANYBODY else from that vein. Madonna did an album with no duets. You held you own on Control, and you can do it again. Please. For Me. For you. For us. For everyone reading this and for everyone who is going to tell their friends to read this.

I want the innocent Janet. The one who wore black cause she thought she was too fat. There was beauty in your insecurity. I want the secret Janet. The shy girl with a freaky side behind closed doors. There was beauty in your adaptability. I want the funky Janet. The one who could out dance her dancers. Who, even when she was chubby, could slide down the banister on When I think of You and dance in the middle of the street with sprinklers and stuff popping off in the background. I know you can do it.

And regardless to what anyone says, Beyonce and Ciara are not on your coattails cause you are an Icon. In another league. You think Madonna is at home trying to sound like Britney or X-tina? She knows she doesn't have to. And so do you.

I don't know what you are going to do - but do something.

Like you said in Let's Wait Awhile, PLEASE PROMISE ME YOU WILL BE WORTH THE WAIT.

And now for today's headlines (aka whatever interests me):

The link between high-yellow and mocha brown and vanilla swirl (aka the battle between Al B. Sure vs. Morris Chestnutt vs. Justin Timeberlake)

RESEARCHERS SAY THEY FOUND THAT THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LIGHT AND DARK SKIN STARTED WITH A TINY GENETIC MUTATION TENS OF THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO.

THEY SAY THEY HAVE DISCOVERED A TINY CHANGE IN A SINGLE AMINO ACID THAT GOES A LONG WAY TO EXPLAINING WHY MANY EUROPEAN'S HAVE LIGHT COLORED HAIR, SKIN AND EYES. THE MUTATION PROBABLY FIRST OCCURED IN JUST ONE PERSON AMONG THOSE WHO MIGRATED NORTH FROM AFRICA..
THE GENE -- WHICH MAY HAVE PROVED TO BE BETTER ADAPTED FOR LIFE IN THE NORTHERN CLIMATE -- WAS THEN PASSED ON FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION...

THE STUDY 'S AUTHORS ARE WARNING NOT TO LOOK AT THIS AS THE DISCOVERY OF A "RACE GENE".. BECAUSE, THEY CAUTION, THERE IS MORE TO RACE THAN JUST SKIN COLOR...

SIDEBAR: Did you catch the fever when they talked about the migration from Africa? We are all African and we are all black. Me, you, Paris Hilton, every WASP in America and even Michael Jackson. In the immortal works of Halle Berry as Alex Haley’s great grandmother named Queen, "I is Negro."

TINA Fey, head writer on "Saturday Night Live" for six years, explained after accepting a N.Y. Women in Film award at the Hilton this week how it's decided what will air. "Our show is extremely fair," she said. "It is brutally fair. If it is funny, it will go to air. If it is not that funny, it will go to air later in the show." Photographer Bettina Cirone reports Fey — who was honored along with Julianne Moore, Woody Allen's film editor Sandy Morse and BET network boss Debra Lee — also cracked, "Kabbalah is an English form of publicity invented by Madonna."

STOCKBRIDGE, Ga. (AP) -- A Waffle House cook faces charges after authorities say he dared a homeless man to drink industrial-strength dishwashing liquid. The drink sent Rex Leo to the hospital.

WILMINGTON, N.C. (AP) -- A draft report says what's been known as the 1898 race riot in Wilmington actually was a planned insurrection devised by white supremacists.

The 1898 Wilmington Riot Commission concludes that the violence, which resulted in the deaths of an unknown number of black people, was part of a statewide effort to put white supremacist Democrats in office and stop political advances of blacks.

It's the only known violent overthrow of a government in U-S history. Afterward, white supremacists in state office passed laws that disfranchised blacks until the civil rights movement and Voting Rights Act. A former Wilmington mayor says blacks haven't recovered from the riot

Morgan Freeman says the concept of a month dedicated to black history is "ridiculous."
"You're going to relegate my history to a month?" the 68-year-old actor says in an interview on CBS' "60 Minutes" to air Sunday (7 p.m. EST). "I don't want a Black History Month. Black history is American history.

