Saying Goodbye

Although the media circus surrounding Michael Jackson's death (the same that hounded him in life) will no doubt continue for weeks if not months after tomorrow's public memorial service at the Staples Center, I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge what Michael gave to me. He was probably the first young person of color I saw on TV dancing and singing like no one else could, at a time when I loved to dance (and sing a little) too. Michael gave his all in every performance, singing and dancing 'full out' and with such precision, grace, innovation and unique style that there is no way anyone could truly imitate him, although many have tried and will continue to try. MJ influenced my own dance style, partially because he was just the SHIT when I was a kid and a teenager, and we all wanted to move like him, and partially because I tend to move percussively, like MJ does. I've realized in the past week since he's passed that many of my own moves on the dancefloor come from him. (And yes, I can do a decent Moonwalk). Michael also had a huge role in popularizing popping and locking, the 'Robot' and breakdancing through his own dancing as well as the dancers he featured in his videos.

And this is all in addition to the great joy I've experienced over the years dancing to his songs, the music, his voice. It's almost unbelievable how much Michael has given the world, and me personally, as a performer. I've been obsessing a bit about him (my Facebook friends are no doubt rolling their eyes now) the last week or so, but I'm moving towards a place of resolution and peace now, and am now able to say 'Goodbye' to him, and to be at peace with the little girl in me that once dreamed of being a superstar like Michael one day.

So from one dancer to another, from someone who is forever grateful for the love of dance and music that I've been blessed with, Thank you, Michael. Thank you for everything.

Longing for a Long Time Ago

H. and I unwittingly took a quick, sentimental stroll down nostalgia lane yesterday--first visiting the old-school Yellow Submarine Sandwich shop in the Sunset on Irving, then driving through the Excelsior and Portola Valley neighborhoods--a time warp if there ever was one, where the 'old San Francisco of the 1970s and '80s is still apparent in the old-school storefronts, decidedly UN-gentro potholed streets, and working class residents--then finally, watching 'Milk', the Gus Van Sant-directed film about the late, great San Francisco gay supervisor of the same name.

H. and I both grew up in the Bay Area--a somewhat rare status in our particular circle of friends, and seemingly an increasingly rare status for people living in the Bay Area overall. Call it gentrification, call it 'progress', call it the result of larger social and economic forces pushing people in and out of certain cities, the Bay Area and San Francisco especially is definitely not what it was when we were growing up here in the 1970s. Some elements of it have not changed, that's for sure--it's still a progressive bubble, sheltered in many ways from the cruel cold conservative world outside the way our many microclimates seem to exist in isolation from each other. But many things have changed, and seeing so many reminders of the San Francisco of our childhood yesterday made me long for a simpler, less hectic and, yes, more beautiful City by the Bay. When....

...the I-Hotel and Manilatown were still around, Manongs played pool on Kearny Street and Mabuhay Gardens hosted punk shows a few blocks away on Broadway.

...public schools were still decent, and kids of all colors and income backgrounds learned together in schools that looked like the neighborhoods they were in.

...sandwiches cost $1.50 and you could get a good meal for less than $3 (as evidenced by the old, hand-painted price sign at Yellow Submarine).

...the Fillmore hadn't been 'redeveloped' yet, and Black people could still call it their neighborhood, instead of being subjected to newbie rich white folks moving in and calling it the 'new Fillmore' or 'lower Pacific Heights'.

...places like Art's Soul Food, a Southern food joint run by Filipinos near the Castro, were still around and thriving.

...you could walk around town or take the bus as a little kid and not be afraid, or be tailed by a security guard who thinks you're going to steal something.

...blue collar, working class folks of color could actually afford to rent OR own in the City, and didn't have to leave the neighborhoods they or their kids had grown up in to make room for arrogant, know-nothing white kids from the suburbs who just want to party.

...Candlestick didn't have an odious corporate name (which I refuse to even acknowledge here, it'll always be Candlestick for true Bay Area folks).

