Yesterday, my life was forever changed. The "King of Pop", Michael Jackson, died suddenly after suffering cardiac arrest in Los Angeles. (If you didn't know this, you must be living under a rock because there's been wall-to-wall news coverage for the last 24 hours.)
No, I didn't know Michael personally, but his music and his videos were pretty much the soundtrack to my childhood. And, everyone knew that you better not talk shit about my boy MJJ in my presence or else you would get a pretty scathing (and vulgar) earful. I have so many memories of Michael. I inherited the Jackson 5 "ABC" album (on vinyl) from my older sister. She was born in the early 60s, so she'd actually owned the album when she was a kid and by the time I got it, it was well-worn and the grooves were almost flat. I played that thing on my Fisher Price record player over and over again. We also had the soundtrack for "Going Back to Indiana", and my mother has an audio recording of me singing that song at the age of 3 (and I knew all the lyrics!).
The first album that I ever bought was Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall" and then I followed that with "Thriller". I was freaked out by the video, but I couldn't stop watching it. My aunt bought my cousin Michael's red jacket with all the zippers from the "Beat It" video and I begged my mother for one, but she wasn't having it. I got Michael Jackson's "Moonwalker" video on VHS for Christmas one year and watched it so much I knew all the lines from the movie, all the lyrics to the songs, all the dance moves. I was hooked!
As I got older, my affection for Michael grew even more and I became a true fan. Everyone in my family knew how much I loved him. Whenever he was giving an interview or making an appearance, someone would call or text me to let me know that I should switch to such-and-such channel to watch. And, just a few years ago, my father bought my Michael Jackson's #1s album for Christmas. I couldn't have been happier.
But the best memory that I have of Michael was when I actually got the chance to meet him in person. My brother was invited to a private reception for him at the home of a big-wig entertainment executive and was told that he was allowed to bring a guest. Well, he knew that if he took anyone OTHER than me, our relationship would never be the same because I would never forgive him. At the end of the night, the organizers set up a receiving line for people to go up and shake Michael's hand. The line was so long that we kept our seats on a nearby sofa and waited for things to die down. Eventually, we made our way up to the velvet rope, which was being guarded by a beefy bald man, and were about to be turned away. "Please, man. My little sister (at the time I was about 25, but I guess to him I will always be his "little" sister) loves Michael and I just want her to have a chance to shake his hand," my brother pleaded.
I could tell that the tough-guy was cracking and after a minute he actually cracked a smile and let us through the line. We were the last ones through the line and it was rushed, but I did get a chance to shake his (gloved) hand and tell him that I was a HUGE fan. He smiled and said, "Thank you. God bless you," and then... it was over. We were ushered away. It sucked because cameras weren't allowed, so I didn't get a chance to take a picture of this phenomenal moment. I didn't want a picture to prove the meeting to other people, but to prove it to myself! Even today, looking back on that night that I met Michael, it doesn't seem real. But I do know that I was blessed to have the opportunity to interact with the "King of Pop".
He was a very peculiar person, I won't deny that. He lived in an amusement park and had a chimpanzee for a best friend. He was really out there. But genius is a lonely thing. It separates you from the rest of the world. He lived a very troubled life, plagued with scandal and controversy in later years. He was never truly comfortable with the man that he was born to be. Being a brown girl with a broad nose and kinky hair (without a relaxer), I can understand what it's like to want to look different. Unfortunately, because he had the means to change his appearance, he did. And because he had the money and power and influence, he had no one who dared try to stop him. Michael, poor thing, was a tortured soul who's only consolation was to put everything he had into his music... which, in turn, was his gift to us.
I hope he has found peace and that he is finally able to see himself for the gifted and special person that we all thought he was.
Music will never be the same as a result of Michael Jackson. If it wasn't for him, our current R&B stars would be devoid of personality. Think about it... Ne-Yo, Chris Brown, and Usher would've had nobody to swaggerjack!
John Mayer put it best, I think, when he posted this tweet on Twitter: "A major strand of our cultural DNA has left us." We are forever changed and forever in his debt. Gone too soon, but never forgotten. We love you, Michael. Rest in peace.
Here are some of my favorite songs of Michael's. Rock on!
Got to Be There
I Want You Back
Remember the Time
Off the Wall
Billie Jean (Most Famous Moonwalk at 3:39 and 4:28)
Showing posts with label Celeb Sightings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Celeb Sightings. Show all posts
Friday, June 26, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
OBAMAnia!
