Fried Chicken Wednesday: The Oprah Turns 65!

I should know this date on general principle, and I should be ashamed that I was caught unprepared, but January 29 is a BBW National Holiday. The Oprah, our High Priestess/Fairy Godmother/BFF4L celebrates a milestone birthday and in honor of this auspicious occasion, I decided to provide a top ten list of favorite Oprah moments on the Facebook page. Then as an impulse, I decided to share this list here on the blog, just in time for a revival of our favorite midweek indulgence of fried chicken. In keeping with that theme, here are ten momentous events of her career--boneless chicken fingers served with a special sauce that only the Oprah can serve. 

1. You Get a Car!
Now that the federal government shutdown has been temporarily suspended...I decided to announce the details of my upcoming Busy Black Woman Gift Away (coming in February), so it seemed fitting to highlight this Oprah moment. Because this was Oprah at her Oprest--when she gave every member of her audience a car, for no reason other than their mere presence in the studio that day, and the fact that she was the Oprah:

2. The Wagon of Fat

Oprah's fluctuating weight was one of those constant topics that was integral to the success of her show. It made her seem like an every woman--someone who despite the appearance of success, had regular struggles. It was inconceivable that a public figure could gain weight without it having a negative impact on their career, except Oprah. It only seemed to endear her to her audience. So when she wheeled out that wagon of fat in her Calvin Klein jeans, it was a moment. Then when she gained it all back, we could all relate. Unfortunately, it became the fodder used against her by her detractors, like this skit on In Living Color (for which Kim Wayans later apologized). Her weight issues also contributed to the narrative that she was a modern-day Mammy figure.

While I don't have the capacity to unpack that historical baggage or to confront the sexism implicit in the ridicule Oprah has faced over her weight, let me just return to my initial point. Weight loss and self-esteem are ongoing struggles for most women, which makes her human.

3. The Legends Ball
I am eagerly awaiting the day when Oprah announces a Regular People Ball, but I guess that was the entire point of her talk show. Since I missed that, maybe I will get blessed with a chance to Live My Best Life one of these days, or better yet, maybe I'll get invited to her next Legends Ball instead.

4. Oprah adopts a Village of African Girls
In fact, Oprah did not adopt a village, but she did open a school in South Africa. But honestly, what's the difference?

 

5. Oprah adopts a College of African American Men
Again, Oprah did not adopt the entire student body, but Morehouse College has been the beneficiary of her philanthropy for 30 years. Here is the tribute the 415 scholars organized in her honor during the final season of her talk show (and I happen to know a couple of those brothers, so this makes me ugly cry too). #Payitforward #HBCUJustGive

6. Auntie Oprah at the Royal Wedding
Meghan Markle may have only had her mother, Doria Ragland, to represent her American family, but Auntie Oprah was there, so it all worked out.

7. Oprah's Theme Song
Depending on how old you were when the Oprah Winfrey Show aired, this was the Oprah music that you came home to. Later there was the saxophone version of I'm Every Woman, a Paul Simon 10th anniversary version, and then the Patti LaBelle version which were all perfectly fine. But then she got it in her head to sing her own song (with a video too)! My DC peeps should recognize this version, a cover by go-go royalty Rare Essence (you hit the big time whenever there is a go-go cover of your song.)

8. Beloved
If no one did it better than the Oprah, no one did it worst than her either. During the initial era of her book club, Oprah often introduced audiences to authors that were not in the mainstream, including such names as Pearl Cleage, Wally Lamb, Barbara Kingsolver, and James Frey. (And in a moment that could stand alone as one of the most painful, here is Frey, forever remembered as the author who had to publicly apologize to the Oprah for fabricating his memoir on her show).

Author Toni Morrison was a particular Oprah favorite, even though she was not an unknown and had won every major literature prize, including the Nobel. Nevertheless, the Oprah had decided to bring Morrison's Beloved to audiences in a film in 1998. In which she would star and produce and hand-select all of the cast. Now maybe that is an exaggeration, but it is true that the movie flopped.

