While I can’t say that I am a fan of Chris Brown’s now infamous domestic behavior or his latest shenanigans, I do admit to being a lover of this song. I love even more, the acoustic cover version of it as performed by the YouTube youngin’ “Calling Milton” (although I’d have given anything for him to have recorded his performance anywhere else than in front of his grandma’s 70’s styled bathroom shower curtain).
Check him out here and see what I mean.
Having had the opportunity to explore the arts at an early age (years of ballet, jazz and hip-hop dance and having played the cello, saxophone and flute) I really do appreciate seeing individuals who’ve progressed beyond those formative years, and now as artists and professionals, have become fully entrenched in the craft that they love.
With this dance piece however (set to a pretty addictive and rather intoxicating mix by Chris Brown and Benny Benassi) I think that my appreciation for their choreographed stylings comes more from the fact that it reminds me of once upon a time when the honey and I would break out into our own spontaneous fits of fancy footwork in a parking deck or campus lot; just because (aah, the carefree college days). And not to take anything away from Zoie and Antwan (because they are every bit of awesome here), but back when body parts stretched and muscles flexed the way that they were supposed to, the honey and I were easily the best urban Johnny (Patrick Swayze) and “Baby” (Jennifer Grey) on the Eastern Seaboard (although now, you’d be lucky if you could get a crisp Cupid Shuffle or synchronized Wobble out of us)!
Just Sayin.
I must apologize to you guys for my admittedly indistinct and unsubstantial blogging for the past few days. While yesterday I spent much of my evening being reacquainted with my very favorite authors, tonight I have been threatened with divorce if I procrastinate filing our taxes for even one day longer.
So with that, I must bid you adieu (however, I will be back to play tomorrow). In my absence though, I’m told that The History Channel is airing a compelling piece on the secrets of the dollar bill.
As of five minutes ago, I am no longer any good to anybody!
Thanks to the upgraded Operating System on my new phone, I’ve spent the past month unable to access my mobile eReader application (apparently, for as awesome as Kobo is, their technology has not yet caught up with The Blackberry Bold 6.0 OS). But while trolling the Kobo website in an effort to find the contact info needed to send their customer service a curt complaint letter, I stumbled upon the download link for Kobo’s PC eReader app.
Suffice it to say, after a free and simple application download, I am happily electronic reading once again! And some four books and $9.08 later (thanks to some awesome online promo coupons), I will likely be up all night on the laptop catching up on my novels.
But before I check out into my realm of reading, here’s a little something for the Pack Faithful. If you just so happen to be perusing Kobo for Janet Jackson’s new memoir or Colston Whitehead’s tale of 1980’s buppy angst (Sag Habor…highly recommended) you can use the promo code below to get $1 off your eBook purchase: feb13us1
You’re welcome
Now I love Cee-lo Green The Soul Machine as much as the next Goodie/Gnarls Barkley fan, but sweet baby Jesus!
Trust me, I am all for vision, artistic expression and “doing you” but let’s be for real here. This overzealous Carnival-gypsy-gorilla-plumage get-up is precisely why I did not partake of the Grammy’s kool-aid Sunday night.
And, I imagine that although Cee-lo and Gwyneth were stuntin’ out of control during their “Forget You” performance, I’m quite sure that Gaga didn’t appreciate her thunder being stolen away by Big Bird’s highly decorative and musically inclined baby chick and she likely wants her 300 styled breast plate back too!
It is likely apparent to those who know me, or even those can effectively read between the lines when perusing this blog, that my theme song is “I’m Every Woman” and is cued up whenever I walk into a room. No, I am not boasting or horn-tooting about the things that I accomplish, but am instead stating a simple fact that when it comes to a lot of tasks and not enough hours in the day, I’m your girl.
Now while some of my multi-role playing is inevitable and merely the nature of the beast, I will admit that there are other parts that I play, that are of my own design. Let’s take for instance this weekend. Although I knew I’d be the Big Girl’s City League and AAU basketball chaperone while periodically checking in on The Big Boy in the role of AAU Wrestling Tournament concierge for the entire day, I still found the time to swing by The Home Depot to purchase some items for a furniture reclaiming project that I’d been dying to complete for at least four months now.
And even as I dragged my tired behind home at dusk, completely weary and wishing only to abscond into the recesses of relaxation with Calgon and later my down comforter, I still found the energy to sand and stain a tired looking dresser drawer set that needed a little TLC and Minwax Red Mahogany 225. Of course, after I polyurethaned the set did my honey come along to assess the finished project and claim that he’d have been willing to help me.
