I Know What I Did Last Sunday

What do you get when you combine a 14,000 square-foot ballroom of an award winning 800-million dollar luxury casino resort - the first of its caliber outside of Las Vegas; a starting lineup of an NBA championship winning team; a surprise guest performance by a world-famous artist / hip hop legend; and a man with a name familiar to most in the city of Detroit?

You get Dennis Archer Jr. hosting Pistons’ Richard “Rip” Hamilton’s 30^th birthday party at the MGM Grand Ballroom with Busta Rhymes leading the invited guests (like Rasheed Wallace, Tayshaun Prince, Chauncey Billups) in a toast and a traditional rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” You get a night worth remembering. I did. The night of March 2, 2008. And, the heart of Detroit gets defibrillated back to her natural, soulful rhythm (after being brought close to death over the recent damaging rhythms within her political ventricle and law-enforcing lobe)

The night began with my first visit to the MGM Grand Detroit Resort Hotel and Casino, which opened in October 2007 and was named as one of the "Top 10 new U.S. hotels of 2007" by Gayot and mentioned as one of "53 places to visit in 2008" by The New York Times. I was, to say the least, very impressed by the elegant, elaborately designed award winning structure - the MGM Grand Detroit was also recently awarded the prestigious distinction of "Development of the Year 2007" on January 29, 2008 by the 2008 Americas Lodging Investment Summit.

On the way to the Grand Ballroom, I passed by two Starbucks; numerous retail establishments; a relaxing, elegant piano-style bar; tranquil waterfalls; the V lounge – which was recently named in Nightclub & Bar magazine's list of Top 100 Nightclubs of 2008; Wolfgang Puck’s Grille; and (Michael) Mina's SALTWATER Restaurant which was recently awarded "Restaurant of the Year" by the Detroit Free Press.

That was on the way to the party.

When I arrived at the doors of the Grand Ballroom, also referred to as the Grand Salon, I ordered a Cosmopolitan from the nearest bar to ‘break the ice.’ But, as I soon found out, the only ice that didn’t immediately melt in the ‘hot’ ambiance of the Miami-themed room - tented with white linens and filled with palm trees – were the ice sculptures of the number 30 next to a likeness of Rip’s face which decorated the strolling buffet tables.

Between deejay Mick Boogies' retro-disco, R & B and hip hop beat mixes; the announcement of the guest of honor's arrival, “Rip Hamilton is in the building!” called for another drink! But I had to wait before stepping into an oncoming entourage that blocked me from getting to the bar – Rasheed Wallace had also just arrived.

The night was still very young at 11:00pm as we had just begun to celebrate one year older in the life of Rip.

Emcee Kenny Burns and rapper Doug E. Fresh called for Rip to join them up on stage. So, I moved with the other guests, in a solitary mass, behind him. Everyone wanted to personally wish Rip a ‘happy birthday’ and hopefully get a photo opportunity – I was no different – and Rip graciously complied. It was then I realized that Rip was a baby when I worked for the Piston's organization under the leadership of Dick Vitale . . . Rip was a baby when I was a Classy Chassis! I'm not sure if that memory sent me back to the past or speeding into the future of this moment.

There is something about Detroiters and the way we love our athletes and support our sports teams; the way we remain real and true to our musical roots and the way we take pride in our city’s new developments, renovations, history and progress . . . . Well, the night combined all of who we are, what we are, and much of what we hold dear. The night was magical and getting better by the hour.

By now, I was in the front; the extreme front. My thighs were intimate with the edge of the stage. I was there to take photos and video clips, but what I did not know was that I was also right there at the precise moment when, to our surprise, Busta Rhymes was introduced. The mere mention of his name brought screams and shouts, a rhythmic motion of the mass crowd and hundreds of flickering camera flashes. He is, after all, a legend in his own right. And whether or not one loves or despises hip hop music, Busta Rhymes has achieved world-wide recognition and success in a multitude of artistic vehicles from television to film as an actor, writer, director, singer, performer and soundtrack composer. He does have a commanding and magnetic stage presence about him. And there is nothing quite the likes of raising a glass in a birthday salute to Rip Hamilton while joining Busta Rhymes in a “choir-like” rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.”