Monday through Friday, I rely on DC public transportation to get me to and from work. I ride the Red Line, which has to be one of the most traveled Metro lines in the whole Metro system. Nearly every morning, there is some sort of delay that prevents me from getting to work on time. Of course since I know that I’m certain to run into delays and such, it might make sense for me to start leaving my house earlier… but I’m not a morning person so if sleeping an extra ten minutes means I’ll be 20 minutes late for work, then so be it!
As the Obama Inauguration approached, it seemed as though Metro was becoming more and more inefficient. Everyday there was some mechanical problem with the track, or a train had broken down, preventing other trains from getting through, or there was a sick passenger on a car and the entire train had to be evacuated. One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the office, I couldn’t wait to get home. I walk into the station and immediately notice that the line to board the train is six people deep. It turns out that earlier in the afternoon, one of the rails at a station along the Red Line had broken and, although it had been repaired hours earlier, the trains were still delayed. See what I mean? Inefficient!
Anyway, looking around at all the people waiting to board the train, I know that I probably won’t make it onto the first train that comes, so I stand back, pull out my book and start reading. There are Metro cops trying to direct people so that there won’t be a mad rush of folks onto the approaching train. They are yelling, pushing, it’s really a madhouse. And I think to myself, if this is the way that the Metro runs on a regular day, how in the world will they be able to accommodate 2 million extra people during Inauguration weekend? It wouldn’t have been such a puzzling question if an announcement hadn’t been made earlier in the week that bridges, tunnels, and major streets leading into the District were being shut down and all Inauguration spectators were now encouraged to walk into the city or take the Metro.
Having heard that news and having witnessed the incredible ineffectiveness of Metro’s plan to move people in and out of the city quickly, I just knew that Inauguration Day would be a clusterfuck. It was during those 30 minutes of waiting on the platform for a train to take me home that I decided I would not be making my way downtown to witness history on January 20. I went back and forth about whether it mattered for me to be there “in person” or to be watching the event from my couch like the rest of America would be doing. And I came to the conclusion that we are all “witnessing history” just by being alive during this time. We are living this moment together and physically being in that throng of people wouldn’t have made the moment any more real or significant for me.
Will I look back and regret that decision? I don’t think I will. Friends of mine ventured out into the cold just to “see” it, but ended up watching on the Jumbotron, which isn’t really that much different from watching it on your television when you really think about it… is it? Plus, I got to see things up close and personal thanks to CNN and MSNBC. So, I don’t regret it at all.
What I might regret, however, was my decision not to attend any “official” Inauguration celebratory events (aka PARTIES). I definitely went to a few shin-digs to celebrate Obama, but they weren’t “balls” or anything like that. I’ve been seeing pictures that my friends have been posting on Facebook and it looks like a good time was had by all. There were tons of parties where gobs of young, Black, professional people were gathered together all in the name of history. I think it would’ve been good to be around that. But… I’m really just a quiet type of girl. I’ve realized that, while I like to have fun, I am really more attracted to a low-key lifestyle than a high profile one. Or, am I?
For years, I’ve felt this internal struggle about where I fit in. On the one hand, I’ve always wanted to be on television. I’ve wanted to be a news reporter for as long as I can remember. But when it came time for me to be in front of the camera, I decided that I preferred the writing and production aspect of the news… something more behind-the-scenes. I abandoned my journalism dream for law school and even when I got to law school, I had to decide whether I wanted to be a litigator or a transactional attorney. Law school is filled with type-A personalities (as I’m sure you can imagine) and tons of them wanted to be litigators… high-profile, quick on their feet, zealous advocates… the true rockstars of the legal world. I, on the other hand, was more attracted to the transactional lifestyle… the behind the scenes, thoughtful, much more low-key choice.
I’ve noticed that my party preferences are very similar. I could walk the red carpet or I could be at the small and cozy lounge located down the street from the big-ticket event.
Nine times out of ten, I’m going for the lounge.
The thought of preparing myself to look like I belong at a glamorous event is exhausting… the name-dropping at the door (you already know how I feel about that!)… the schmoozing… fighting to get through the crowds… it’s just so… not ME. So, I decided to avoid it.