To that, I told him that no matter how much I did on my own, I would always need him and welcome his help, and to prove it, he could carry the dresser set up to The Baby Girl’s bedroom.
Evidently, I am not the only woman who regularly “does the most,” yet desires the assistance of her man:
I know that she was supposed to be on The Today Show to support the President’s performance and to discuss a bevy of other politicky things yesterday, but after just one look at the FLOTUS’s gams with Matt Lauer, I was no longer interested in the POTUS’s smoking habit, graying scalp or even his approval rating.
With a clever mixture of traditional, bold and Hot Dang!, Michelle Obama rang in the start of New York Fashion week by epitomizing the sort of fashion forwardness that has become her signature since accompanying her hubby to The White House two years ago. But although Lady O tends to draw the ire of some designer’s with her bold style choices, it’s the fact that she’s done it (again) on a dime this time that has tongues a-wagging now. Long a fan of the practically priced ensemble, Mrs. Obama customized a simple navy polka-dotted H&M dress (purchase price: $34.95) with the help of a sleeve-affixing seamstress, an orange belt and the bossiest yellow heels I’ve ever seen (LOVED ‘EM) for her Wednesday interview.
Now, while I am sure that her down-market fashion “win” will do little to quell the discontent from many of her critics who believe her flippant attitude and expensive taste more closely mirror Marie Antoinette than an American First Lady, I would offer that Michelle Obama continues to prove that she can make just about anything look good…and with Boehner and ‘dem promising to throw out the baby with the bath water, perhaps they should consider wrapping her in their current wave of GOP planned billion dollar budget cuts (aimed at programs like school aid, environmental initiatives, family planning service and funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting).
What a Day!
The activities of this day began with a workload that had me in the office until 6.30 followed by the surprise of two piles of clean (but unfolded) laundry adorning my bed when I got home. That coupled with the big boy needing homework help, me threatening the big girl with bodily violence every quarter-hour because she keeps lying about her room being clean and a specially scheduled Come to Jesus Meeting with the honey, and you all already know what it is.
Yep, go on and converse amongst yourselves.
Yes, I know that I’m all tardy for the party when it comes to my assessment of Sunday’s Super Bowl Commercials, but at this point you guys really should know that I’m that chick that diddy-bops to the 808 of a different DJ! That said, let’s see what I found clever, had me amused and doubled over, got me wincing and left me completely disappointed.
Hit ‘Em With The Kenny G!
I LOVE Audi’s “Don’t be trapped by the commonality of luxury” message…and the evidence that Kenny G’s hairline is still greater than Michael Bolton’s was equally as awesome.
Reply All
I promise you that they took this page right from The Pack Book circa 2001!
The Best Part!
A collective 15-second Eeeew resounded in my house at this unorthodox finger licking! And, I’m SO glad he took off the pants first!
This is what we do!
‘Nuff said.
Enzo’s Portfolio
Nothing better than commercials with babies. Rich babies. Who speak in an Italian accent. And trade stock in tailored onesies.
Tibet deserves better
Now that the whole world has googled Groupon and successfully increased their brand awareness, Boo! Boo I say!
It’s a song we all learned in primary school, one we’ve sung, hummed or mouthed every fall Friday night in high school, one that gives us chills whenever it is blared at the Olympic Games and yes, one we should all know by heart.
Now don’t get me wrong, while half the drunkards in the Jonesy-Dome didn’t even notice the minor gaffe, it was still pretty embarrassing (and a little confusing…I had to mute the TV and sing the song over in my mind, just to ensure *I* hadn’t been singing it wrong all these years) that one of our more admired and decorated pop stars (as opposed to one of our shunned crack pots) took to the sporting world’s biggest stage and nip-tucked The National Anthem like a nervous talent show contestant. But from the outcry and sheer discontentment in some cases, it would almost seem that many of you were expecting the perfection of a sweated-out, track suit, pre-crack Whitney rendered Star-Spangled Banner to have been sung at Sunday night’s Super Bowl festivities. And for as much of a “blue-eyed soul” songstress as Aguilera truly is, it simply is not fair to her or to any singer that has come before or will come after her, to compare their “anthem” performances to the one that still gives Whitney Houston a pass in our hearts; even after all these years of drugs, shambolic weaves and other buffoonery while in the company of Bobby Brown.
Still, I get it. Grammy-Award winning singer or not, an artist honored with the coveted responsibility of commencing Super Bowl XLV with The National Anthem, should at the very least remember all of its words…especially when said artist has had so much practice “sangin” it (*cough* twice at last year’s NBA Finals *cough*), right?
Well, it’s a good thing for Christina that like Burlesque, this too shall pass.
