It’s very sad when the person you love is not the person for you. It is a hard thing to go through and there’s nothing good about it. You just have to pray that you are right, that they go forth and be happy, that you can be friends at some point, that you remember you need to remember yourself, that you not settle if you think you can be happy without always trying to be. You can just be. You rarely grow without pain. You rarely appreciate life without being bamboozled. If you stop asking why and pay attention to how, maybe you can know yourself a little better. And sometimes, sometimes, you realize that you put things out there and they come back to you.

The close friends know what this post is about. Others will scratch their heads but I hope all of you fight for love. Start with yourself and see where that takes you.

Stevie Wonder is like the best boyfriend/girlfriend figure you can think of. Check it. Everyone has their very possessive memory of him and his songs. It becomes intensely personal. I will fight you for my very very special memory of “Master Jammin’.” I will. I promise you. My 1980s something memory of running around Highland Park with my dad, rocking the Osh Kosh cords and big smiley sunshine t-shirts, Pre-Con gelled ponytails courtesy of Patrice (the mom unit), feeling like I got away with something when we all us neighborhood kids got to watch “Aliens” at Kirsten’s house (I think) in the living (later having nightmares that a little creature word burst out my belly and unable to drink orange juice aka alien blood for years), jump rope routines with my girls, falling out over muddled grade school misunderstandings, Miss Baily telling me that I could write well….you just don’t know. And I’m sure you’ll tell me your Stevie song memories are of equal value to you. He is not just a songwriter but a soundtrack to so many lives.

So when I tell you that his concert at MSG was an experience that will allow me to die happy, you understand I’m not trying to be an overindulgent literary snob. I am speaking the holy ghost truth.

I was tired that night but excited to see my genius musician girl Maritri. Both of us might as well have had toothpicks in our eyes over the week we had (mine will be a very short blog after this - sad - her’s because she is a music hustler!). But as soon as Stevie sat at the piano, my heart rose to the top of the Garden and never came down. My favorite thing is when a genius actually performs the songs as they were created, very little movement into trying to compete with the Ushers/Rhiannas/Beyonces by trying add a Neptunes beat or a crunk dancer. I was afraid though because there was that award show where they made my Stevie DANCE to my own dismay. Stevie Wonder does not need to dance to put an exclamation point on his songs. Period. Ha.

Anyways, I’ll not run down the song list because its all of the ones that make you float into a cloud of heavenly familiarity. Picture your favorite childhood memory and lay your favorite Stevie song over it and you’ll be where I was. I never jumped shouted or back up danced so much in my life.

And then it happened.

The beginning was Tony Bennett coming out to sing “For Once In My Life” with Stevie. Tony Bennett, for me, is the Rat Pack era I never got to see. He brings an era I’ve been obsessed with straight to my ears with such ease that I am spoiled when I hear a singer come up short. If Tony can do it, why can’t you? I know. I don’t sing. Shut up. I am flawed. Anyway, Tony belted out notes that would make a wannabe teenage star cringe with shame. The man’s lungs are bigger than South America.

It didn’t stop there.

We near the end of a perfect evening. I have made peace with the idea that I have now seen Stevie and Tony Bennett live, in my lifetime, uncompromised and I didn’t feel like I should’ve seen them 15 years ago.

Then it happened.

The familiar base line echos the Garden, bouncing off thousands of dancing bodies of varying ages. Stevie and his band are in a zone. And then…a very small man unassumingly walks on stage and picks up a guitar. I look up at the big screen and see the familiar face of the small man but since I’m so used to seeing him on television, it doesn’t register that he is ON the damn stage. Stevie says to us, as if his cousin Junebug just walked in the room to offer us Kool-Aid, “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Prince!”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Everyone around me runs around like somebody scored a touchdown. We’re high fiving and silent screaming. Prince doesn’t really look at us. He just plays with that sly shy grin of his, like his rolling a jawbreaker around in his mouth. He does rifts that you haven’t even dreamed of. We try to savor the moment like it’s a thousand dollar sip of wine, sucking our mouths and closing and opening our eyes but the moment is almost as speedy as his entrance. He never says a word and is gone before we can really take in that we just saw Prince and Stevie Wonder on stage together. Prince struts in his high heels, waves and he is gone.

Stevie’s finale is “Always” which means a lot since this whole concert is dedicated to his recently passed mother. We tear up and cry as he grabs his back up singers, including his daughter Aisha, and does a little dance, disappearing off stage. Despite repeated repeated repeated (did I say repeated) requests for an encore, we finally figure out that he’s probably back at his hotel room by the time we decide to leave.

I die happy that night.

Some of you have noticed that I dropped a few pounds and I just want to say a bad cold, lots of soup and twerking will do a body good.

Recognize my morning routine and make it your own:

So we all hear a lot about how hard child rearing is and what awful things people do to their babies, etc. Let’s break the cylce with a little love.