So I have a few confessions to make about this book and movie, beginning with the fact that I, English major in college and daughter of a self-proclaimed Toni Morrison scholar, COULD NOT FINISH THIS BOOK. I haven't even tried since my first three or four attempts. I only saw this film once, and probably will never try again. Those are not necessarily statements about the book or the movie, but perhaps about me. So Please Oprah, don't make me apologize in front of an audience for not living up to your standards.

9. Gayle and Stedman

Oprah's success has meant that we have to tolerate her best friend, Gayle
King. It has meant that we got to tag along with them when they visited Colonial House. It has meant that we learned more about their relationship than we ever needed to know when they traveled across the country together. It has meant that we get treated to a monthly column of Gayle's favorite things in the magazine. Sigh.

In the alternative, we hardly know anything more about her beau, Stedman Graham, than we knew when they were engaged. So we have questions...and other than the occasional red carpet appearance or random detail that Oprah shares about their life together, we get nothing. Where Gayle has been TMI, Stedman has been MIA. This confounds me.

10. Oprah in Baltimore
I actually started this list on January 29, but I got busy doing what I do, and by midnight I was tired and hadn't actually decided on a tenth Oprah Moment. So I went to bed. This morning, as if the Oprah had herself come to me in a dream, I decided that my ultimate Oprah Moment was to be found in the era before she became The Oprah, which was her time in Baltimore.

I was a kid when Oprah Winfrey was on the local news in a city just up the road. Back in those days before cable, we could get Baltimore TV stations here in DC, but other than to see a repeat of a program that we may have missed, I don't actually know why we would have watched their local news. But we did, and in my memory, Oprah was the morning weather lady who later got a gig on a locally produced show called People Are Talking. Then at some point, she left for Chicago and the rest is history.

I have since learned that my memories were slightly off with respect to Oprah being the weather anchor. She was the cut-in reporter during the mornings, which is the person who provides local news updates during breaks from Today Show and Good Morning America. I was right about the talk show although I did not remember that she had a co-anchor. I feel as if we watched it because it was a Black woman on the air back in an era when that was a big deal. In DC, that person was Carol Randolph, who also had her own local talk show. (But in another instance of relying on my childhood memories, Randolph's show was cancelled and replaced by, wait for it--the original syndicated Oprah Winfrey Show!)

And that, Busy Black Folks is a wrap on this list, but I have one more Oprah Moment to share and it comes from the archives of this very blog. The year was 2011 and the Oprah Winfrey Show was winding down its 25th and final season. That was also the first year that I began writing this blog. In particular, there was this piece I wrote the week her show was about to end, which was the same week that my domain name went live. And then there was the recap of the final Oprah sermon which I forgot about...

Before I ramble on too much longer down this memory lane of past writings, (because surprise, I already did a version of this list back in 2011) the great thing about revisiting those old pieces and all of these Oprah Moments is the fact that I am still learning, evolving, and building this Busy Black Woman empire. To think that I almost gave up a few years ago, but here I am. And maybe there you are reading this in anticipation of what is next.

Stolen Thunder

It must suck to be Princess Eugenie of York right now because the weekend of her big wedding, the top news stories (at least on this side of the pond) have been about EVERYBODY but her. So I plan to remedy that by allowing her to take the lead in this piece. She was an absolutely lovely bride. Best wishes to her for a wonderful life with her groom, Jack Brooksbank.

But, Meghan the American Princess is preggers and that pretty much means there is nothing another royal can do between now and next Spring (except die) that will ever be more important.

I had been waiting all day for someone to declare that the H&M breached protocol by sharing their big news with the family at the wedding. Of course there is no way this would have stayed a secret for long since folks have been all up in Meghan's uterus since June, but there had to be some other way to camouflage it better than a bulky overcoat that practically screamed "I've got something in here!" No matter though, because it is pretty clear that the other royals seem resigned to cede the spotlight to the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

Meghan pulled a Rachel and totally stole Eugenie's thunder!

And until our fabulous ginger brown royal baby is born, no one else matters. Not Pippa Middleton's newborn kid. Not the kid royal cousin Zara Tindell had weeks after Harry and Meghan's nuptials. Not even Prince Louis, born weeks beforehand. We don't care about Brexit. We don't care about that hot air balloon of the American President as a crying baby. We don't care that his wife finally spoke up for herself, but had nothing to say.

