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The Evolution and Revolution of the First Lady

25 Feb

As one of the commenters at the end of this video so eloquently pointed out; “Even if you don’t like Michelle Obama, you kinda do like Michelle Obama.”

In a recent visit to Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, the FLOTUS unveiled some pretty hot 2013 moves in honor of her Lets Move Campaign, dubbed, “The Evolution of Mom Dancing”.  And while it does look as though Lady O is dropping it low to do The Bump with Sarah Palin, Conservatives needn’t fret; tis only a lovely Jimmy Fallon in (strikingly believable) soccer mom drag.

Regardless however of what your political proclivities are, it appears that time and time again, Mrs. Obama continues to live up to the title of coolest First Lady on the planet. Ever.  I mean really, who among us can imagine Grace Coolidge doing the Charleston or Barbara Bush serving up the Cabbage Patch?

But even as a pop-culture icon, Michelle Obama has found a way to keep her finger on the pulse of popular culture in such a way that 1) her image as a political figure is able to resonate with the masses and most importantly 2) she has been able to call to and keep  attention on her platform in a way that might not have received much traction otherwise if she were not so…well, cool.  Call it what you will, but it’s that “real” and “attainable” air that has so many of us falling a little harder for her every time we see her.

Election Eve 2012: Public Service Announcement to the Undecided Caucasian Electorate

5 Nov

At this, the eleventh hour just one day before the United States’ official election day;  if you find yourself a member of the still undecided Caucasian electorate population that has basically garnered all of the attention from both major presidential candidates this election season, perhaps this very rudimentary and candid endorsement from Chris Rock will help you to decide for whom to cast your ballot more expeditiously.

You’re Welcome.

The NBA Finals: Game 1 and Why I Can’t Wait for Russell’s Post-Game Interview

12 Jun

While it is true that I (along with most Americans not residing in the Sunshine State) have become more and more enamored with the basketball team formerly known as The Seattle SuperSonics, their dominance, resilience, youth and imminent Game 1 win (crosses-fingers), is not why I am looking forward to Russell Westbrook’s post-game interview.

The truth is (just like one of my Instagram-mers @karlmeloanthony hilariously pointed out) I can’t wait to see if maybe, just maybe Russell will take his eclectic styling to another level and bless us all with this throwback Gordon Gartrell tonight!

The Measure of a Man

24 Apr

Okay, really guys?  Stop blinking rapidly and refreshing the webpage!  It’s really me!  I know that my posts for 2012 have been few and FAAAAAAARRRR between, but seeing as how we’ve discussed my various power moves as of late (promotion, anyone?), I trust that you all understand.

What’s funny is,  I’ve been a little skeptical lately as to how I would find time to get back into blogging, and if I would still have anything poignant to say, but truth be told, I’d forgotten how cathartic this practice is on a daily basis, so I imagine that I will be doing better to make time!

At any rate, with my new responsibilities and the annihilation of anything that even remotely resembles a structured daily schedule, it hasn’t only been me who’s had to adjust.  While my honey and the big Pack Kids have been supportive (who knew that after a thankless 10-hour work day, “the twins” would have warmed up left overs for themselves and run a load of dirty dishes without being asked to do so…the fact that the clean ones from the morning were still in the dishwasher is neither here nor there…), it’s been The Baby Child who’s antics have let me know how truly missed I’ve been between 8 and 6.  Whether it’s sitting up under me until bedtime, requiring that we act out the latest Dragonball Z fusion fight stances or helping me to sort his fruit juice splattered laundry, once I’ve crossed the threshold, the kid is basically not letting me out of his sight until bedtime.

The other night after I’d made him a fruit salad, The Baby Child insisted that he sit in my lap and share his fare with me.  This of course entailed serving each other all “Coming to America” style, sans the large ostrich feather fans and handmaidens.  When The Honey got home, it was all he could do not to burst into laughter.  Instead, he popped a grape and told The Baby Child that it was his job to feed me fruit and for me to sit in his lap because he was my man.  The Honey proceeded to shake his head at me, chuckle and change out of his work attire into his sweats.

After our palettes were thoroughly satiated, I convinced The Baby Child of what great quality time he could spend with me before bed by helping me to sort some white laundry (don’t judge me).  After getting half of the clothes in the washing machine, I caught sight of him intently inspecting, then snatching up a shirt and gleefully running up to his room.  Days later when I got home from work, The Baby Child greeted me at the door with kisses, an inquiry into what was for dinner and fully dressed in his “good clothes” from head to toe, but with that missing white undershirt billowing over his own toddler wear.  Taking the bait, I asked him why in the world he was wearing his father’s beater.

