Never Can Say Goodbye

I didn't even notice the gloves.

I'm halfway watching the memorial to Michael Jackson, who died a week and a half ago as he was preparing to launch his comeback/retirement tour. And I just got a glimpse of his brothers, who were the pallbearers, all wearing MJ's signature sparkly glove on one hand.

In the time since his death, it's been wall to wall coverage of Mike, a lot of it good, fitting, loving tributes to a man who had such an impact on so many people and to music as we know it. I remember the night he died, I had to run back to the newsroom to get by badge. A copy editor remarked that it was hard to imagine what music will be like without him.

"He's the king," I said. "Music is the way it is because of him."

The copy editor agreed (and added James Brown, which I concurred with) and we went about our way.

I'm not going to wax poetic about Mike. I thought he was great and enjoyed his music, a realization I came to only after his death. As radio stations and televisions played his songs in constant rotation, I found myself unable to control my dancing. My joy. Controversial, troubled or not, MJ was a genius who brought so much fun to his music. And you felt it with every beat.

This wasn't what I planned to write about today, but I can't think of anything else. I sit across from the TV in the newsroom and I feel like my eyes have been glued to the screen (with barely no sound) all afternoon.

Just kinda wish this all wasn't happening.

We Had Him

Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing, now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind.
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon.
In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.
Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him.
He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.
Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.
We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.
His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.
And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.
Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana's Black Star Square.
In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England
We are missing Michael.
But we do know we had him, and we are the world.
- Maya Angelou

It's a gorgeous day today, seriously

So, I didn't get into the Yale program.

Remember I was applying for grad schools? I got a rejection letter yesterday from Yale. I guess it was expected since I'd started out the week with a rejection from this program, I figured why break the streak? Now I'm just waiting for my Georgetown rejection letter. Kinda makes me regret spending the application fee and postage (I overnighted both of them).

Anyway, it was crazy because I got this suspect letter and was like, wtf? no return address on the front. I knew it was a rejection letter. Either that or a plea for money. So I opened it (and see Yale on the envelope flap) and knew I didn't get in. Remember when you were in high school and they talked about the fat envelope vs. the skinny envelope? Yeah, I figure the same applies for grad schools. And my envelope was thin as a mug.

I wasn't even upset about it. I just text the BF like "I didn't get into Yale." He called back immediately and I didn't even bring it up. It was kind of a non issue. Whatever. Yale doesn't know what they're missing.

I was cleaning my house yesterday (after I cleaned my car on that gloriously beautiful Saturday!) and ran across some old newspapers I'd saved forever to mount as clips but never got around to. I decided to toss them since a) I use electronic or web print outs now and b) I've written better stuff since I saved those papers, so I wouldn't use those as clips anyway. Anyway, I was reading some of my old stories and I used to be really good. Well, okay, I used to be good. I did a lot more features when I was in the bureaus because we needed centerpieces. Now that I'm in the main newsroom, most of my stories are briefs or my big features get whittled down to shorts (did I mention a 40 inch story I wrote on domestic violence -- that everyone thought was banging -- got cut in half? And still hasn't run? They're going to make me stop reporting as much because soon as I put in a national expert, when it comes time to print, they just cut them anyway. Save my time and post an update to twitter or something instead.)

So yeah, that was a nice trip down memory lane.

Then, I get a text in the middle of the night from Vandy about this foolishness at my alma mater:

An 18-year-old man shot the night manager and another man inside a Hampton University dorm before turning the gun on himself, police and school officials said Sunday. All three were hospitalized.

No students were injured in the shooting reported about 1 a.m., Hampton police said.

The suspect, who is from Richmond, shot two Hampton men, ages 62 and 43, before shooting himself, police said in a statement.

The shooter is a former student and the older victim is the night manager of the dormitory, Harkness Hall, said school spokeswoman Yuri Rodgers Milligan.

It's like, is the entire world going crazy? I don't know if the two men have died. I think when I first heard about it, I was upset because I thought it was students who were causing silly drama. I'm a firm believer that thugs don't go to college, so if you're in a university, you shouldn't be packing heat or slanging rock. It's just an oxymoron. But when I read the story, I can so see how it happened. Our security is so lax on campus that people can literally just walk on. And from what I hear, the kid was in school last semester, but wasn't enrolled this spring, so it wasn't like people would have been alarmed to see him walking around campus. I just wonder what beef he had with Harkness Hall. My prayers are going out to the entire HIU community.

Gathering my shambles

I guess it's just kind of that time of life.

A lot of people I talk to are working to "get their lives together." Ah, another Hamptonism working it's way into real life.

This one (though she's a *shudder* Bison) is working on it. So are a few of my other friends.

Whether it's developing a schedule, disciplining yourself, or just figuring out where you want to go in life, we're all just trying to pickup the pieces because our lives, as we see it, are in semi-shambles.

Me? I'm just trying to clean my house.

I've always been a packrat. And a messy one at that. I keep receipts. I keep ticket stubs. I keep twin sheets and comforters from college because I never know when a sleepover may breakout and I'll be glad I had that bed in a bag.

But the problem is the clutter is crowding out my life.

My clothes sit in bags and baskets in my bedroom floor, my walk-in closet too jam packed with clothes to fit them all. Yet, I have nothing to wear. What's taking up space on the rack are things I bought when I got to Hampton. Yeah, it's 2008. I know.

Plastic bags tumble from my kitchen pantry. I'm earth conscious so I don't want to throw them out and crowd up a landfill. I read to the back of one of the shelves, which is so disorganized, I didn't notice the unopened bottle of vinaigrette and bought a new one. (Though, I checked and the expiration date definitely said 2007. So I needed a new one anyway. Sigh.)

I've just got too much stuff.

So I decided to get rid of it.

After I got back from my trip, I figured now was as good a time as any to declutter my life. I threw out probably two years worth of magazines. I chucked those plastic bags (and their paper counterparts). I have no less than six bags of bedding, clothes and shoes waiting to be taken to the nearest Goodwill.

The sad part is, I'm not even close to done.

I bit off too much, people. Instead of working in one room and finishing it before moving on to another, I tackled the whole house because I wanted to put off going through my Tupperware or didn't know where to start when pruning my closet.

The result is that my living room and really, my entire house, looks like a disaster zone.

I'm hoping that when I finish, I'll be able to feel the space I've created. And maybe begin to surround myself with more of the things I love, rather than the things I've held on to in case I needed them.

And I guess that's step one in getting my life together. I just wish it didn't take so long.
Or require so much work.
Or so many trash bags.

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