R.I.P, AMC

After more than 41 years, the ABC daytime drama “All My Children” aired its last television episode today. Needless to say, I’m sad and pissed. (Sorry for the language.)

I haven’t seen the final episode yet. I’m waiting until I get home to watch it. I’ll have a box of facial tissues nearby. I used some tissues for the salute to the Hubbard family on Monday.

Although the venerable soap is supposed to be reborn on the Internet sometime next year, for me, it won’t be the same. “All My Children” wasn’t just a soap that aired five days a week. It fostered gathering places for people to watch, such as college dorms, corporate lunchrooms, sports bars (Yes!), and homes with big-screen TVs. People talked about the antics of Erica Kane and how it took 19 nominations for her portrayer Susan Lucci to win a Daytime Emmy Award as best actress. There would be a collective “AWWW!” at each cliffhanger. Viewers followed the love stories of supercouples Cliff Warner and Nina Cortlandt, Greg Nelson and Jenny Gardner, Tad Martin and Dixie Cooney, Jesse Hubbard and Angie Baxter, and even Adam Chandler and Brooke English. There were characters we loved to hate, such as the powerful Palmer Cortlandt and Adam Chandler, snob Phoebe Tyler Wallingford, pimp Billy Clyde Tuggle, and egomaniacal Dr. David Hayward.

I began watching “Chillin’,” as I call it, in 1972. (Yes, again I’m dating myself.) While in school, I would watch on holidays and during the summer. While attending UC Davis, I spent my unoccupied noon hour watching the show in the basement Games Room of the Memorial Union. I would ask someone what I missed, and I would help someone else catch up. Student viewers would work on their papers and study while watching Tad Martin messing with Liza and Marian Colby, daughter and mother, respectively. The Games Room viewers were a community.

When I entered the working world after college, I didn’t have much time to catch up on my soaps. I depended on Soap Opera Digest and weekly recaps in newspapers. When I worked as a reporter for a Fairfield newspaper, I would try to watch AMC with my coworkers in the conference room during my lunch break.

When I read in April that “Chillin’” was being canceled with my other favorite soap “One Life to Live” in favor of a cooking show called “The Chew” and a lifestyle talk show called “The Revolution” (Wasn’t that the name of one of Prince’s backup bands?), I was livid. I believed the soaps would last forever. But with CBS soaps “The Guiding Light” and “As the World Turns” canceled due to low ratings, I was kidding myself.

Prospect Park, a television, film and music production company, will air the two soaps online. But not all the actors are on board for the Internet version of AMC. Debbi Morgan, the Emmy-winning actress who played Dr. Angela Hubbard, will jump to “The Young and the Restless,” while J.R. Chandler’s portrayer, Emmy-winner Jacob Young, will return to “The Bold and the Beautiful” as Rick Forrester. Others, including Rebecca Budig (Greenlee Smythe) and Emmy winner Michael E. Knight (Tad Martin) opted not to return and will move to other projects. And Susan Lucci has turned down an offer from Prospect Park to resurrect Erica Kane. I don’t expect it will be the AMC that I’ve watched for four decades.

So, I wish the “All My Children” I’ve watched and loved farewell. And to Brian Frons, the president of ABC Daytime who ordered the cancellations: I have a bag of used cat litter with your name on it.

Writing Diva

Reclaiming September 11

If you are reading this on Sunday, you know this is the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks that claimed nearly 3,000 lives on United States soil and changed this nation forever.

It is also my nephew Dom's 29th birthday.

September 11, 2001, cast an ominous shadow on what was supposed to be a great day for my younger nephew. The young father was at work at Starbucks when he got word of the hijackings and the planes that hit the World Trade Center towers, the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania. What birthday wishes Dom received were an afterthought as our nation was caught in anger, fear, and bewilderment about our future.

So, to my nephew, who is celebrating his 29th birthday with his wife and four sons, long before there was the tragedy, there was the joy of your coming into the world. When I held you for the first time, you were quiet, absorbing your new surroundings. You have grown into a wise, responsible young man. You are the closest thing to a son I will ever have, and I am so proud of you, not just as a nephew, but as a person.

Yes, we all have to be vigilant these days. But we have to reclaim our lives. And I'm glad you reclaimed your special day -- your birthday. Your parents, uncle, aunts, grandfather, and the rest of your family have your back.

So, Dom, happy birthday. (Your gift is coming.)

Writing Diva

Humbled by a Squirrel Hole

I consider myself a pretty active person. I workout twice a week. I walk everyday, taking long strides. I once hiked Mount Diablo and Mount Tamalpais in my late 30s and early 40s.