“Because mommy, I’m a MAN and I’m gonna get all the girlfriends.”

Uh, whaaat?

So, clearly I am not sure at what point my baby opted not to fill his father’s shoes but instead his undershirt, and in doing so, equated that with being “a man”; or even in being “a man”, that meant being imparted with girlfriends, but it is apparent that although this child is extra times ten, I must say, at least he has modeled his mini-manly self after a pretty wonderful prototype.

Now, if I could just get them both to put the seat down!

Playing Catch-up!

30 Mar

Have you ever just awaken one day, feeling as though you’ve shaken yourself loose from an alternate reality and had to ponder on how exactly you got to where you were?

Like, when did this happen?

Or, how did I miss that?

And, in my quest to do it all, have I really been accomplishing anything at all?

Unfortunately, that has sort of been my tale of woe over the past three months.  While I have been forced to be highly productive in many areas relating to my life and career, I feel as though I have been missing so many of the little things that, in en masse, are truly what make my life whole.

For instance, my inability to attend my ladies book club meetings; you have no idea how difficult describing Katniss and Gale and Peeta’s quasi-love triangle across three novels to my honey (who only wants to see the movie and couldn’t care less about the precise descriptors of Panem or the almost lyrical narrative of a country on the brink) has been.  Or having to regretfully decline an offer to coach students at my local track club because my schedule simply won’t allow it.  Or how about being shocked at learning something entire new and unexpected about my kids?

Eating Dinner with my Irish twins last night, I was doing a little raving over my spaghetti sauce loaded with grilled and sliced kielbasa (not vanity, just self-appreciation).  When I asked The Big Boy and Girl what they thought of their dinner, my son in no uncertain terms told me that he did not like my proffered meal.  After I got over my initial shock and hurt feelings, I asked him since when could he not abide by my cooking?  It was then that my daughter busted out laughing and said, “since he became a vegan!”

Today In Black History: My Braxton’s Ban

22 Feb

As short as the month already is, shame on me for just now wishing each of you a Happy Black History Month.  I am sure though, that as astute learners and commemoratively minded individuals that I know each of you to be, that you have already been celebrating this month in Black/American History in profound ways (like your box office support of Red Tails, your many visits to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial on The Mall, your assistance in helping all the little children at your church to learn their Black History Speeches, and of course, your ticket purchases for the New Edition Reunion Tour).

I too, have been making strides in Black History.  Namely, my self-imposed ban on the WETV reality show sensation, The Braxton’s Family Values.  Why you ask?  Well, because when I start getting mouthy with inanimate objects, it’s time to reevaluate and cut off negative influences.

See, what had happened was…Going home from the grocery store last night, I proceeded to place my purchase on my kitchen counter.  Unfortunately, in mid hoist, one of my grocery sacks broke, spilling the contents of my purchases on my floor (several jars of spaghetti sauce).  Looking down at the floor where my purchases lay, I opened my mouth in angry frustration and uttered:

“You better Get Yo’ Life!” at the marinara sauce.

Um, yeah.  The revelation came soon after that not only was Tamar’s influence not what I wanted for my life, but that I probably needed to brush up on my W.E.B. Dubois and Booker T. Washington readings before my “practicing intellectual” card ended up confiscated.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Will Get You Fired!

11 Jan

Okay listen.  Just like most, I find true entertainment in music and sports.  And on that rare occasion when the two are perfectly blended, I have no problem with a good time being had by all.

THIS however, was not one of those instances.  Sure, this is gut-bursting hilarity funny, clearly executed for the sake of the on-looking baseball population, and was likely a little bit staged, but let us be serious for one minute.

This man’s job is not to be a Luke Dancer or Beyonce’s drop-it-like-it’s-hot surrogate.  He is a snug-blue-shirt-wearing security guard, hired to ensure that the Tampa Bay Rays’ outfielders and third baseman were protected from rogue fruit individuals seeking to disrupt the sanctity of American’s (former) favorite pastime.

Besides, is he not aware that with the black unemployment rate currently at 15.8%, booty-clapping in left-field could result in a banana in the tailpipe a pink slip?

 

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