I recall how a certain Sarah Ferguson stole the thunder away from the Princess of Wales some thirty years ago and that for a while, it went back and forth between the two women until Diana's tragic death. According to legend, it was Diana who brought Fergie into the royal fold, but then she got jealous over the press attention paid to the shiny new royal. The two became rivals and I'm guessing that royal rivalries are a lot like commoner family drama, except there are tiaras snatched (instead of wigs) and tell-all books to be sold. Or put another way, it is like having two versions of potato salad at the family barbecue sitting side by side, and you have to eat a serving of both or all hell will break loose.

In this case, Meghan is the shiny new royal who also happens to be American and also black, so our fascination with her should be understandable. These are dark times in America, so anywhere in the world where a black woman's pregnancy announcement is a big effing deal is a ray of hope. I've got friends who have publicly prayed for this child to have curly red hair and freckles. I haven't even checked in with my Dad who I'm guessing is excited as if this baby is his fourth grandchild (because he and Harry share a birthday).

But we are very happy for you Princess Eugenie as well because it is a good thing whenever young people get married. And even though Meghan and Harry are total cheeks for allowing their baby news to get more coverage than your wedding that only aired over here as a reality TV special on TLC, we know that in the royal order of things, you have the advantage of being an actual princess. And yes, while Meghan's kid will push you down a notch in the royal lineup to the throne, it isn't like any of your children will ever sit on the throne (except to play on it).

And here, I want to give you this as a wedding present, for you to use at some point in the future. I don't suggest using it against Meghan, but there are plenty of other lesser royals that you can outshine with the right timing.

Thoroughly Royally Black

If you were following along with me on my personal FB page on Saturday morning, you already know where this is headed...but that was the BLACKEST ROYAL WEDDING since Prince Akeem of Zamunda married Lisa McDowell!

Before I offer my review of the ceremony, let's talk about the diversity of the guests. I expected that Meghan's cast mates from Suits would be there. And I assumed that all of her other famous BFFs would be there, like Serena and Pryanka. And I even assumed that Idris Elba would make an appearance, just because. But somehow Oprah Winfrey was not on my radar at all. As in I never even assumed that they had ever met. Yet, here is the Oprah looking every bit like that Aunt who, because she helped to raise the bride, planned a grand entrance so that everybody would remember her as that Aunt. She took it a step further by causing potentially headline-stealing drama like that Aunt. According to Gayle King, Oprah's original dress was too white, so she phoned Stella McCartney (who was the Couturier for half the guests, including the bride) who responded with this fancy frock.

I won't recap the fashion because we must talk about all of the blackness presented to the Royals in that castle named for them by that presiding prelate that they flew in from across the pond. I expected a sermon despite the fact that Episcopalians typically aren't known for fiery oratory...but I know a LOT of black preachers. And not one of them can resist showing out when the spirit hits, and this AME-ish Bishop showed out! As in where-is-the-usher-because-I-need-a fan-to-keep-from-fainting showed out. He was expressive and animated and took full advantage of having the eyes of the world upon him for that moment. So he preached about love, quoted negro spirituals, made references to social justice, invoked the words of MLK, and I'm convinced that if this had not been a royal wedding, he might have ended by singing. At which point the organist would have been striking those organ chords and somebody would have gotten the spirit. Imagine that...

The choir gave us a taste of blackness with their gospel rendition of "Stand by Me". It was reserved and so perfectly respectable that even as a lifelong black churchgoer, I almost overlooked the artful brilliance of this secular gospel arrangement. Which is why I'm sure no one was expecting that jubilant "Amen" remixed with "This Little Light of Mine" as the happy couple left the church to greet the crowds. Folks were so focused on seeing the first kiss that they missed the soloist who, once released from the duty of demurely serenading the Queen, let loose and oversang her heart out.

It probably isn't all that revolutionary to include a classically-trained black cellist in a ceremony like this, even if his name is Sheku and until maybe the other day he was sporting a generous Afro. Or that he comes from a talented family of seven other classically-trained brothers and sisters (profiled here).

