Browsing Category The Way I See It

Taking a Different View of Whoopi

Tff 2014I am a huge fan of Whoopi Goldberg. Followers of my blog may recall that seven years ago I wrote a post candidly expressing my concern about Whoopi’s disheveled appearance on the TV talk show, The View. Undoubtedly, owing to my self-consciousness about appearance, I didn’t hesitate to brazenly offer my opinion that Whoopi should dress more appropriately for her job, like the program’s other co-hosts.

The odds are at least 20 million-to-one that Whoopi never saw that post and if she did her response would likely have been, “Who did you say wrote it? Loretta who? Who the hell is that?” before curling her lips and rolling her eyes. Nevertheless, my candor did not thwart a phone call I received months later from the program’s Audience Services Department, offering tickets for me and some friends to attend the show. Unfortunately, due to bad timing, I couldn’t attend. Being unable to accept that offer has been one of the biggest regrets of my life.

Getting back to why I admire Whoopi. If you didn’t know who she is (Who doesn’t?), and you happened to see the dreadlocks wearing, New York native walking on the street near her 8-bedroom, 9,486-square foot mansion in a gated New Jersey community, you might think that she was out of place. A vagabond, perhaps. Of course, you would be so far from wrong you couldn’t see daylight at high noon.

Nearly every celeb-watcher and anyone who knows about Whoopi knows that she is one of the entertainment industry’s finest. Aside from being strongly opinionated (a commonality that we share. You think?), she is highly intelligent and well-read. When she speaks her mind, she doesn’t hesitate to make it known that she doesn’t give a hot burp what other people think of her. And need I add that the numerous award-winning actress, comedian, author, activist, moderator and co-host of The View also has a star on Hollywood Boulevard? Kudos to this woman who is not afraid to be herself. She has her own style of dressing and living and doesn’t care whether we like it or not.

I’m just saying — if ever there is a perfect example of not judging a book by its cover, Whoopi is it. And who knows (I say tongue-in-check) perhaps my quasi-apology will bring me another ticket offer. Time will tell.

By the way, if you would like to take a peek inside Whoopi’s home view the Slideshow.

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I’m Not Riding the Bandwagon

Street Road Sign Bandwagon“Whether I’m right or whether I’m wrong, Whether I find a place in this world or never belong, I gotta be me.” Those song lyrics written by Walter Marks and recorded by Sammy Davis, Jr. define me to a tee.

Sometimes I feel like a misfit in a go-along-to-get-along, anything and everything goes society. I long for the days when there was a clear distinction between right and wrong, good and bad, and males and females, instead of a muddled mess of confusion.

Back in the day, if an acquaintance asked me, “What are you doing for the weekend?” and I said “I’ll be hanging out with my girlfriend on Saturday,” I did not catch a raised side-eye or feel the need to explain that she is just a friend, who is female. We are not lesbians. I resent that nearly everything today requires clarification to prevent the facts from getting twisted.

“We the people” are expected to climb on the bandwagon and support every non-traditional lifestyle, fad, or fantasy that surfaces. Personally, I would rather walk alone than ride along with those who are playing follow-the-leader.

I know there are others out there who feel as I do and they are not afraid to

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We the Jury, find . . .

for blogFor weeks, I dreaded it. As the time grew closer, I accepted the inevitable. There was no avoiding it. Sooner or later, I would have to do it. Sometimes to avoid thinking about it, I would create a mental list of things that I would rather do:  listen to someone talk with their mouthful of food, step in chewing gum, or have a root canal. Dozens of other things came to mind. Things that I would rather do than IT. But alas, I knew I would have to comply with government orders or suffer the consequences. So, when the day arrived, I obeyed the summons and reported to the courthouse to do it – jury duty.

As incredible as it is, I know people who enjoy jury duty, but I’m not one of them. I resent spending hours sitting in the Juror Lounge feeling as bored as an egotist at a humility conference. Nor do I look forward to being in a closed room deliberating with a group of argumentative jurors. Been there. Done that. Never want to do it again.

Like many District of Columbia residents,  I receive a jury summons about every two years. If I were an irresponsible person, I would do what some defiant citizens do when summoned. Ignore it. In 2014, 70,000 people in the District of Columbia ignored the order to report for jury service.

There are consequences for being a no-show. The penalties vary from state-to-

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Crybaby

Very strong Image Of a afro American woman Crying isolated on BCall me a crybaby. I accept that. I’ve been turning on the waterworks since childhood. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking about infancy when all babies communicate that they are hungry, need changing or are otherwise discontent over something. I was a grade-schooler when – get ready – I turned on the waterworks over a television program.

Depending on the circumstance, I’ve been comforted, teased, or criticized for shedding tears. When I weep over a devastating event or at a funeral, there are usually others commiserating with me, so unless I become hysterical (I only lost it once), my tears don’t raise eyebrows. On the other hand, witnessing someone else’s joyous moment, like a wedding or a long-awaited reunion, could make me grab a Kleenex and wipe happy tears. Feelings of extreme anger or deep stress might produce a small waterfall. A tearjerker movie could cause a Tsunami. I am an equal opportunity crier.

I’ve discovered that a lot of people are uncomfortable around crybabies. I first realized this when I was around ten years old. I remember it like it was yesterday. I am sitting alone in the living room watching an adventure film. Everything is fine until the handsome male lead is captured and blinded by the bad guys. As the villains continue torturing the protagonist with a hot branding iron, my dad walks into the room and sees me frowning at the screen with tears streaming down my face. Immediately concerned he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

Fighting to close the floodgates, I turn my watery eyes toward dad and whimper, “They are killing him.”

Perhaps not knowing how to handle the situation caused dad discomfort, because he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and left the room shaking his head side-to-side and grumbling. “Crying over a stupid TV show. Don’t make no sense.”

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When Lurkers are Lurking

There is a saying, “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch.” This post has nothing to do with dogs. However, I have a bone to pick with Internet lurkers.

Do you know someone, perhaps a next door neighbor who spends time at home peeping out of the window, from behind the curtains, spying on other people; being careful to see without being seen? Lurkers are much like that curious neighbor except they are online. They spend considerable time observing the content on blogs, in chat rooms, and other social networking sites, but they never make a contribution or interact.

Facebook lurkers are probably the coyest. They read our posts. They look at our

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