Petra Nemcova says she recently made a tearful return to modeling, but still devotes most of her time to the children's charity she established after recovering from injuries sustained in last year's tsunami.

BAGHDAD, Dec 16 (Reuters) - Iraqis have elected a representative parliament, completing a U.S. timetable to install democracy, but much work lies ahead if it is to survive its own bitter divisions to produce stability and prosperity.

Rebellious Sunni Arabs laid down their arms to vote on Thursday in the hope of winning concessions in parliament; but disappointment for them -- or other groups -- could bring yet more violence.

Women who take more than a year to conceive are more likely to have a baby boy, according to research published on Friday.
Scientists at Maastricht University in the Netherlands, who studied data on 5,283 women who had babies between July 2001-2003, found that the probability of having a boy was 58 percent if it took longer than 12 months to get pregnant.

POLICEMAN JAILED FOR SEX ACT ON STUDENT
By Aislinn Simpson, PA

A police officer was today jailed for performing sex act on another man as
they slept in the same bed after a boozy night out.

James McKenna, 29, of Flackwell Heath, Buckinghamshire, was sentenced to 18
months in prison by a judge at Reading Crown Court.

McKenna, a police officer for a year and a half, based at High Wycombe Police
Station, was convicted by a jury of sexual assault on a university undergraduate
in September last year.

The court was told that DNA on the victim's boxed shorts and genitalia matched
samples taken from McKenna's mouth.

SIDEBAR: I can’t take it! I had to read this twice to make sure I interpreted it correctly. No comment on this. It speaks for itself.
The victim said he had awoken to find McKenna performing the sex act after a
night out at the Here and Now bar in High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, and threw
him out of the house before vomiting.

Ed Lover does the Ed Lover upside a woman’s head
Radio personality Ed Lover was charged yesterday with slugging a New Jersey woman in a Chelsea nightclub, police said.
The 42-year-old Power 105.1 deejay allegedly punched Letitia Belford, 26, at Duvet early Sunday, leaving her with a gash that took 20 stitches to close.

Foxy Brown still can’t hear

Rap diva Foxy Brown took the stage yesterday to detail her hearing-loss agony - saying she hasn't heard a human voice in six months.
"I have spent many confusing, agonizing nights crying in isolation and silence," Brown told reporters at a W. 57th St. soundstage owned by the BET network.
"But today, I stand before you blessed with only the voice of God in my ears as a vessel of inspiration."
The 26-year-old, Brooklyn-born artist, whose real name is Inga Marchand, wore a black leather Gucci jacket and a pair of tight Gucci jeans and was surrounded by supporters, including music and fashion mogul Russell Simmons and Kimora Lee Simmons

ENDQUOTE
"A FRIEND of mine is undergoing chemotherapy, but said in all seriousness, 'It's better than "Rent" ' "— Village Voice columnist Michael Musto.

Tribute to Labelle, A letter to Janet Jackson, and other Pop Culture CommenTerry

2005-12-15T04:41:00.000-08:00

Mood: Irritable. I don’t know why. But I got to work and just didn’t want to be bothered. I am still trying to make it through. I have so much to be thankful for, but don’t I deserve my evil days? I think it’s healthy. But from this point on I going to be my usual sweet-southern self. Except for the personal message I have for Ms. Jackson. It’s gonna get a lil gully but she needs a reality check. And an Oprah/CommenTerry moment.

Mode: Dark blue denim with a chocolate brown signature Sean John shirt (at first I used to hate on Sean John cause I don’t like to look like an audience member of TRL, but he has a whole new line for classy men who like to dress like grown men).

Munchies: Scrambled eggs with cheese and three slices of ham w/French toast.

Music that started off my day: I did not play a feel good song this morning. Maybe this is where I went wrong. So let me suggest a feel good so that goes along with my tribute: Shades of Difference by Labelle. You will see why I love this song in mere moments…….

