Fireworks and The Man in the Mirror

Just over a week ago, Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed King of Pop, danced his last signature steps in a rehearsal on the grand stage of the Staples Center, then went into cardiac arrest and breathed his last breath not 24 hours later. I was at work running from one meeting to another when a co-worker alerted me to the news before CNN or the LA Times had confirmed it: Michael Jackson was dead.

Since then, DJs have dusted off old LPs of album cuts or singles not played in years, radio stations have created tribute mixes and dedicated days to all-Michael play, television specials on his life and music have been popping up with a quickness only possible for someone with such a prolific career of music and video volume over the 40-year career of his 50-year life. And I, in my own car, have had "Michael" and "Jackson 5" as my two most played artists on my iTunes, processing the death of the man who provided much of the soundtrack of my youth. Videos from the "Thriller" album bring me back to watching Video 1 with Richard Blade in elementary school, songs from "Dangerous" were the anthems of my high school dance production numbers, and the list goes on.

As a DJ, I mourn the death of one of the greatest musical talents in history. Though he hasn't produced a hit in a few years, the finality that Jackson's distinctive, soulful vocals will not appear on any more new releases is a sad thought. As a Gen-Xer, I mourn the closing of a genre -- in a way, Michael was his own -- so closely tied with the development of my musical taste and love of dance growing up. But as a human, I mourn the downward spiral of his life over the years. Growing up literally remembering nothing but being in the public eye, and with a fiercely applause-hungry, over-critical and crazy stage parent of a father, Michael confessed once that the only place he felt safe was on a stage before thousands of people. As impressive as his presence was on that stage of dancers and flashing lights, there appeared to me to be a child who never grew up, and struggled with self-hate and was scared to death of people and relationships. All of this culminated in child molestation charges, excessive plastic surgery and increasingly frequent public displays of weirdness.

Michael's music may have been big enough to cover the multitude of his deep issues, and many will remember his glorious laundry list of #1s over all of the freakishness. But as many thousands there are mourning Michael the King on Tuesday's memorial service at the Staples Center and Nokia, I could bet the number of individuals who actually knew Michael the man could be counted on one hand.

Still, as I watched fireworks celebrating the Fourth of July tonight, my friends and I were sitting too far from the show to hear any music. And in my mind, the silent, spectacular show - like many things - would have been perfect set to some good ol' MJ.

A Fine Bro-mance

Last night I went to see "I Love You, Man," the latest bro-mantic comedy, the latest blockbuster formula in Hollywood. Paul Rudd plays Peter, a chronic boyfriend -- sensitive, honest, thoughtful, and more comfortable with the opposite sex (we all know that guy). When he gets engaged, his fiancee encourages him to fill out their wedding party with some of his best friends, and he embarks on a series of man-dates in search of a BFF.

When Peter finds his match made in heaven, it's in the free-love, free-thought, intuitive quasi-bohemian Sydney, played by Jason Segel. But unlike the romantic comedies of yore, this friendship is all about embracing their testosterone-driven, lustful inner animal. Unlike Peter, Sydney is way in touch with his man-side, and encourages Peter to yawp and masturbate his way there as well.

This is not the first time I've walked out of a movie about love and relationships realizing that I am no longer the target audience. It follows a string of male-centered romantic/friendship comedies is dominating screens big and small. Characters like Turk and J.D., Andy the 40-year-old virgin, and just about anyone played by Josh Rogan are in good company. They encourage bachelors everywhere to throw the Prince Charming of the female genre out the window, and give them the real man in all of his imperfect, unfaithful, impulsive and sometimes downright disgusting tendencies. (Hey, in spirit of bromance, I'm just keepin' it real.) They thank Greg Behrent and Judd Apatow for helping them get their balls back.

I find it a fascinating turn in our culture that the bromance points to. After the metrosexual phenomenon has become everyday, and more and more men are just as concerned with their appearance as women are, it turns out they have also become just as obsessed with the perfect girl as we are with the perfect guy -- and their fantasies just as full of issues.

Although I have mixed feelings about the overall message bromance is trying to make (about as mixed as my feelings towards the female version), I gotta say the former is way more entertaining to me overall. I don't know what that says about me. I've never been much of a traditional romantic, and maybe I'm finding myself feeling out-womaned by men.

A Very Rainy Day

Today I found out my good friend DJ Hideo has been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, which has also spread to his liver.

After spending a good part of today driving in the rain in tears or fighting them, I can't describe how sad this makes me, or how terrifying it is to even think of losing another loved one. In a world full of competition and lack of regard for others, it is rare to find someone who genuinely cares for others and who's pleasure it is to do so. At times I have felt alone in the world of the DJ, or at times like even friends are more motivated by self-interest. But despite his credentials of 20+ years as a professional DJ, regarded well by his colleagues around the world, Hideo has always been a presence of joy and safety to me, and true friendship. And the thought of his life being at risk is deeply saddening to me.

I only met Hideo in 2006. It is amazing how quickly a person can find a home in your heart. Kindness is a powerful thing, and as easily as it binds people together, the strength of it makes the thought of loss all the more painful.

Please join me in praying for Hideo and his family.



At Barcopa, my first residency given to me by Hideo

America's Top Knight

Yesterday, Barack Hussein Obama was inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States -- as if you needed me to tell you that. It was probably one of the most publicly viewed inaugurations of all time, and certainly the most by far in my own lifetime. I confess, it was the first time I have ever cared enough to watch. One of my own housemates was among the throng of some 2 million witnesses to the event live in D.C., braving freezing temperatures overnight that they might catch a glimpse of the ceremony inducting the first beloved politician in decades.  After prayers, songs and oaths were all given, the new President gave his winning smile and waved to the crowd -- certainly the millions gathered thought that wave was just for them.  Later in the day, as the motorcade drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, Obama and his first lady stepped out of their luxury Cadillac to walk a bit, and cameras subsequently caught fans running to keep up with the car in the off chance that their hero, the President, might step out of the car again and acknowledge them.