Perhaps it seems rather fitting that the most understated black person in the spotlight was Meghan's mother, Doria Ragland. A few of my friends felt that she was a little too understated in her very safe and conservative formal attire, and while I might agree that she could have jazzed it up a little more, it was probably a deliberate choice not to show up decked out like this:

Because that would have been way too black. Certainly, the Brits are used to a great deal of blackness (having colonized half of Africa and the Caribbean at the height of their empire), I'm thinking that would have been too much for QEII. Mama Dee (my nickname for Meghan's mother) is not a queen, and even if we love to anoint every black mother as such, there is something to be said about making a powerful statement without ever saying a word. To my mind, her statement was her presence for her daughter in the midst of all the family drama that preceded this moment. Mama Dee melted my heart by just appearing to be the rock that every other mother aspires to be for her children. Her tears of joy and her quiet elegance communicated plenty of blackness with a regal demeanor that doesn't require a title.

I watched the wedding coverage again later in the day and I have heard a lot of commentary and analysis of how this moment represents a cultural shift, and I cannot help but notice how people felt similarly joyful back in November 2008. Of course, a wedding is a joyous occasion and as we reflect on what we saw and what we expect (ginger brown babies), I am mindful that this marriage is not about how we see them. It is about what they mean to each other and how those feelings will be nurtured in the years to come. I enjoyed watching that black preacher's sermon, but I also listened very closely to what he said and encourage everyone to take his message to heart--there is power in love.

Thoroughly Modern Meghan

Can I admit to being just a little extra excited about the upcoming Royal wedding on Saturday? That I have selected my fascinator, have chosen my tea cup, my outfit, and have enlisted my Dad to record it for me? That if I thought I could get away with it, I might wake up the kid at 5am to have her watch it with me (because I think that when she's older she will appreciate me for that)?

OK, so I am exaggerating a little...I had to select an outfit for the program I am hosting later that morning at my church (which is why I have my Dad on standby to DVR the wedding for me, in case I have to leave before all of the pomp and circumstance have ended). Which is why it is an open question as to whether I should have the kid awake with me so early in the morning. But it is true that I have a fascinator and a tea cup at the ready.

I recently watched old footage of Charles and Diana's wedding, which I recall watching some 30+ years ago (but I'm unsure if I saw it in real time). I was six or seven and believed in fairy tales back then. I think I saw some of Sarah Ferguson's wedding to Prince Andrew, and you know that I watched Will and Kate's wedding. Not sure why other European monarchs generate less interest, but I think it has something to do with that war Lin-Manuel Miranda has us all singing about (and mortgaging our houses to see onstage).

Putting aside all of the inherent contradictions of being an African American woman with enough education to appreciate the irony in the archaic persistence of the British monarchy, the post-colonial tensions of being a former empire, and Brexit, I'm deliriously happy for my girl Rachel. (Because yes, in my head, we are friends and I just can't be there in person because of my other obligations this weekend). I can't wait to see a sister-girl in the British royal family!

I already know that there are some who read that last statement and have all kinds of reactions, so let me address this by saying the obvious--so what if she self-identifies as biracial and not explicitly as black? Y'all do realize that she's a woman of color and an American and a divorcee and a commoner? She's also young enough to have been born in an era when folks have the luxury to self-identify which I'm clear is most common among folks from California.

But I get it. Much of the same frustration that has been expressed about interracial liaisons is this issue about how people get to align themselves. Somehow we (and I am talking about black folks) believe that the choice not to call oneself black is a repudiation instead of progress. But let's be clear, Meghan knows who and what she is. She knows that the eyes of the world affixed upon her is not because she identifies as biracial--it is because she is black. And has crazy drama that has been stirred up by her daddy's family...

This is not to say that she doesn't have some Compton cousins who haven't tried to scam a trip to London in order to sell tee shirts. They might have tried it, but I have a feeling that Mama Dee (my nickname for her mother Doria Ragland) put a clamp down on that precisely because she was not about to have any foolishment going on in front of the entire world!

Would we (America and the rest of the world) have cared this much if Harry had finally married the other girlfriend, Chelsy Davy? It isn't as if the woman Harry marries matters in the grand scheme of royal succession since he won't be king, barring some catastrophic apocalyptic turn of events that wipes out everyone else. So he could marry for love (or not marry at all). Maybe another random American actress or socialite would have generated some modest interest, but I doubt that. We already forgot that one of the housewives claims to have made out with him (which I had to google because I forgot about her too). Several other royals have gotten married since Will and Kate, and we haven't lost any sleep over them.