Motif: Return to innocence. What is your favorite fairy tale and how has the storyline impacted your life? (think in terms of your job, love life, and relationship with family/friends)

The Ballad of Labelle (aka their story told by me with my CommenTerry)

Labelle, arguably one of the greatest female groups of the modern rock era was first incarnated in 1959 as The Bluebelles, an American R&B/soul group.
The group was led by Patti LaBelle, and composed of Nona Hendryx, Sarah Dash and Cindy Birdsong with Hendryx writhing the bulk of their prolific and sociopolitical songs. Nona was before her time. Think Lauryn Hill, with a dash of Kanye (no rap, just the thoughts) and some Mos Def. Ms. Hendryx was DEEP.

Their first single "I Sold My Heart to the Junkman" (released as the Blue-Belles) was only a minor hit but when they signed with Atlantic Records in 1965, releasing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" it would later become Ms. Labelle's signature rolling-on-the-floor, throwing down my wig, kickin off my 5-inch heels showstopping closing number (a riveting performance which has been remade, redone and reinterpreted by nearly every black drag queen in NorthAmerica who is on top of his/her diva game).

After Cindy Birdsong left the group to join the Supremes (following the death of Florence Ballard), the group hired Vicki Wickham, a British TV producer, who set about to remake their image. She changed the name to Labelle and pushed the group to a more contemporary "rock" sound, with futuristic infusions, outlandish costumes and over-the-top live shows.

Here is where it gets interesting. For those of you who don’t know, most girls groups had a lead singer. But not the Supremes. When they first started out, Diana, Florence and Mary Wilson ALL sung leads. In fact, Florence sang the bulk of the leads. But because she didn’t have the “B*tch get off me” attitude of Lady Diana (mainly due to post-traumatic stress stemming from a sexual assualt from her late teens), Diana emerged as the lead singer and pushed the other two to the status of glorified background. But not so with Labelle and Vicki’s vision. Sure, Patti was the lead singer and you can’t deny that. But when you listen to ANY Labelle song, you can CLEARLY her Nona’s sultry alto. Her voice was the anchor of the group. And you can hear Sarah’s distinct soprano. Her voice was the group’s wind sail. And then there was Patti. Her voice was the whole damn boat (the Queen Mary II).

Why I am sharing this with you is because I think you should know about the power of this vocal group. Imagine three women who can ALL SANG in one group. In my lifetime (with the exception of En Vouge) there has never been a group who could compare (except The Clark Sisters but my blog clearly isn’t a religious blog so we will leave gospel music out of the convo for right now).

What I want all the folks under 35 to know (especially the young R&Bers who think that Destiny’s Child is the second coming of the Supremes) is that Labelle was a real group. When was the last time (actually there has never been a time but let me finish this thought)…..when was the last time you heard a Destiny’s Child song and could clearly hear Michelle or Kelly. I have always asked myself, why does Beyonce feel the need to sing the lead, the bridge and drown out the girls on the chorus? Listen to The Writings on the Wall….was anyone else ever in the studio? I see why Letoya and Latavia got mad. See the average person thinks about the group from Beyonce’s perspective (I am pretty and I can sing riffs so let me be the loudest). But think about being Letoya’s momma. I would be like, “My baby can sing. Why can’t I hear her on “Say My name?”

Now young readers settle down…and just listen to someone a lil older and wiser. I picked up a Labelle song one day (and not Lady Marmalade) and I got a tutorial on girl groups. As with most artists, the biggest hit is NEVER the best song. I just want you each to get on http://www.itunes.com/ and find a Labelle song and listen to it. This is a girl group. Not just a cheap PR ploy concocted by a pushy stage-father to further one girl’s career. Yea, I said it.

But back to the tribute: Labelle released Labelle in 1971 and Moonshadow (1972). After the albums flopped, Hendryx wrote most of their third album, Pressure Cookin' (1973).

After Pressure Cookin', Labelle signed with Epic Records and recorded an album, Nightbirds, which featured the 1975 breakout smash Lady Marmalade that pushed the album to the top of the charts.

Despite releasing two classic albums after Nightbirds, Labelle never saw the top of the charts again and subsequently split in 1976. Patti went onto a successful solo career while Hendryx went on to achieve moderate success as a songwriter and solo artist and Dash went on in the industry as a backup singer for groups like the Rolling Stones.

