On Diapers, Independence and The Day I Soiled My OshKosh B’Gosh Overalls

Let’s take it back for a moment. The year is roughly 1981. Madonna has yet to hit the charts. Regan is running the United States. Someone shot Pope John Paul II.

I am in my third year of existence. It’s quite possible I am as adorable as I will ever be. My sister is an infant. My brother is just a twinkle in my mother’s eye at this point. The big news around the homestead is that I, the oldest of the clan, am finally potty trained. No more diapers for wee Dr. Sparky.

I can just imagine how proud my mother was when I decided I no longer needed to defecate on myself. My mother is a proud woman and finds reason to tear up at the smallest accomplishments. The waterworks were surely flowing the day I did dookie in the big boy toilet.

Like most toddlers, however, I was not perfect. Sometimes old habits die hard, and sometimes poop finds its way back into the pants of a big boy.

And that is exactly what happened to me the day I disappeared.

My parents could not find me anywhere. I wasn’t in the backyard. I wasn’t in my bedroom. I wasn’t on the big boy toilet either. I was gone. They roamed the house looking for me, calling my name and promising treats if I were to reappear.

And still I remained hidden.

It was my dad who eventually found me. I was cowering in the corner of his closet, half hidden by polyester shirts that still hang there to this day.

“Why are you in here?” he asked. “Didn’t you here us calling?”

“I’m fine,” I stubbornly replied.

My dad sniffed the air. “Did you have an accident?” He wasn’t mad. As he was fond of saying in those days, accidents happen. But I was ashamed. Was I not the big boy who didn’t crap in his OshKosh B’Gosh overalls anymore?

“I did.” I said, looking him right in the eye. “And it is my problem. I’ll deal with it myself.” I reached out, with all my three-year-old authority, and closed the closet door.

I don’t recall if I took care of things myself or not. I’m sure my dad found it in his heart to eventually clean me up. That’s usually the case. I act stubborn. My parents play along. And then eventually they clean up my poop.

God bless parents with an endless supply of diapers and wipes.

On Anika, Showboats and Conducting the Diva Train

How does it feel to be Anika Noni Rose right now?

Here is a woman who has proven herself as one of the most celebrated African American actresses on Broadway. She has starred in a slew of hit musicals, and even managed to pick up a Tony in 2004 for her work in Caroline, or Change.

And now, thanks to the battling divas of the film version of a Broadway hit, Miss Rose has been downgraded to “you know, that other one.”

You may not know it, but Anika Noni Rose starred in Dreamgirls. You know how there are three woman depicted on the movie poster? She’s one of them. She’s not Grammy award winning songstress Beyoncé. She’s not Academy Award winning actress Jennifer Hudson. She’s, you know, that other one.

She’s the one who has had to step aside and let the other two battle it out for media attention. Why did Jennifer Hudson not want Beyoncé’s dad as her manager? Did Beyoncé purposely not invite Jennifer Hudson to her Oscar bash? Was Beyoncé the one who told Jennifer to wear that space age bolero on the red carpet? Is Jennifer doing her best to separate herself from her costar in the hopes of breaking Beyoncé’s enormous ego in two and leaving her a shattered wreck of a woman?

Let’s hope so.

But what about Anika Noni Rose? Where is she in all of this? How come she doesn’t get to play in the diva rivalry that has been surrounding the film since it was first announced Beyoncé would share the screen with American Idol reject Jennifer Hudson?

I think it is well past time for Ankia to come in blazing. If I were her, I would have rushed on stage at the Oscars, ripped that golden statue out of Jennifer’s hands and beaten the crap out of Beyoncé with it. That would have shown those other two showboats who is actually conducting the diva train.

And you know ain’t no one can conduct a diva train like someone who works in theater!

On Walks, Dusk and The Tiniest Snowman

I saw you as I was walking around the neighborhood, enjoying the quiet snowfall. It was the first time I had been out of the house all day, and the cold air gave me a much needed rush of life. The large snowflakes pelted my cheeks and stuck in my coat. I was once again reminded why I love winter.