And I was regretting that choice BIG TIME on Sunday morning. The night before, I’d been at what I thought was a “houseparty” (that’s the way the evite had described it), but what really turned out to be a 400-person private party with free food and free drinks. It was a great time. But I also knew of about 100 other black-tie and/or semi-formal events that were going on… including the BET Honors, which was being held in my office building and featured appearances by some big name celebrities. (You have to understand, DC is not a big-name celebrity sort of town. People slide through and then they slide right back out. So this Inauguration was a big deal to us natives and meant a whole lot more than just a moment in our nation’s history.) There were definitely no celebs at the “houseparty” that I attended, and we had a good time, but should I have at least TRIED to get into a more glamorous event that night? I really wanted to have an exciting story to tell my kids. Something more poignant than “mom went to a few casual parties and watched the Inauguration from her couch”…
Well, the best part about Saturday night was that the party started early… and ended early. I made it home by about 3am (I guess “early” is relative, huh?) and was able to hit the sack for a few hours before I woke up to attend church. Now, ordinarily, I wouldn’t have even tried to attend church after a night like the one I’d had, but I decided to give it a go since the word on the street was that the Obama family would be attending that morning’s service. Pre-election, he was slated to attend our church and he didn’t make it, so I wasn’t convinced that he’d actually show. My parents, who had some sort of inside scoop on the whole thing because they are on the Deacon and Deaconess Boards, suggested that I head over to the church around 7:30am even though service began at 11. I was a little skeptical, but figured I’d take their advice to be on the safe side. It’s a good thing I listened because when I arrived at the church, by about 7:50am, the line to get in the front door was wrapped around the block! I found my friend in the crowd and joined up with her and her two friends that she’d brought along. I figured that Obama would actually show this time because there were police officers and bomb-sniffing dogs, DC police, fire marshals, and secret service swarming the place. At around 8:45am, my mother called us to the front door. There was a secret service officer standing there, and he was joined by the President of the Usher Board.
“Where are my ushers?” he asked. “Kelli, are you ushering today?” (I’ve been a member of the Usher Board for about 2 years, but I rarely usher.)
“Uh… sure,” I say, walking through the front door leaving the cold and the crowd behind.
When I get inside, I see that there’s a metal detector set up at the front door. A metal detector… in a church? It seems strange, but I understood it was necessary. I spent the next few hours trying to direct people to seats so that counts could be taken. There were about a thousand people outside waiting to get in and only 700 seats in the sanctuary. Secret service let it be known that they would not allow more people than could be seated in the main sanctuary, so at 700, we were cut off.
Finally, we got everyone into a seat and they closed the doors. Service began and the ushers remained in the back to assist with any latecomers. I noticed that our pastor was missing. About 10 minutes into the service, the doors opened and Pastor came through. The ushers stood and watched. Following the pastor, was Barack Obama… the President-Elect (at the time) of the United States. By his side was Sasha. He stopped and greeted us individually, as did the First Lady who was flanked by Malia. Grandma Robinson brought up the rear. They moved quickly, but I did get a word in with all of them. And it was such a thrilling moment that it really all seems like a blur. I mean, I remember that the President seems much smaller in person. He’s extremely skinny, has a few more gray hairs than I remembered, and has large ears… and he’s DEFINITELY hotter in person than he is on TV. Good lawd! And I remember that the First Lady was absolutely stunning. She wore a deep purple sleeveless number and her arms are toned and fabulous… sort of like Angela Basset channeling Tina Turner in “What’s Love Got to Do With it” only less muscular. In-person, she’s very feminine, delicate, and petite, which are character traits that don’t always shine through on TV. The kids are just angels and they are all so gracious and personable. They stayed for the entire service, and after service was over, they shook hands and hugged and allowed folks to take pictures. It was really great.
Sure, there were a lot of people in town fighting to find their place in this moment in history. And some of them went to glamorous parties… and some of them met celebrities. But, I met the reason for it all. And I didn’t have to drop a name, or fight through throngs of people to do it. Best of all, I got my story out of it. I can tell my children that I not only met the President and the First Lady, but I met the First Kids, too… and Grandma! It was an amazing experience and one that I won’t soon forget.
After I church, I decided to rest. I’d been partying two days straight and really didn’t have the energy to do it all over again. Plus, I felt like meeting the President was the pinnacle of such a weekend. There was really no need to do anything more than that. My story might trump those of others who did nothing but party for the whole weekend.