The group has recently reunited and are recording a new album as we speak!

For those of you taking me up on my advice, I would recommend the Nightbirds and the Chameleon album. They did not have the gowns and wigs and false eyelashes of the Supremes, but they had VOCALS. Pure raw unaltered VOCALS.

This is what I liked about them, not only were they SANGING but they were SANGING about something. “Shades of Difference” was a song about people of different races and hues and colors all struggling with the same social ills and challenges. No matter where you are from and what walk of life you are walking, there are only shades of difference. Human emotions are universal. “What Can I do for you” was a song about economic impoverishment and the “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch your back” philosophy of dirty politicians.

“People want to live, not merely exist.”

I was going to share the lyrics to “Shades of Difference” with you but I really think we all need to reread the lyrics to "What Can I do For You." What touches me is that Nona was funky and political and everything she wrote is still relevant today in light of the Bush adminstration’s response to Hurricane Katrina (Who’s Watching the Watcher), the war in Iraq (Shades of Difference), race riots in France (Sunday’s News), political disenfranchisement (Don’t Bring Me Down), HIV/AIDS epidemic (Are you Lonely?) finding true love (Going down makes me Shiver), losing true love (Isn’t It a Shame) and a song that foreshadows our future for those who trust Bush and the Christian right wing (Won’t get Fooled Again).

People, I think Madonna (or Madge as the Brits call her) said it best when she said “Music makes the people come together.”

Songs like Laffy Taffy, Drop it Like It’s Hot and Hollaback Girl won’t stand the test of time cause when were are 65, they won’t be relevant like the songs of Sam Cook, the Isley Brothers, Nina Simone, Billie Holiday or Pebbles.

"Mercedes Boy" will stand the test of time!

No Labelle does not have the hit list of the Supremes, and they didn’t get all Bootylicious like Destiny’s Child, but I am fed up with so-called music lovers who think an artist’s credibility belies their list of hits. Britney Spears has sold over 40 million albums….who will care in 2050? Will your children or mine be going through our old CDs (or old ipod) and listening to Hit Me Baby One More Time and be inspired to make a difference in the world? No. I don’t think so.

Labelle: I love that you are back in the studio. Although Patti ain’t necessarily hitting them notes the way she used to, and Sarah has put on a great deal of weight, and Nona may not be able to write radio-friendly hits for 2006, I just want you to know you have Grammy and a Walk of Fame star in my heart. And I am going to keep telling people about you. You touch me and my soul. Nearly 30 years later, you are just as relevant…something I can’t say about many of the artists coming across the airwaves today. I love you. For all the drama, space age outfits and your glorious performance of "What Can I Do For You" on the Cher Variety hour from the 70s.

You are my Nightbirds. And you feed the fire of my flame.

What Can I Do for You (1975) – Labelle

People want truth
Or nothing at all
People want sincerity
And nothing more

People need happiness as land needs rain
We need rain we need light we need love
Some people find it so hard
To live without love love love P

eople want to live (uh huh)
Not merely exist
People want to enjoy
Not suffer and fear no no no

People need understanding
Not tensions or confusion
Oh I wonder should we hate those
Who present us disillusion
But talk about love love love
Love love love
Love love love
Oh yeah

We need power
We need peacePeacePeacePeace
I think we'll all agree
Let’s stop fighting
Let’s stop fighting
And become sister and brutha
Sister and brutha
Sister and brutha

I know it’s not too late to love love love

What can I do for you?
What can you do for me?
What can I do for you?
What can you do for me?

SIDEBAR: Ok, I promised you a letter to Janet Jackson but even if I included it you would not read it as I am sure you have checked out of this online conversation with me already. But if you are still with me, thank you. Here is today’s gossip and CommenTerry and tomorrow will be ALL about miss Janet. And if you do discover Labelle at some point, please let me know what you think.

And today in Entertainment News.....

NICOLE Richie is having a hard time after being dumped by her fiance Adam Goldstein, aka "DJ A.M." Goldstein left Richie because "it was just something that he knew he had to do," said a pal of the super-skinny media personality. The split was unexpected and the day of the break-up, Goldstein and Richie were "still making plans together for trips and business ventures. It really did come right out of left field for Nicole." Richie is said to be devastated and very hurt.