And I assure you that the number of black folks who are on the program and on the guest list are the telltale winks and nods to how Meghan Markle identifies. There is a black cellist and a gospel choir. There will be a black preacher. One of her BFFs, Serena Williams, is expected to be there. The Obamas aren't going so as not to instigate an international incident with President Trumpelthinskin (who would have found some ridiculous way to try to upstage them) and Melania can still host that pajama watch party from her hospital room. I'm guessing that Idris Elba won't be there only because there is a limit on the number of sexiest men alive allowed in one place at the same time.

I don't know why some of us are so convinced that blackness has to be defined in such narrow ways, like the folks who argued that Barack Obama wasn't really black "like us" because his father was Kenyan (or that he had no street cred because of his Harvard pedigree and Kansas-born white mother). Or that Caribbean blacks are not like us either even though their ancestors suffered the same Middle Passage journey. Or how Latinos aren't products of a racist system either, the difference being the language of their colonizers, also European in origin by the way. Or that we have to be protective of American blackness in such a way that it alienates us from other women of color as if our experiences with sexism and racism don't intersect. Trust me, Meghan hasn't fixed British racism and won't be immune to Old World attitudes or elitism.

But she will be marrying a Prince who is descended from people who once colonized half of the known world. If nothing more, she becomes one of the most visible symbols of how the world can change--not if we ignore race, but once we embrace and celebrate love.

When Harry Met Meghan

Meghan Markle, future Duchess of Sussex. An American in the House of Windsor! Her Royal Highness, Sista girl M&M from Compton, is now going to have her own postage stamp and her image commemorated on collectible thimbles and teapots!

It was just a few days ago that I branded the latest announcement from Kensington Palace that there would be no daily updates on Prince Harry's love life as #RoyalNewsYouCantUse. I even quoted my Dad, whose knowledge of tabloid headlines is usually quite surprising and random, when he suggested that any upcoming Royal weddings needed to occur after the Queen and Prince Phillip's 70th Anniversary and the birth of William and Kate's third kid. My take was that we're all intrigued, but until there is a ring, nothing to see...

Y'all there has been a ring for like a month! And she looked pretty darn radiant as they casually strolled into the gardens to wave at the press, and then quite ecstatic to finally be able to flash that ice for the world to see.

Y'all, can we wrap our Busy Black heads around the fact that Prince Harry already wakes up next to a woman wearing a silk head scarf with a scalp moisturized by coconut oil?

That when they put together that wedding guest list, they will have to invite and sponsor several of her Compton cousins? And that they are going to need to reserve a section of the church for the delegation of black church ladies coifed in their peacock and ostrich feather church hats paired with matching satin suits accented with sequins and pearls, waving cardstock church fans depicting Jesus, Martin Luther King, Jr, and the Obama family?

And that the Obamas will actually be there, whereas Melania Trump will have to watch on TV like the rest of us commoners?

Does everyone get that there will be little curly haired ginger brown babies running after great-grandmum's corgis around Buckingham Palace?

Every bad joke we made about barbecues at the White House with the election of Obama now makes the reverse transatlantic voyage across the pond for British audiences. So we'll let our West Indian and Afro-Brit cousins translate the cultural equivalencies of having a black woman in the Royal family. She's American though, so we are still expecting some YouTube footage of Auntie Ree Ree teaching Prince Charles and Duchess Camilla the wobble. And right now in heaven, Princess Diana, Michael Jackson, the Queen Mum, Prince, and Elvis are working out that seating chart? (If not Elvis then Tom Petty, because we can't forget that Meghan's dad is going to have some say in this too.)

Which brings us back to reality and the controversy of her racial identity. Yes, to every black person on the planet, Meghan Markle is neither half white nor biracial. She is BLACK. And none of us gives a damn about her blow out, her fair complexion, her white ex-husband, or her suburban upbringing.  She can self-identify as she pleases, so if she wants to call herself biracial, we will just nod our heads in collective understanding that her choice is actually more about making white people comfortable than it is about actually denouncing anything. We've already seen her yoga posing Mama with the hair twists. They're from California...it's called La La Land for a reason.