So, instead, I stayed home and just reflected on things. I asked myself stuff like what do I want to get out of this life? And who do I want to be? Will I be happy having lived my low-key low-maintenance life? Or should I try for more? And, trust me, you definitely have to TRY to live a life like that! An acquaintance of mine who knows EVERYONE and was at the middle of all the Inauguration-mania, hitting four parties a night and rubbing elbows with mucho celebrities, even admitted that it was tough work getting into all those events. It takes EFFORT. Maybe that’s what I’m lacking… the energy, will, and drive to make that effort. Maybe that means I don’t really want or need anything greater or more glamorous than the life I’m living…
As the Obama Inauguration approached, it seemed as though Metro was becoming more and more inefficient. Everyday there was some mechanical problem with the track, or a train had broken down, preventing other trains from getting through, or there was a sick passenger on a car and the entire train had to be evacuated. One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the office, I couldn’t wait to get home. I walk into the station and immediately notice that the line to board the train is six people deep. It turns out that earlier in the afternoon, one of the rails at a station along the Red Line had broken and, although it had been repaired hours earlier, the trains were still delayed. See what I mean? Inefficient!
Anyway, looking around at all the people waiting to board the train, I know that I probably won’t make it onto the first train that comes, so I stand back, pull out my book and start reading. There are Metro cops trying to direct people so that there won’t be a mad rush of folks onto the approaching train. They are yelling, pushing, it’s really a madhouse. And I think to myself, if this is the way that the Metro runs on a regular day, how in the world will they be able to accommodate 2 million extra people during Inauguration weekend? It wouldn’t have been such a puzzling question if an announcement hadn’t been made earlier in the week that bridges, tunnels, and major streets leading into the District were being shut down and all Inauguration spectators were now encouraged to walk into the city or take the Metro.
Having heard that news and having witnessed the incredible ineffectiveness of Metro’s plan to move people in and out of the city quickly, I just knew that Inauguration Day would be a clusterfuck. It was during those 30 minutes of waiting on the platform for a train to take me home that I decided I would not be making my way downtown to witness history on January 20. I went back and forth about whether it mattered for me to be there “in person” or to be watching the event from my couch like the rest of America would be doing. And I came to the conclusion that we are all “witnessing history” just by being alive during this time. We are living this moment together and physically being in that throng of people wouldn’t have made the moment any more real or significant for me.
Will I look back and regret that decision? I don’t think I will. Friends of mine ventured out into the cold just to “see” it, but ended up watching on the Jumbotron, which isn’t really that much different from watching it on your television when you really think about it… is it? Plus, I got to see things up close and personal thanks to CNN and MSNBC. So, I don’t regret it at all.
What I might regret, however, was my decision not to attend any “official” Inauguration celebratory events (aka PARTIES). I definitely went to a few shin-digs to celebrate Obama, but they weren’t “balls” or anything like that. I’ve been seeing pictures that my friends have been posting on Facebook and it looks like a good time was had by all. There were tons of parties where gobs of young, Black, professional people were gathered together all in the name of history. I think it would’ve been good to be around that. But… I’m really just a quiet type of girl. I’ve realized that, while I like to have fun, I am really more attracted to a low-key lifestyle than a high profile one. Or, am I?
For years, I’ve felt this internal struggle about where I fit in. On the one hand, I’ve always wanted to be on television. I’ve wanted to be a news reporter for as long as I can remember. But when it came time for me to be in front of the camera, I decided that I preferred the writing and production aspect of the news… something more behind-the-scenes. I abandoned my journalism dream for law school and even when I got to law school, I had to decide whether I wanted to be a litigator or a transactional attorney. Law school is filled with type-A personalities (as I’m sure you can imagine) and tons of them wanted to be litigators… high-profile, quick on their feet, zealous advocates… the true rockstars of the legal world. I, on the other hand, was more attracted to the transactional lifestyle… the behind the scenes, thoughtful, much more low-key choice.
I’ve noticed that my party preferences are very similar. I could walk the red carpet or I could be at the small and cozy lounge located down the street from the big-ticket event.
Nine times out of ten, I’m going for the lounge.
The thought of preparing myself to look like I belong at a glamorous event is exhausting… the name-dropping at the door (you already know how I feel about that!)… the schmoozing… fighting to get through the crowds… it’s just so… not ME. So, I decided to avoid it.