It was nearing nightfall, the light of day quickly dissipating into a dreamy dusk. The streetlights were on, amplifying the swirl of the snow. Warm light glowed behind windows. I could almost make out the faint haze of the moon.

My head was down. I was avoiding the snow on my glasses. As I passed in front of your building, it was your nose that caught my eye. It was a small piece of darkness amongst the white. From your nose, my attention moved to your thin arms and your lopsided eyes. Your tiny figure barely reached to my shins.

There you were – the tiniest snowman.

You looked so helpless there, caught between the light of two windows. You were so small, so defenseless. Even the way your little mouth fell to one side looked forlorn. In the instant I saw you, I wanted to help you. I wanted to take you in so you would not have to face the night alone.

But that is ridiculous. You are only a snowman. You like the dark and the cold and the snow. Those are what brought you to life. You may seem to be alone, but in reality you are amongst that which is most important to you.

You, the tiniest snowman, are home.

I moved on. My walk never took my back by your resting place, but I can assume you are still there, reveling in the chilly night air. I can assume you are safe. For you are where you should be. You are surrounded by rightness. You are home.

You, the tiniest snowman, are lucky.

On Stocks, Celebrities and Selling Billy Bob in Order to Buy Ellen

I’m up $2,063 in just one night. Who knew playing the market could be so easy.

It was just a matter of buying the right commodities. My first thought was to go for Ellen. Then I realized that the big hype over her hosting Sunday’s Oscars was still a day or two off. If I wanted to make some money quickly, I needed to find an investment that would grow right off the back.

Luckily, I found three – Virginia, Jim and Billy Bob.

It was an easy choice once I thought about it. The three of them are starring in the two biggest movies to open this weekend. Certainly they’d be garnering a fair share of publicity. Sure, it will begin to wane by the end of the day. By then, however, I will be ready to sell. And by selling, I’ll have enough money in the bank to make a major purchase.

I should be playing with the heavy rollers by Monday.

I’ve heard that playing the stock market can be an addiction. I didn’t believe it until yesterday. That was when I first heard of Swelltown. That was when I first became addicted to the market.

The premise behind Swelltown is simple. You buy and sell celebrities as if they were stocks. A celebrity’s price fluctuates based on the amount of publicity (good or bad) he or she is getting at the time. Every 15 minutes, the game searches the entire internet for new stories about the celebrities. The more publicity a celebrity has, the higher his or her price. The key is to buy low when you think a certain celebrity is going to be in the news. Then you sell high when you think he is in the fourteenth minute of his fifteen minutes of fame.

My plan is to ride with Virginia, Jim and Billy Bob until this afternoon. Then I am dropping this thrilling trio in order to capitalize on the Oscars. I think it’s a rather solid plan.

And if all goes well, I’ll have earned enough by Monday to buy the surest bet of them all – Britney Spears.

On Finales, Farewells and A Musical Tribute to The OC

In honor of tonight’s series finale of The OC, I have composed a touching musical tribute to the one show I have bothered to tune in for over the last four years. While other shows have refused to hold my interest and reality television has sucked the life out of prime time, The OC was there for a brother. And now, I must say farewell to Newport and its crazy inhabitants.

It is a sad day indeed.

The Ending of The OC
(To be sung to the tune of Madonna’s The Power of Goodbye)

Your series finale is on tonight
The news of your ending was quite a fright
I’m sure to miss you next Thursday night
The future of TV is not so bright

You were the drama that I did love
You fit my viewing tastes like a glove
Now that you’re ending I feel so down
I walk around with a pitiful frown

Go to hell, Mischa

There’s no more Summer and Seth
There’s no threats of death
There’s no greater sadness
Than the ending of The OC

I’m going to miss Ryan, his moody charm
I’ll even miss Julie, rich man on her arm
Sandy and Kirsten, they were the best
Oh – I will miss them

There’s no more Summer and Seth
There’s no threats of death
There’s no greater sadness
Than the ending of The OC

I’m going to miss you, old pal.