I never broke a bone in my body. Until Friday.

I was done in by a squirrel hole in Sacramento's Miller Park.

I was going to my agency picnic there. After I parked, I was walking with my camp chair and bag lunch to the picnic site when my right foot caught on something. I fell on the heels of my hands and my knees.

Some of my coworkers came to help me to my feet and carry my stuff. I looked down to see a hole covered by dried grass and leaves.

When I arrived at the picnic site, my right foot swelled to the size of Sasquatch. My boss got me a bag of ice to put on my foot. I didn't stay long at the picnic. I went home after maybe two hours.

Yesterday I went to Kaiser Medical Center in Walnut Creek to make sure no bones were broken. After my right foot received X-rays, my attending physician announced that I had a broken bone in my right foot and had to have a splint.

Long story short, I have a splint covered in bandages and a pair of crutches. Walking with crutches is counterintuitive. I have to put my weight on my hands, so the first few go-rounds were difficult.

Luckily (?), I am on vacation this week. I hadn't planned on going anywhere, and my injury ensured that I am staying put. I will spend this week cleaning and reading.

I prize my independence and living in Solano County. But during times when I injure myself or am ill, living solo can be, well, trying. Would I give up living here? Nah!

Writing Diva

The Debt Ceiling Agreement: Honey Badger Doesn’t Give a $#!+

This is what I get for having great expectations for the President of the United States: My hopes for change in this country dashed like a glass vase blithely nudged off a 10-story building.

As Paul Krugman of The New York Times wrote today, President Barack Obama surrendered to the House Republicans on the debt ceiling. According to the Times, the tentative agreement, which should go to a vote anytime now, calls for an estimated $2.1 trillion in spending cuts over 10 years, as well as a new Congressional committee to recommend a deficit-reduction proposal by Thanksgiving and a two-step increase in the debt ceiling.

By not including any closing of tax loopholes for large corporations and the wealthy, Obama, in my humble opinion, capitulated to House Speaker John Boehner (if his name were mispronounced, it would sound like a porn star moniker) and the Tea Party. Even if this bipartisan committee met to hammer out a proposal, half of its members would be Republicans who, more likely than not, signed a no-tax pledge drafted by Grover Norquist of the Americans for Tax Reform.

So, this is a short open letter to President Obama:

Mr. President, you needed to channel some honey badger.

I imagine an eyebrow rising as you say, “Excuse me?”

You haven’t seen the honey badger video narrated by some guy named Randall? The message is that the honey badger doesn’t give a $#!+ about its opponents, whether they be black cobras, bees, jackals, even crocodiles. The honey badger is crazy enough to attack and eat them. It can get stung by bees or bitten by poisonous snakes, but like a Timex, it keeps on ticking.

Sometimes the only way to deal with crazy people is to act crazy. I realize that as a Harvard-educated former constitutional law professor, that might be a stretch for you. But these are crazy times, and you’re dealing with unyielding ideologues who refuse to see the big picture. You had your chance to unilaterally raise the debt ceiling, citing the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. But you insisted that was not on the table. That should have been your trump card, but noooo!

I know you had to save the country from defaulting on its debts. However, as you said, the process was messy, and the result unpalatable. I don’t see change happening in your first term, and, frankly, as much as I still support you, you will be lucky to get a second term. Just sayin’.

P.S.: Next time, try channeling some honey badger.

Writing Diva

Amy Winehouse and My Moment of Clarity

“Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism.” – Carl Gustav Jung

The untimely death of 27-year-old British soul singer Amy Winehouse served as my wakeup call.

When Winehouse passed away in her north London apartment on Saturday, she joined an exclusive but unenvied club of “27 Forever,” whose members include Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain. Of these deaths, Winehouse’s affected me most. I have her album “Back to Black” on my iPod. I admired her world-weary voice and her lyrical moxie. For her slight frame, she was someone you didn’t want to pick a fight with.

But her death wasn’t unexpected. Her family and outside observers noted it was a matter of time before the five-time Grammy winner met her fate. Some speculated that her breakup with her latest boyfriend Reg Traviss prompted her final spiral.

I’m not a therapist, but someone who has struggled with emotional issues. In my view, an addiction is like gasoline that needs only a match to start a conflagration. That match can be depression, low self-esteem, or abuse, among others.

On Monday I came to a point where I admitted that I need help with dealing with some of my issues. I will admit to one of them – spending. I believed that as long as I was earning a decent wage, I had the right to buy whatever I wanted. When I went through a breakup with an emotionally abusive boyfriend, I bought a 1.7 fl. oz White Linen eau de parfum spray and a diamond and emerald 14 karat gold ring. I justified the purchases by saying that I was in pain and needed these things to feel better. They merely made my finances worse.

