Every year as schoolchildren, we studied the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  By now we all know the story: Dr. King was a preacher, a family man, an activist who fought for freedom, standing against the fire hoses and then gunned down in his prime.  He was a good man, practically a saint, and he wanted us all to be friends.

But as we got older, many of us learned that the story of Martin Luther King, Jr.was a bit more complicated than that. The FBI harassment and King’s infidelity to his wife, the tragically beautiful Coretta Scott King, tarnished the image we’d all held onto since elementary school. America’s original icon for change was actually a complex person with concrete fears, anxieties, and, yes, flaws.

And now that Steven Spielberg has finally gotten the green light from the King children to produce and possibly direct a biopic about MLK, Jr., how much light will this ambitious project really shed on such a familiar man and icon? Read More »

Last night’s Inaugural Ball was a star studded event, to say the least. With celebrity guests from P. Diddy (or Puff Daddy, or Puffy, or whatever goes by these days) to Faith Hill, President Obama’s Inaugural Ball was one for the books.

When Denzel Washington introduced the President and his wife and they walked in to the traditional “Hail to the Chief,” I got goosebumps! The President and First Lady’s first dance had me crying like a single girl during “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” And her dress!! I want to get married in that dress!

The Inaugural Ball was all glitz and glamour, and as I sat on my couch with my boys Ben and Jerry in tow, all I could do was wish I was there. Wish that I was lavishly dressed in a Jason Wu gown as opposed to my overly-used Hofstra sweatpants, oversized sweatshirt and fuzzy socks. Wish that I was dancing with a successful, handsome man instead of snuggling up to my teddy bear. Wish that I was eating some freakin delicious dinner instead of Ramen. Wish that Beyonce sang a song just for me, instead of me dancing around to her jams in my underwear with my hairbrush. Wish that 1,000 people would come out to celebrate my life, instead of sitting home trying to friend people on Facebook.

But, alas, I am not Barack Obama. Or Michelle Obama. Or any Obama. I was an Obama voter, though. That’s gotta be something, right?