The evening was made possible by Dennis Archer Jr. - the name speaks for itself - and Ambassador Magazine. I call Dennis, 'Detroit’s Event Mayor and Public Relations Man.'

Rip was the man of the evening. Busta was the man of the hour. And Dennis was and is the man of Detroit.

I know what I did last Sunday. I won’t soon forget what I did last Sunday.

On Becoming My Own Product

SELLING OUT . . . What is the modern meaning of "selling out" these days? I used to tout the fact that I would 'Neeeeeeeeeeeeeever sell out!" Selling out was a sin. It was a lowering of one's standards. It was crossing the picket line of integrity and good taste. Looking back, I think I was setting myself up for a life of hardship, debt and privation by holding onto my arrogant and self-righteous claim.
I had girlfriends who 'sold out' and left our modern dance company to dance in 'Gentleman's Clubs.' (One went on the Vegas.) A couple of my girlfriends admitted they would never settle for anything less than a man who was very financially well of. (Which, by the way, my romantic ideals of love left me a single mother, while 'some' of my girlfriends are living in houses too big to clean - but that's what their housekeepers are paid for.) I swore if I ever went into show business I would never be in a commercial for something like hemorrhoid cream or that bad fire breath. I held strong to the belief that one day people would appreciate my ancient poetry and poetic prose because to admit I could write a mean Sara Lee jingle would be a nightmare in the literary community!
Well, well, well, could I have been wrong all along? I mean, maybe writing instruction manuals and information guides could have led to publishing my first book!
I am questioning my old beliefs, re-examining my ethics, morals and standards - maybe they are all TOO high.
My question has changed from, "What would I do for love?" to "What would I do for money?"

Ghosts and Memories

About a month or so ago, I had a dream I was sitting at a table for two on the veranda of a cafe. The table next to me was empty, but two tables over sat a person from my past. Then, that person vanished and another person from my past sat in that same chair. This kept going on. More and more people from my past sat in that chair. I began to wonder, am I dying? Is this how my life is going to flash before me - in a coffee house?

The dream stuck with me and I began thinking about the mother of my first love. She was the last person to sit in that chair. In the dream, I walked up to her and hugged her. Then, she handed me her toddler boy, Steve, who grew up right in my arms. Well, dreams are that way . . . strange.

Within a few days, guess what? Steve had looked me up and sent me an e-mail. Now, I almost fell over when I saw the e-mail, for I had not seen nor heard from him in twenty-five years. Even with the world getting smaller and smaller as global networking grows bigger, I never once ran into him. But, I often thought of him throughout my life.

Steve and I have a lot of history between us. We were basically inseparable for over three years while in our late teens and early twenties. Really, inseparable. I don't remember doing anything unless it was with Steve. And our entire world revolved around dancing (and eating his mom's homemade Italian food). The Disco era was in full groove and we were the King and the Queen. From dance contests and exhibitions to fashion shows to television and newspaper interviews, to The Auto Show, to Hollywood and Dance Fever . . . we did it all. We had it all. Or so it seemed to a couple of twenty-year-olds at the time.

Since that time, Steve and I have been catching up through a series of phone calls. It was weird how, until I heard his voice a few times and it became familiar to me again, I could not find it in my memory. I was trying to remember certain things about him, like his voice, his touch, his smell. But, after all of those years and so much happening in between, I mostly remembered the sparkle in his eyes, his genuine smile and his contagious laughter. I remembered his quirky ways and silly sense of humor, and how we both liked to have the best of everything. I remembered the good times.

This got me thinking about memories in general. Do we, can we really remember the details? Was I going to forget all those little everyday things about my mother too. And, were they important anyway? Maybe it is the way one feels when in the company of another . . . those feelings are the only memories one really needs.

Talking to Steve has been good medicine for my soul. He knew me when . . . He knew the girl before she became a women . . . like a parent knows things about his or her child. Those little remember whens. He connected me to my past in a healthy way and I am so grateful. I look forward to more catching up with him.

One of my favorite quotes comes from the Beatles and it sings true to my heart:
And in the end, the love you make is equal to the love you take.

PS Hi Speavy.