Rarely do you get young men in the hip hop generation who can put their mother on the stage proudly. We need to see more of this, Bill Cosby, instead of you and your sneaker bashing. Al Sharpton, take note. Kanye West being proud of the strengthy and love his mother provided is one of the most revolutionary things in hip hop today. Believe it. Power is in love. Dr. West, we will miss you. For us women, you have given us the biggest blow against “bitches and hos” than one march could ever provide.

By Houston Williams
Dr. Donda West, Kanye West’s mother, suddenly died last night, individuals close to the rapper confirmed.The cause of death was not released immediately, but she was reportedly in the Los Angeles area when she died. Early reports suggest Dr. West’s death may have been the result of some form of surgical procedure. Those reports have not been confirmed. She was 58 years old.A representative for the rapper told AllHipHop.com,

“The family respectfully asks for privacy during this time of grief.”Kanye West chronicled his love for his mother in “Hey Mama,” a song from his 2005 album Late Registration. In the song, Kanye raps, “(Hey Mama), I wanna scream so loud for you, cuz I’m so proud of you / Let me tell you what I’m about to do, (Hey Mama) / I know I act a fool but, I promise you I’m goin back to school /I appreciate what you allowed for meI just want you to be proud of me (Hey Mama).

”West eventually performed the song in front of his mother and Oprah Winfrey on the TV host’s highly rated show.Although she was renown as Kanye West’s mother, Donda West had achieved much on her own.She served as the Chair of the English Department at Chicago State University, but retired to act as Kanye’s manager. She was an English professor for 31 years. Earlier this year, she released a book called Raising Kanye, which chronicled her journey of raising her son.

In an interview with AllHipHop, Dr. West said she learned from her son and vice versa.”Looking at Kanye has made me a more courageous individual, and I already saw myself as being courageous. I believe that Kanye has broken through and gone to levels and done things that I haven’t been able to reach yet,” she told AllHipHop.com. “I have 28 years to his senior so I have a lot of experience. I’ve learned to speak my mind regardless of the consequences. I’ve learned a lot having raised Kanye and being his mother.”

The word of Dr. West’s death has traveled fast through word of mouth, in particular her hometown of Chicago.“’The city of Chicago is hurting for Kanye West and his family. We know how much he loved and valued his mother and we just ask other cities to join us in prayer for Kanye,” said Kendra G, a Morning Show co-host at Power 92 in Chicago.AllHipHop.com will provide more information as details are revealed. Our condolences go out to Kanye West and the family of Dr. Donda West.

Who am I kidding? This shit happens all the time everywhere there’s a woman who faints at the sight of varicose veins.

This from People:
Dennis Quaid and Kimberly Quaid are the proud parents of twins Thomas Boone Quaid and Zoe Grace Quaid, born Thursday in Santa Monica, Calif., a rep for the couple tells PEOPLE.

Thomas Boone was born at 8:26 a.m. and weighed 6 lb. 12 oz., while Zoe Grace came two minutes later and weighed 5 lb. 9 oz.

In a statement, the Quaids said, “God has definitely blessed us.”

The twins were born via a gestational carrier – a woman who carries another couple’s baby conceived by the parents’ own egg and sperm. (Pilates is played — ttt)

After the pregnancy was announced in May, Quaid, 53, told PEOPLE, “We are both so thrilled and excited. This is something we’ve wanted for some time.”

The twins are Quaid’s second and third children. He also has a 17-year-old son, Jack Henry, with ex-wife Meg Ryan.

Just so you know, when I get pregnant, you won’t be able to fit me on your screen. Yeah, I’m talking to you 24-inch Mac monitors. I might save you the embarrassment and chill on the home movies. Nobody without a medical degree below the birthing screen.

Jessica Care Moore is my friend and she kills it. If there is a poem to be written that will make you nod your head until the last period (if she uses them), then she is the one. She has, once again, written something that will attach itself to me for the rest of my life. This is about us Detroit Daughters…Daddies in the stratosphere trying to help us while not being on the physical plane…all daddies including Yale.

Posted for the first time, here is (hold your soul close while you read; this is a stealer):

Smoke
by jessica Care moore
In honor of returning home
after 12 years in the desert

When I smoked a clove
For the first time
It was for the taste it left behind
on my lips

If I was gonna smoke anything
It had to be sexy
It had to serve a purpose

I have the same approach to writing poetry
and loving the men I’ve loved

Just leave me something good on my mouth
A nice word behind my ear
Something i can bite down on and remember

Years later.

I’ve decided.

When I grow up.

I’m going to drink wine.
I’m going to have a mysterious wine cellar
I’m going to know the origin of every grape.
I’m going to grow my own vines
And tell stories to my children through
one long drunk
line.

I’m going to learn to use a corkscrew
I’m going to be a person who takes a
small sip and smells the glass

Today I’m more of a quick tequila shot girl
A graduate from the 80’s Hennessey and Vodka

I really just want something sweet
easy to digest slow
purposeful.