And I was regretting that choice BIG TIME on Sunday morning. The night before, I’d been at what I thought was a “houseparty” (that’s the way the evite had described it), but what really turned out to be a 400-person private party with free food and free drinks. It was a great time. But I also knew of about 100 other black-tie and/or semi-formal events that were going on… including the BET Honors, which was being held in my office building and featured appearances by some big name celebrities. (You have to understand, DC is not a big-name celebrity sort of town. People slide through and then they slide right back out. So this Inauguration was a big deal to us natives and meant a whole lot more than just a moment in our nation’s history.) There were definitely no celebs at the “houseparty” that I attended, and we had a good time, but should I have at least TRIED to get into a more glamorous event that night? I really wanted to have an exciting story to tell my kids. Something more poignant than “mom went to a few casual parties and watched the Inauguration from her couch”…
Well, the best part about Saturday night was that the party started early… and ended early. I made it home by about 3am (I guess “early” is relative, huh?) and was able to hit the sack for a few hours before I woke up to attend church. Now, ordinarily, I wouldn’t have even tried to attend church after a night like the one I’d had, but I decided to give it a go since the word on the street was that the Obama family would be attending that morning’s service. Pre-election, he was slated to attend our church and he didn’t make it, so I wasn’t convinced that he’d actually show. My parents, who had some sort of inside scoop on the whole thing because they are on the Deacon and Deaconess Boards, suggested that I head over to the church around 7:30am even though service began at 11. I was a little skeptical, but figured I’d take their advice to be on the safe side. It’s a good thing I listened because when I arrived at the church, by about 7:50am, the line to get in the front door was wrapped around the block! I found my friend in the crowd and joined up with her and her two friends that she’d brought along. I figured that Obama would actually show this time because there were police officers and bomb-sniffing dogs, DC police, fire marshals, and secret service swarming the place. At around 8:45am, my mother called us to the front door. There was a secret service officer standing there, and he was joined by the President of the Usher Board.
“Where are my ushers?” he asked. “Kelli, are you ushering today?” (I’ve been a member of the Usher Board for about 2 years, but I rarely usher.)
“Uh… sure,” I say, walking through the front door leaving the cold and the crowd behind.
When I get inside, I see that there’s a metal detector set up at the front door. A metal detector… in a church? It seems strange, but I understood it was necessary. I spent the next few hours trying to direct people to seats so that counts could be taken. There were about a thousand people outside waiting to get in and only 700 seats in the sanctuary. Secret service let it be known that they would not allow more people than could be seated in the main sanctuary, so at 700, we were cut off.
Finally, we got everyone into a seat and they closed the doors. Service began and the ushers remained in the back to assist with any latecomers. I noticed that our pastor was missing. About 10 minutes into the service, the doors opened and Pastor came through. The ushers stood and watched. Following the pastor, was Barack Obama… the President-Elect (at the time) of the United States. By his side was Sasha. He stopped and greeted us individually, as did the First Lady who was flanked by Malia. Grandma Robinson brought up the rear. They moved quickly, but I did get a word in with all of them. And it was such a thrilling moment that it really all seems like a blur. I mean, I remember that the President seems much smaller in person. He’s extremely skinny, has a few more gray hairs than I remembered, and has large ears… and he’s DEFINITELY hotter in person than he is on TV. Good lawd! And I remember that the First Lady was absolutely stunning. She wore a deep purple sleeveless number and her arms are toned and fabulous… sort of like Angela Basset channeling Tina Turner in “What’s Love Got to Do With it” only less muscular. In-person, she’s very feminine, delicate, and petite, which are character traits that don’t always shine through on TV. The kids are just angels and they are all so gracious and personable. They stayed for the entire service, and after service was over, they shook hands and hugged and allowed folks to take pictures. It was really great.
Sure, there were a lot of people in town fighting to find their place in this moment in history. And some of them went to glamorous parties… and some of them met celebrities. But, I met the reason for it all. And I didn’t have to drop a name, or fight through throngs of people to do it. Best of all, I got my story out of it. I can tell my children that I not only met the President and the First Lady, but I met the First Kids, too… and Grandma! It was an amazing experience and one that I won’t soon forget.