Yes, I know I'm romanticizing the era, and I never experienced some of the things I listed above (I was way too young to go to the Mabuhay Gardens, for example), and maybe this nostalgia stems from the bittersweet feeling the winter holidays always gives me, but I can't help but long for a time when the City looked more like the people who actually made it great, instead of a playground for people who have a selective memory about its history, and a money-machine for those whose main goal is life is the accumulation of wealth. San Francisco, as the Harvey Milk film reminded me, was made great by the grittiness, soul, hard work and loving sacrifice of an at times painfully diverse resident population, the awesome mix of which contributed to the City's once-thriving and amazing arts and political scenes. Of course, the City is still a cool place in many ways, but a much more homogenized and segregated place and fearful place.

I wonder if we couldn't all do well to look back into the past of our respective cities and learn a few lessons from it. Or at the very least, fondly remember a time when some things were just a little sweeter.

The End of an Era

Two big changes are occurring this week that, to me, herald the end of an era in my life, and in the lives of many thousands of people in the Bay Area. For this reason, I'm feeling really nostalgic this week, and sad that the Bay Area has and will continue to change so much. As someone who was born and grew up here, it's always been hard for me to express to the new transplants what some of these changes mean to me, but here goes.

First, in my sleepy hometown of Alameda, which hasn't changed a whole lot since I was growing up there in the 1970s, the town's first movie cineplex is opening this month. To give you a sense of how little Alameda has changed since I was a kid, the Chinese restaurant that I used to go to with my mom when I was all of five years old is still there, near the corner of Webster and Lincoln (albeit with a different name). The corner store where I used to get push-ups when I was in pre-school is still there, as is the schools I attended from preschool through second grade. And although they've changed the name of it to 'Alameda Towne Center', Southshore Mall still stands, one of the few outdoor malls in East Bay, and I can still remember running along the planters and curbs when I was a little girl.

H. and I have, over the past few years since we moved back to Oakland, been spending more time in my hometown than I have in a long time. It's a nice place to sort of escape to when the more crowded and grittier streets of Oakland start to get dreary. In Alameda, there's usually plenty of parking (although that's been changing over the last couple years), cool restaurants and stores to visit, and a quiet vibe that makes me feel comfortable, as well as nostalgic for my childhood.

I don't think it's a stretch to say that the opening of this big new cineplex may change all that forever. Alamedans, for better or worse, have always resisted building big-box stores and large entertainment complexes on the Island, and as much as I knew that that resistance had as much to do with classism and racism (not wanting the poor Black and Brown masses to come flocking over from Oakland) as it did with NIMBY-anti-corporate sentiment, I appreciated residents' hardcore loyalty to their small-town environment, and relished the suburban serenity I could enjoy just a few minutes from my apartment in Oakland. With the new theater opening, 'downtown' Alameda and the Park Street corridor will in a few short years, completely transform into a traffic-choked, no-parking-available, suburban shopping maze, and although I'm sure I'll spend time there too, eating at my favorite restaurants in the area and watching foreign films, I know I'll also feel nostalgic for a more relaxed, more anonymous time in Alameda's history, when only residents knew where the good places were to get Thai or Chinese food or sushi, where to get your hair cut, and when you could get parking any time of the day or night without having to drive around for twenty minutes.

The second big change is that long-time KTVU anchor Dennis Richmond has retired. I know it's going to sound silly, but Dennis Richmond retiring makes me feel that, finally, in my 36th year on earth, I'm no longer a kid. Because for all this time, I could experience a sense of familiarity and trust just by turning on a newscast. I've been watching Dennis on the 10 o'clock news for as long as I can remember--when I was a little girl growing up in Alameda, when I was an adolescent living in San Jose, when I was a college student at Berkeley and beyond. He's been a comforting, dignified and consistent presence in the news media for forty years, and while I'm happy for him that he is able to retire and enjoy some relaxation after working for so long, his departure from the news room truly is the end of an era. My friend M. and I were chatting online today about how we trusted him and how, as people of color, we were proud that a Black man was up there delivering the news every night on television. We also talked about how we respected his clear commitment to integrity and excellence in journalism. He is truly one of the last if not the last truly great news anchors. I'll miss knowing that if I want to get more objective, straight-ahead news and not the 'infotainment' that passes for news these days, I can turn to Channel 2 and Dennis Richmond.

Happy retirement, Dennis, and thanks for all that you've done in service to Truth. I'll miss you.