Something that tastes so good
just the thought of it makes me high

When i become my full warrior self

I will be a woman with an unbreakable spirit
dream catchers for arms alligator boots

Poem without curses
Poems never written
in this slave language

I won’t be a pretty girl
who needs to be reminded
she’s pretty.

But we do. don’t. We?

All Detroit girls are good stock
We hit the potholes and keep riding

We born driving

I can feel the sadness of my city
waiting for someone to claim it
in a box marked lost and found
I can drink down this room
and piss out the motown sound

I can eat engines and command an eagle
I am black and Detroit and regal
I am flashy with long cars &
piped out trucks

My walk demands a “what up.”
I am a doe.

In a forest of cows.

I am an 88 benz with heated seats
I am a ford pick up truck
that drives like an escort with
some extra shit in the back.

Never keep the tags on
Cause I don’t do take backs.

This city makes me want all our daddy’s back.

Tom T.D. Moore
Harry Taylor
George Woods
Larry Ray Robinson

ashe’

Little Tom
Angie and Lecca
Charlotte
Tureka

We all daddy’s girls with no daddy
We a city made for caddys
Killing people’s daddys

My coming home is finally not
for a funeral.

I am returning to a place of war
I am returning to a place of love

A wasteland with new lofts downtown
A holy place with schools and no books
abandoned neighborhoods and beauty
beyond belief

We used to cut the grass in the ghetto

It’s deep to be the only one at the after hours bar
Who’s not drinking.

Smoking
crack
heroin

Popping
Ex Pills

Mufflers
Chimneys
Exhaust Pipes

Fire Station Number One
Can you save us from this chemical waste
when the lie of gentrification

goes up in SMOKE.

The new billboard off the lodge xpress/way

detroit rock city
rock and roll niggas
jesus was a muslim

The heart of our city is on fire

When I heard Yale was murdered
Charlotte heard it on WJLB

Yale Murdered here?

In this city that he loved
That he nurtured
That he represented all over the world
That he saved and built lives in.

Something inside me
caught on fire
And I can’t help the
power of what follows

what gives birth
what poems i write
what poison I drink to help
destroy all this devil night heat

what makes the wind blow
that hard when we are closer

to the river.

I trust in Karma
I know the devil wears fake prada

When i came home

(this time)

It was for the taste Detroit left behind

On my lips

there are repercussions for
loving this way
for so many years

I am no longer afraid
Of what comes up

with the Smoke.

to reach Jessica Care Moore, you can email her at detroitbutterfly@gmail.com.

If you don’t get my Clifford Odett’s reference then shame on you! Only one of the best working class writers to hit the scene in the 1930s. Google some shit. Anyways, Cliff would have been proud. This from Variety:

Writers will strike
WGA members will walk out Monday
By DAVE MCNARY, CYNTHIA LITTLETONThe Writers Guild of America and its 12,000 members is about to announce that it will go on strike Monday against studios and networks.
The official announcement will come at a news conference at WGA West headquarters in Los Angeles, following approvals in Friday meetings by the WGA West board and the WGA East Council.

Talks between the WGA and the companies broke down on Wednesday — a few hours before the contract expired — over the issue of DVD residuals and work for the Internet. No new talks have been scheduled.

The strike announcement follows a unanimous recommendation by the Guild’s negotiating committee. WGA leaders told 3,000 members of the strike plans Thursday night at the Los Angeles Convention Center.

In voting several weeks ago, WGA members gave a 90% endorsement to authorize their leaders to call a strike if no agreement could be reached.

I really loved how much emotion you gave during Laurence Fishburne’s “come to Jesus” at the end of “Deep Cover.” That part where you were so passionate about our rockface’s good nature that you spit all over the camera, gave me Oscar goose bumps. I can’t believe they dissed “Deep Cover” that year. Between your faith-caked face and Laurence’s manly tank top when he was protecting his faux crack ho, I melted. (Please know I do love this movie…for various reason).

And then when you were in that black drop squad like scary movie and you played a devel, I was moved! Who knew ashy meant evil? I have an evil case of calves right now!

And then, all that to know you were married to Tyne Daly! You are a playboy, my friend. Everybody’s in Quincy Jones and his vanilla kool-aid options and nobody knew about you fulfilling everyman’s “Cagney and Lacey” fantasies.

Um…this just in. That is NOT Clarence Williams III. Maxwell, you have the best Halloween costumes, man! Ahem…hello? Ah, are the cops knocking?

Tough room.

Dear Clarence,

Many apologies. I did not know Maxwell was a stan for you like I am.

xoxoox
t.tara

Music!

Folks say words but I’m hard pressed to figure somebody didn’t sing the first word since all words have a melody. How else do explain listening to Luther Vandross and becoming pregnant immaculately?

Don’t miss this show or else you will be barren. I’m just saying…