After I church, I decided to rest. I’d been partying two days straight and really didn’t have the energy to do it all over again. Plus, I felt like meeting the President was the pinnacle of such a weekend. There was really no need to do anything more than that. My story might trump those of others who did nothing but party for the whole weekend.
So, instead, I stayed home and just reflected on things. I asked myself stuff like what do I want to get out of this life? And who do I want to be? Will I be happy having lived my low-key low-maintenance life? Or should I try for more? And, trust me, you definitely have to TRY to live a life like that! An acquaintance of mine who knows EVERYONE and was at the middle of all the Inauguration-mania, hitting four parties a night and rubbing elbows with mucho celebrities, even admitted that it was tough work getting into all those events. It takes EFFORT. Maybe that’s what I’m lacking… the energy, will, and drive to make that effort. Maybe that means I don’t really want or need anything greater or more glamorous than the life I’m living…
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Celeb Sighting #1: MA$E
In 1997, a number of significant things happened to me. In June of that year, I graduated from high school. And, in August, I started my first semester at the University of Maryland, College Park. Also that year, my mother’s father – my beloved Grandfather – was diagnosed with cancer. It was a shock, but we were dealing with it. Grandpa was the oldest boy in a family of 14 children. So, when the word came down that he was sick, all his siblings decided to travel to DC and celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. That was the last year my Grandpa was strong enough to put his special touch on our 20 lb turkey, but nobody else felt much like preparing anything for our big dinner. So, the responsibility fell to me at 18 years old and to my 16 year old cousin. We made everything else, including desserts – food enough to feed 30 people. By the time I helped to clean up the kitchen and chitty-chatted with my family members, my cousins and I decided to take a ride around DC to relax.
That night, Usher was having a party at Republic Gardens, but my younger cousin wouldn’t be able to get into the party since she was under 18. So, instead, we decided to cruise around in my car for a few hours. After we had driven all the way downtown and made it back to the DC/Silver Spring border, we decided that we were hungry. Everything was closed. It was Thanksgiving afterall. But, one place was still open – the Tastee Diner, a rinky-dink greasy spoon establishment with hot coffee and hot food. (“Hot” doesn’t necessarily equal “good”!) We called my BFF who lived a few blocks away from the diner and asked if she wanted to come out. She took a pass since she was feeling slugging from the tryptophan (sp).
We pulled into the diner and ordered our food. I don’t remember what I ordered, but I remember what happened next like it was yesterday. The day after Thanksgiving, my younger cousin, BFF and I were planning to attend the Puff Daddy concert. Now, Biggie had died earlier that year and it was sort of a big deal to see Puffy at this point. (Those of you who are aware of my Diddy obsession are giggling just a little right about now.) Plus, I had recently fallen in love with Diddy’s protégé, Ma$e, a slow-talking rapper from Harlem – as if you didn’t already know that! My crush on Ma$e was public knowledge on Maryland’s campus. In fact, a male friend of mine had copped a life-sized poster of Ma$e from a record store that was closing nearby and it was hanging on the wall in my dorm room.
Anyway, my cousins and I were discussing the concert that was to happen the next day and as we were discussing, a dude with dreads walked in and sat at the counter. With his back facing us, I was able to see that the black leather jacket he was wearing had “Bad Boy Entertainment” stitched in white. My cousin snickered. “How pressed,” she said.
“I know! What a bama!” I giggled. “You would have to be really pressed to walk around in a jacket like that unless you worked for them or something.”
Just then, the door to the diner opens again and a bald-headed chubby dude with slanted eyes walks in and sits at the counter next to the guy in the Bad Boy jacket. My cousin looked up from her plate and says, “I know that guy. He’s from this group called The Lox.” (This was Jadakiss, in case you didn’t guess that by now.)
“Oh, I guess that guy does work for Bad Boy, then.” Hmmmm…
We go back to eating, but never in all my years would I have been prepared for what happened next. My back was facing the door, so I wasn’t able to see who was walking in until they came around to the other side of my table. My younger cousin was facing the door. She picked up the bottle of ketchup and started pouring some on her onion rings. All of a sudden, her mouth dropped and, from behind me, I hear someone say in a slow drawl, “Why are you putting so much ketchup on your onion rings?” My cousin squealed.