I am a supporter of Barack Obama and was not shy about casting my vote for him back in November. But as inspiring a speaker, as charming a personality, as well-rounded and diverse a background and as great of a leader and thinker he may be, he is still just a man -- a man I've never met, and a politician at that. I would be so bold as to say that that relationship is true for most of the world that is doting over its newfound obsession.  And yet, when Obama speaks, people not only listen, they cry. 

What this tells me about our country is a few things. I will attempt to generalize here: One, that we have felt so starved of leadership we trust, having so long tolerated leadership (beyond the Bush era) that seemed defensive, deceitful and at times completely nonsensical.  Barack Obama stepped into history at just the right time. Had he come onto the ballot even one term earlier, I don't think our country would have been prepared to put the first half-Black man into office. And as much as I feel for George Bush, who just about became the laughing stock of the world by the end of his presidency, his perfect storm dilemma of multiple red-alert crises and bad leadership decisions made us feel that desperation for something new all the more. 

Two, that for the majority of us out there, Daddy didn't love us the way we needed. Though he may not know it, Obama has been adopted by many as their surrogate fathers. Like our favorite celebrities, he is perfect from afar -- but even more so, because he wants to take care of us. We love his courage to stand up for the ideals of this generation, we love that he thinks like us -- except he's way smarter. We love his humanity, the man seemingly always before the politician. We love that he can adore his wife, talk about his kids' allergies to dogs and address the crashing economy and foreign policy all in one breath. We love that he listens to Stevie Wonder and Jay-Z. He has become the knight in shining armor, the perfect guy saving the day at the end of a cheesy movie, the authority who finally gets us.

As extreme as the hysteria over this one man has become, and as much as I generally oppose extreme hysteria, I, too, have hopes that Obama will be a better leader than anyone we've had in a while. As far as change goes, if Obama's greatest accomplishment is to breathe new hope and excitement in leadership into our country's culture of disrespect and distaste for authority, that is pretty monumental in itself.

New Year of Acceptance

New Year's has always held more personal significance to me than Thanksgiving or Christmas. Though meaningful and special in their own ways, I grew up associating those holidays with concepts like lots of food, or the prospect new toys or gifts -- all good things, but more mature adult concepts like gratefulness and the birth of Jesus never really set in my consciousness fully to replace them. New Year's Day is something that has made more sense to me as an adult: It represents both the end of things and beginning of things at once. It has made me pause and say goodbye to things I've grown out of, and welcome in new hopes and prospects of what may come. It is bittersweet and thankful and reflective.

A year ago today, I received the news that a friend of mine was killed in a tragic car accident. Yesterday, my friends were on my heart and mind, and I think they always will be on New Year's Day. As I look back on the year that followed, I realize that death -- or endings -- was somewhat of a theme that carried throughout. Friends married or drifted, new relationships I had hoped would work out a certain way didn't, and I found myself accepting things as they really were, maybe for the first time. Somehow through it all, I ended the year more at peace, if a little more wistful, than a year ago.

Whatever the new year may bring, I feel more ready to go through it and less afraid of what that may include. I have much to be grateful for, and feel like I have nothing to lose that I cannot keep.

The Failing Economy of Dating

Our major investment banks, stock market and job market are not the only things plummeting in the United States. There is also the matter of the slow decline of resources in the world of Christian dating.

As a single Christian woman who is neither white, nor affiliated with the fundamentalist religious right, nor merely a nominal Christian who's beliefs have no bearing on her actual life and views, from an economist's standpoint it could be said that I entered the market already at a deficit when it comes to number of options. Add in a timetable of those small resources slowly declining, and though you may not get a sudden market crash, a girl can get the feeling that this country didn't end up being the land of opportunity she thought it could be.

She might find herself having thoughts more regularly like, "I really am both the oldest and only single person in this room," or "Are there really only losers and passive men left?" and find a sinking feeling that the salad days of yore are never to be returned to. Unlike the fiscal economy, this pool of resources doesn't cycle back up.

Though it will take millions of jobs and dollars to bring our country back to a functioning, thriving level again, it is sometimes easier for me to believe that is possible than that there is any one guy out there for me. Money that already exists can be reallocated and channeled in new ways to invigorate an economy. The same cannot be said about the endangered species of men who would be right for me.

I do believe though that hitting rock bottom is necessary for both kinds of economies to improve. While our country is at a point where we want to learn from the mistakes of the Great Depression, and take informed measures not to repeat history, I'm hoping my rock bottom has already hit and that I, too, will learn from the mistakes of my past and be more open to a future that probably involves a significant amount of change. The country may be waiting for new orders from our new president-elect, but I await a word and act of redemption from my God.

Nibbling

Most days, I'm at least somewhat able to hold onto hope that something good out there awaits, whatever that may be. I'm grateful for what I have -- a job I enjoy with coworkers and a boss that I respect and like, a community of friends that I know love me and would be there for me in a minute if I needed them, parents who raised me to value authenticity in myself and in those around me, and the list can go on. 

But once in a while, the wear and tear of disappointment or loneliness that sometimes comes with growing in different ways than those around me can get the better of me. Once in a while, there's a long-term wear day.

But as I sit in my room tonight, feeling the weight of future "what-if-nots," I know that somehow this will all help me love and suffer with people better in the end. Somehow it's the difficult stuff that makes the most difference once you get through it. And I can at least hope in that.