I realize that I can’t keep living this self-destructive lifestyle. I’m part of a family, a workplace, a community, a group of friends, a church. They need me, and I need them. So, I’m getting help to get my act together.

My prayers go out to the Winehouse family, friends, and other fans. But I thank Amy Winehouse for giving me the slap upside da hed that I needed – even if she didn’t mean to.

Writing Diva

The Mission Is Clear: Starting a Business

I’m a business owner.

It’s almost surreal seeing the reality in print. I launched my editing business Mission: Clarity two months ago. Actually, I began laying the foundation for the business last year by purchasing the Web domain www.missionclarity.com, buying some business cards, and fishing for clients. The business became official when I filed for a home business permit in May with the city of Vacaville.

I decided to start an editing business after enduring a year and a half of furloughs. When California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger imposed furloughs on 237,000 state employees in February 2009, the action amounted to a 14 percent pay cut. With a new contract for the 95,000 workers under the SEIU Local 1000 union ratified in November 2010, I have 5 percent of my pay taken out toward my government pension and one unpaid day a month, amounting to an 8 percent decrease. Also, with some legislators and activists calling for “pension reform,” that is, a cut in my future retirement pay, I realized that I needed another income source. I have a friend in Texas named “E” who not only teaches at a public school but runs a cake-making catering business. Noting her example, I’ve concluded that it’s silly in this sluggish economy to depend on just a 40-hour-a-week job to keep one’s head above water. After all, I’m not one of the hundreds of California state workers earning six figures.

My sister, Black Woman Blogging, thought of the name Mission: Clarity and discovered through an online search that the URL wasn’t taken yet. She has been my biggest supporter of this effort.

The business moniker Mission: Clarity fits because my goal is to make prose, whether in reports, brochures, manuscripts, or periodicals, concise and clear to the lay reader. I have been doing this for 5 years for a California state agency and 12 years as a newspaper staff writer. I believe there is a need in Solano County for someone who can look at copy and make it cleaner and, if necessary, grammatically correct.

Mission: Clarity will be my lifelong project. Because I’m the only one invested in this business, I’m not worried about failure. I would rather try and fail than do nothing. Doing nothing would be my biggest regret, and it’s not an option.

So, friends, please check out Mission: Clarity on Facebook and Twitter, where I will dispense grammar and usage advice. When my website is complete, I will let you know. And thank you in advance for your support.

Writing Diva

Justice Served

Nearly four years ago, Oakland Post editor Chauncey Bailey died walking on his way to work.

Yesterday, an Oakland jury convicted the former leader of Your Black Muslim Bakery of murder for ordering Bailey’s assassination, according to the Contra Costa Times.

Yusuf Bey IV, 25, was also convicted of ordering the murder of Bailey and two other men in summer 2007. The jury also convicted Bey’s codefendant, Antoine Mackey, of two counts of first degree murder for the killings of Bailey and Michael Wills, 36, according to the San Francisco Chronicle. The jury split on a third count against Mackey involving the slaying of Odell Roberson Jr., 31. Both face life terms in prison without the possibility of parole when they are sentenced July 8.

Before his death, Bailey was working on a series of critical articles on Your Black Muslim Bakery. Confessed triggerman Devaunghdre Broussard reached a plea bargain with prosecutors and testified against Bey.

I write this entry for two reasons. First, my younger sister and I knew Chauncey Bailey. He served with me on the board of the Bay Area Black Journalists’ Association, a chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists. My sister knew him socially when she lived in Oakland. We were shocked and saddened upon hearing about his assassination.

Second, Bailey was a fellow journalist. I also knew him when he worked for The Oakland Tribune, a sister publication to The Daily Review of Hayward, where I worked. Bailey was the first journalist killed on U.S. soil since 1976 when Don Bolles of The Arizona Republic was murdered in a car bombing by criminal gambling interests.

But the reporting that Bailey started continued. A coalition of journalists knows as The Chauncey Bailey Project cast a spotlight on the close relationship between the bakery and top Oakland elected officials who for decades continued to give active support to the Beys despite evidence of their well-know criminal dealings, the Times reported. The journalists discovered problems with the police investigation and found new evidence that kept the heat on authorities.

Trial prosecutor Melissa Krum said the verdicts send the message that “the First Amendment is not going to be murdered by murdering journalists. You cannot kill the man and expect the message to be killed.”

Wendy Ashley-Johnson, a cousin of Bailey’s, echoed that sentiment. “Journalists have a job to do, and they should not be squashed in what they do.”

So true.

Writing Diva