I look back and it’s… MA$E. Yes, that’s right. M-A-dollar sign-E was standing right next to our table. All at once I feel the need to sneeze, cough, burp, hiccup… the first sob hit me and it was more like a shudder, and then…. Tears?! OMG! I am SUCH a bama. I finally got a chance to meet Ma$e, the man who’s picture I awakened to each morning. Who’s crooked grin encouraged me as I made my way out of my dorm room onto class. And, there was that grin – in the flesh – and what do I do? I cry. I could not get control of myself. I was a mess. He walked to the booth behind ours and sat down. I hurried to the bathroom and cried a little more, washed my face, dried it and then gave myself a pep talk before heading back out to the dining area.
When I got back to the table, he was standing by my cousins and chatting them up, like he had known them for years.
“You ok?” he asked me.
I stare stupidly, but cannot find my voice! Tears welled up again, but I fought them off. You are such a loser, I am thinking to myself. I had met a few celebs before and had never been starstruck. But this time, I just couldn’t help myself. I had dreamed of this man. Oh the things I promised myself I would do if I ran into this man in person and all I could manage were a few strangled sobs?
My cousins asked him for an autograph and I just stared, my food sitting forgotten on my plate due to a sudden loss of appetite. Finally, I was able to speak.
“Can I get one, too?” I say softly.
“She speaks!” he laughs. That grin. I feel dizzy. He grabs my napkin and asks me my name. I tell him and he writes “MA$E Loves [Lovely Brown Girl]”. I swoon. He orders pancakes. Their driver comes in and they begin to argue. He says “Ok, if you don’t do it, I’ll just call Puff and you’ll be fired. No question.” The driver storms out. I am thinking, Wow. He can call Puffy RIGHT NOW if he wants to. I am so impressed.
Ma$e gets his pancakes and starts chowing down. By this time, other members of his entourage have joined him, including (apparently) a few backup dancers… or jumpoffs… or, jumpoffs that serve as backup dancers. Whatever. One of them looks at Ma$e eating and says, “You sure are eating those pancakes sloppy” and he says “That’s not the only thing I eat sloppy.” And he winks. I feel sick.
He continues to chat with my cousins (since I have become mute) and the other people in the diner. Countless swear words pepper his speech, which also included numerous sexual innuendos. His security guard (married) also tried to get my cousin to come back to their hotel room (she was 16, remember? And she had told him that. Repeatedly. He was undeterred.)
By the end of the encounter, my infatuation with Ma$e had seriously diminished. He wasn’t nearly as charming or witty as I thought he’d be. He was, however, much cuter in person.
At any rate, I attended the concert that next day and thoroughly enjoyed myself. The person who stood out to me that night was Puff, not Ma$e. And a new celebrity crush was born. BFF was so upset she chose to stay home that night. Spotting Ma$e in Downtown Silver Spring in 1997 was kind of a big deal... But, I assured her she didn't miss much. Anyway, when I returned to school after my Thanksgiving break was over, I was over Ma$e.
But the poster stayed on the wall. As immature, obnoxious, and unimpressive as he was, that lopsided grin was still worth the wall space…
That night, Usher was having a party at Republic Gardens, but my younger cousin wouldn’t be able to get into the party since she was under 18. So, instead, we decided to cruise around in my car for a few hours. After we had driven all the way downtown and made it back to the DC/Silver Spring border, we decided that we were hungry. Everything was closed. It was Thanksgiving afterall. But, one place was still open – the Tastee Diner, a rinky-dink greasy spoon establishment with hot coffee and hot food. (“Hot” doesn’t necessarily equal “good”!) We called my BFF who lived a few blocks away from the diner and asked if she wanted to come out. She took a pass since she was feeling slugging from the tryptophan (sp).
We pulled into the diner and ordered our food. I don’t remember what I ordered, but I remember what happened next like it was yesterday. The day after Thanksgiving, my younger cousin, BFF and I were planning to attend the Puff Daddy concert. Now, Biggie had died earlier that year and it was sort of a big deal to see Puffy at this point. (Those of you who are aware of my Diddy obsession are giggling just a little right about now.) Plus, I had recently fallen in love with Diddy’s protégé, Ma$e, a slow-talking rapper from Harlem – as if you didn’t already know that! My crush on Ma$e was public knowledge on Maryland’s campus. In fact, a male friend of mine had copped a life-sized poster of Ma$e from a record store that was closing nearby and it was hanging on the wall in my dorm room.