SIDEBAR: For some reason, Nicole Richie is my play-sister in my head. I imagine us going to Bungalow 8 and Marquee together when she is in Manhattan. I imagine us on the phone at 2:35am saying mean things about Paris Hilton. I imagine us both going to the Ivy or Cipriani or Tavern on the Green and ordering a whole lot of food and then both going to the unisex bathroom and throwing up together. I imagine myself passing her a mirror or a lighter (depending on the party flavor for that evening). I imagine pulling her imitation blonde hair behind her head after a drunken night so she won’t gag and mess us her Chanel blouse. I am so mad DJ AM hurt my sister. I imagine she needs to talk to me right now about as much as I need her. Nicole – please call.

KATHIE Lee Gifford won't be showing up to her old show anytime soon. The former "Live with Regis and Kathie Lee" co-host told Martha Stewart yesterday she's never been invited to appear with Regis Philbin and her replacement, Kelly Ripa, on "Live with Regis & Kelly." "That ain't gonna happen. No, no, no. I have never been back to the show. No, no no," Gifford said on Martha's talk show. "I would love to. All it would take is an invitation. I would be delighted to go back, but that's gonna happen when hell freezes over." Gifford left the show in 2000 after more than a decade as co-host.

DON'T cross Karl Lagerfeld! The legendary designer was miffed when Ashley Olsen was late to the Chanel show at his flagship store the other night and then didn't even recognize his famous face. The show was held up for half an hour while the Olsen twin raced uptown, but she was still too late, and the diminutive actress had to view the collection from backstage. To make things worse, when Lagerfeld waved at Olsen and tried to talk to her, our source reports that "She cringed away from him like he was a stalker. Her person had to tell her who he was, but he had already whispered something nasty in French about her and was very mad." Olsen was refused another audience by Lagerfeld. A better and more prompt guest was Lindsay Lohan, who, we hear, is in the running for the next Chanel campaign. SIDEBAR: Just so you won't miss out on your chance to become a Chanel girl, study the pick above. If a pasty white man with a handkerchief and hand fan topped off with a head of snow smiles at you....ya might wanna wink at him.

COULD somebody please explain to us what Jesse Jackson is doing in New York insinuating himself into the negotiations between the MTA and the Transport Workers Union? The camera-loving cleric has been richocheting all week between California, where he pleaded for clemency for a four-time killer, and Manhattan, where he's become a self-styled expert on our municipal finances. Shouldn't he be tending to his flock in Chicago? If there's a strike, we will think unfondly of Jackson in his limousine as we trudge to work in the arctic chill.

SIDEBAR: Jesse, what makes you relevant? I mean seriously, you serve NO ONE but yourself. And these insincere appearances to line your pockets and keep yourself in front of the cameras, at your age, is beyond pathetic. I hope one day I get to sit-down an interview you. I have some really hard questions I want to throw at you. Although I find Al Sharpton equally disgusting in terms of his camera-hogging, I at least think he is relevant to the state of politics.

While he is jockeying for the camera he at least challenges the status quo. Who do you challenge? Who do you represent? Who is babysitting all them illegitimate kids you got? Cause I sure as hell don’t believe you only have one. You know what really confirmed your slimy side to me? When you went to Florida for Terri Shivao. I mean….really? Really? Really! Why were you there? Do you even know? No, better question, how much did you get paid to go down there? I am sure you charged someone a consulting fee? There ain’t nada you can tell me that would convince me you did it with a sincere heart. I don’t believe you have one...in 2006? You might have been all red, black and green in 1983...but now it's just green.

JESSE: Go raise some money for AIDS in the Black community if you want to be useful. Seems like for all you have done you fail to address the real issues of the community (AIDS, baby daddies, systematic poverty, R.Kelly)

IT'S a bird, it's a plane — it's superbulge!
"Superman Returns" star Brandon Routh is supposedly giving the suits at Warner Brothers fits because of his prodigious package of masculinity. The 26-year-old beefcake's extra-large endowment is said to be so distracting through his skin-tight costume that producers may have to shrink him during post-production.