To claim her as one of our own does not negate her father in order to elevate her mother. Contrary to what other folks think about racial identity, most black people are rather pragmatic in understanding how the world works. We didn't devise the one drop rule--it was bequeathed to us by our British/American colonizers/owners. So we're not going to allow y'all to revoke a 500+ year old rule just because it is convenient to support the lies you need to believe about racial purity. Phuck that. We all know about Queen Charlotte. And to those few whiny pants blackademic hoteps and bitter boos who are urging us not to celebrate Meghan because of their own issues with racial identity, phuck y'all and Sammy Sosa too.

Late Night Fried Chicken: Lesser Royal Weddings and Other Snacks

So apparently this past weekend, another royal wedding took place except I did not get word that I needed to rise from my bed at 5am to watch the two-hour long processional.  And then I remembered that I totally missed another royal wedding a couple of weeks ago, so I'm starting to wonder if I am slipping...

Or maybe these royal nuptials involve folks that we clearly could care less about. 

But if you recall, I have a major soft spot for the British royal family.  So the wedding of the Queen's eldest granddaughter and the in-depth coverage of Princess Catherine's recycled outfit is enough for me to indulge in a few late night nibbles with some fancy dipping sauce.  And while we're on the subject of royals, I might as well enjoy a few more nuggets--the royal visits exchanged between the First Family and the Windsors, the visit to Hollywood by the future King and Queen of England, and then the royal wedding of Prince Albert of Monaco.  So if you please, a recap in photos (with a little snarky commentary in my best Geico gecko voice):

The lovely bride, Zara Phillips, and her new husband, Mark Tindall, the bloke with the crooked face.

Recap: Post-Wedding 'Itis

You asked for it, so here it is--the BBW's take on the Royal Wedding!  Sorry for the delay, but *yawn* I just had to take a nap...

First, let me just say that I wish Will and Kate all the love and happiness that the world can offer.  I thought she was a beautiful bride and that her groom was truly dashing (although balding fast)!  Now in my best English accent, onto everyone else:

Prince Harry - You certainly are one big ham sandwich...did you stay up all night partying again? 

Princesses Eugenie and Beatrice - In the words of Simon Cowell, "Dreadful."  You two should know better than to let your Mom to dress you:

Fried Chicken Wednesday: The Royal Wedding

When I went down South for college &*$# years ago, I was introduced to the concept of having specific foods on certain days of the week.  Actually, that is not entirely true--I was well acquainted with the notion that certain meals were served on certain days or for certain occasions, like black-eyed peas and chitterlings on New Year's Day (unforgettable stench, yuck); fish on Fridays during Lent and Good Friday; ham or lamb in the Spring for Easter; and turkey for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  And I knew that some families had a pizza, pasta or taco night at least once a week.  But Lord help me, I went off to college and Wednesdays was the day they served fried chicken in the cafeteria!

As someone who lurves fried chicken, this was an almost perfect development.  Almost, because it being the middle of the week meant that there were more people on campus, and in turn, the cafeteria was extra crowded.  And because it is next to impossible to mess up fried chicken, Wednesday became the one day each week we were assured an edible meal.  But it also meant that everybody--and I mean errybody--had the itis for the rest of the day. 

Did we care?  No...because it was sooooo damn good!  But now that I am an older, wiser BBW, I look back on those carefree days of golden-fried gluttony in horror.  Now that I have to worry about things like high cholesterol, a slower metabolism, and maintaining my dress size, I cannot eat fried chicken like I used to.  Even the the occasional indulgence in a 2-piece meal is fraught with all kinds of Catholic guilt.

The point of all of this is to introduce a periodic segment for the blog called Fried Chicken Wednesdays, which will essentially feature my confession of some random guilty pleasure from my youth that I cannot justify in any rational way.

This week's Fried Chicken Combo is the Royal Wedding on Friday.  And before you judge me, I am willing to bet that I will hardly be the only person awake at 5am on Friday morning, dressed in a proper Sunday hat, sipping on Earl Grey tea!