Anyway, my cousins and I were discussing the concert that was to happen the next day and as we were discussing, a dude with dreads walked in and sat at the counter. With his back facing us, I was able to see that the black leather jacket he was wearing had “Bad Boy Entertainment” stitched in white. My cousin snickered. “How pressed,” she said.
“I know! What a bama!” I giggled. “You would have to be really pressed to walk around in a jacket like that unless you worked for them or something.”
Just then, the door to the diner opens again and a bald-headed chubby dude with slanted eyes walks in and sits at the counter next to the guy in the Bad Boy jacket. My cousin looked up from her plate and says, “I know that guy. He’s from this group called The Lox.” (This was Jadakiss, in case you didn’t guess that by now.)
“Oh, I guess that guy does work for Bad Boy, then.” Hmmmm…
We go back to eating, but never in all my years would I have been prepared for what happened next. My back was facing the door, so I wasn’t able to see who was walking in until they came around to the other side of my table. My younger cousin was facing the door. She picked up the bottle of ketchup and started pouring some on her onion rings. All of a sudden, her mouth dropped and, from behind me, I hear someone say in a slow drawl, “Why are you putting so much ketchup on your onion rings?” My cousin squealed.
I look back and it’s… MA$E. Yes, that’s right. M-A-dollar sign-E was standing right next to our table. All at once I feel the need to sneeze, cough, burp, hiccup… the first sob hit me and it was more like a shudder, and then…. Tears?! OMG! I am SUCH a bama. I finally got a chance to meet Ma$e, the man who’s picture I awakened to each morning. Who’s crooked grin encouraged me as I made my way out of my dorm room onto class. And, there was that grin – in the flesh – and what do I do? I cry. I could not get control of myself. I was a mess. He walked to the booth behind ours and sat down. I hurried to the bathroom and cried a little more, washed my face, dried it and then gave myself a pep talk before heading back out to the dining area.
When I got back to the table, he was standing by my cousins and chatting them up, like he had known them for years.
“You ok?” he asked me.
I stare stupidly, but cannot find my voice! Tears welled up again, but I fought them off. You are such a loser, I am thinking to myself. I had met a few celebs before and had never been starstruck. But this time, I just couldn’t help myself. I had dreamed of this man. Oh the things I promised myself I would do if I ran into this man in person and all I could manage were a few strangled sobs?
My cousins asked him for an autograph and I just stared, my food sitting forgotten on my plate due to a sudden loss of appetite. Finally, I was able to speak.
“Can I get one, too?” I say softly.
“She speaks!” he laughs. That grin. I feel dizzy. He grabs my napkin and asks me my name. I tell him and he writes “MA$E Loves [Lovely Brown Girl]”. I swoon. He orders pancakes. Their driver comes in and they begin to argue. He says “Ok, if you don’t do it, I’ll just call Puff and you’ll be fired. No question.” The driver storms out. I am thinking, Wow. He can call Puffy RIGHT NOW if he wants to. I am so impressed.
Ma$e gets his pancakes and starts chowing down. By this time, other members of his entourage have joined him, including (apparently) a few backup dancers… or jumpoffs… or, jumpoffs that serve as backup dancers. Whatever. One of them looks at Ma$e eating and says, “You sure are eating those pancakes sloppy” and he says “That’s not the only thing I eat sloppy.” And he winks. I feel sick.
He continues to chat with my cousins (since I have become mute) and the other people in the diner. Countless swear words pepper his speech, which also included numerous sexual innuendos. His security guard (married) also tried to get my cousin to come back to their hotel room (she was 16, remember? And she had told him that. Repeatedly. He was undeterred.)
By the end of the encounter, my infatuation with Ma$e had seriously diminished. He wasn’t nearly as charming or witty as I thought he’d be. He was, however, much cuter in person.
At any rate, I attended the concert that next day and thoroughly enjoyed myself. The person who stood out to me that night was Puff, not Ma$e. And a new celebrity crush was born. BFF was so upset she chose to stay home that night. Spotting Ma$e in Downtown Silver Spring in 1997 was kind of a big deal... But, I assured her she didn't miss much. Anyway, when I returned to school after my Thanksgiving break was over, I was over Ma$e.
But the poster stayed on the wall. As immature, obnoxious, and unimpressive as he was, that lopsided grin was still worth the wall space…
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