"It's a major issue for the studio," a "Superman Returns" production source fretted to the London Sun. "Brandon is extremely well-endowed and they don't want it up on the big screen. We may be forced to erase his package with digital effects."

SIDEBAR: Let’s all say it in unison…BULLSH*T. This is clearly a piece of gossip created by a publicist and fed to gossip columns (like mine) to get people interested in what will likely be a movie full of $100 million special effects and a $2.50 storyline (like Troy, Gladiator, and the entire Batman series).

MORE Christmas. Rene Syler of CBS-TV's "Morning Show": "Honey, I'm just grateful. I was so poor starting out I used to eat only potatoes. Every day. Every meal. It's all I had. I began as a reporter in Reno. I only made $15,000 a year. I waitressed at TGI Friday's to put myself through college. I used to be able to serve four wine glasses in one hand. What am I doing for Christmas? Just being thankful!" SIDEBAR: Go for your dreams. Just like Celie said, "Heaven last always"

LOS ANGELES (AP) -- For Carol Burnett, once around with "Once Upon a Mattress" was far from enough. Before Burnett established herself as one of television's great comedians, she made a sparkling Broadway debut in the 1959 musical. She revisited it in a 1964 black-and-white TV special and in another broadcast version in 1974.

But her fondness for the tale, a peppy spoof of the tale of the princess and the pea, remained undiminished. So Burnett is taking a fourth crack at it, with a twist: she's graduated from the role of princess to that of queen, as well as executive producer.

The update also stars veteran comedian Tracy Ullman. I know you may remember me saying I am not into family-type comedies but this will be an exception. I love fairy tales. Always have.

SIDEBAR: I used to watch Showtime as a child cause they showed Shelly Duvall’s Fairy Tale Theater. Does anyone over 25 remember that? I just had an Oprah moment. I think I expect my love life to play out like a fairy tale and for various reasons it hasn’t. But I guess I can trace my associations with love and romance to my love of these tales. I have kissed plenty of frogs in my day (although they were all gorgeous, they were frogs nonetheless).

I think we need more shows reminiscent of Fairy Tale Theater. I am horrified by the violence and sexual images that are so prevalent in today’s video games and cartoons. What ever happened to Pac-Man and Q-bert? They’ve been replaced by vengeful assassins, mutant aliens and cartoonish characters, who look chocolate and butter-pecan (e.g. Grand Theft Auto), as they wreck havoc on LA and reinforce negative images of minorities in America.

I say, give me the Saturday morning Supercade where all of my favorite Nintendo characters came to life from Pac-Man to Q-bert to Donkey Kong. It wasn’t about color or class or religion. It was just about universal characters telling universal stories that could connect the rich boy with the poor boy, the black child with the asian child, the jew with the gentile, the christian with the scientologist. The cartoons were so pure even Tom Cruise would let his child watch. And while we are at it, God bless the child that calls Tom Cruise "daddy" (or Mommy). Cause his daddy is gonna be a looney tune (a cartoon unto himself). I wonder is he gonna let his child takes meds if he catches a cold and will he get vaccinated? All that crap he dished out on Brooke Shields has got me a little afraid. And poor Katie Holmes, she needs some Fairy Tales in her life. She looks trapped. She needs the escape that those stories provide. We all need those stories. Even as adults.

And I recently say the “new” Tom and Jerry and I got a little depressed. It just wasn’t the same. Just aesthetically. I remember the vintage old 60s feel of Tom and Jerry from when I was growing up. The newer version has this crisp clear high-definition feel to the drawing and for some reason it bothers me. Tom and Jerry are classic characters and in my opinion, the writers should have left well enough alone. But I suppose that feel they need to keep up with the pace of other cartoons. But I think a certain measure of innocence has been lost with the addition of newer technology and “new” voices.

Hey, remember Chilly Willy? He was one of my favorite characters.

What was your favorite cartoon growing up AND what do you remember watching on Saturday mornings?