Monthly Archives: April 2012

Gotham City–10:02 a.m. EST, Pamper-Her-Friday:

Interviewer:  Mr. Carter, you’ve been experiencing a whirlwind of game-changing life events worthy of an ‘American Masters’ induction . . .

JZ:   Lucky, man. And blessed by the best. I’m just doing what I do . . . not taking anything for granted.

Interviewer:  Your modesty is an understatement: Forbes lists you as one of Hip Hop’s wealthiest artists for 2012, just under a half-billion net, second only to Diddy; you own your master recordings; your Brooklyn Nets stake; the 40/40 Club chain; you’ve taken Carnegie Hall by storm like no other Hip Hop artist in history . . .

JZ:   Yo, man, Carnegie was all about the kids. I’m proud we raised millions for education . . . but I gotta admit, we had mad fun rockin’ ‘The Hall.’

They share a laugh.

Interviewer:  . . . you and your lovely wife, who, by the way, was just named People Magazine’s Most Beautiful Woman, have welcomed an angel of a babygirl to your Hip Hop royal family, ‘Papa Z’ has a nice ring to it . . . you’re on a magical roll by anyone’s standards. Is all as dreamy as it appears?

JZ:    No doubt I’m living a dream beyond measure, man. I know where I come from . . . we know where we come from. The title ‘family man’ means more to me than ‘Hip Hop Mogul’ ever will.

The interviewer sees and feels the lyrical maestro’s conviction. Jay Z’s integrity as both artist and man is truly legendary.

Interviewer:   So, what does a man who has seemingly everything do as encore?

Papa Z:    I’m going home right after this interview, take both my lovely ladies in my arms, kiss them on the forehead, and tell them I love them.

Interviewer (smiling reverently):   So, the warrior rapper does indeed have a sentimental side?

Papa Z:   Don’t tell nobody. (They both laugh.) But blessings must be acknowledged, feel? And, what better time to show it than on this beautiful day?

Interviewer (his face curious):   This day?

Papa Z (a gleam in his eye and grin forming):   It’s Pamper-Her-Friday.

***
Pamper the woman and forever yours is her love. -Rg2

Sweet Reflections, Calif.–’round midnight, Pamper-Her-Friday:

She hated her hair while growing up.
Much too thick for her wishes; too coarse; too woolly.
Just too damn nappy for her self-acceptance.
Fed by a constant bombardment of eurocentric beauty aesthetics on TV, online,
and in the workplace, the insecurity has remained with her through the years, lurking there in the gray matter of her psyche, messing with her self-esteem and -image.
The mirror could never befriend her–she wouldn’t allow it.
And then she met him.
His is an even thicker, coarser, more nappy coiff than what reflects in her mirror.
“Touch it,” he encourages her. “Go ahead, it won’t bite,” he softens her obvious reluctance. “Cotton candy times three,” he jokes, “but without the fingersticky.”
She finds herself at ease as each hand, their fingersearch mining a fur forest,
sinks into the woolly mass.
She likes. A lot actually.
He returns the curiosity, enveloping swaths of her locks with his palms and stroking them with caring fingers.
He likes. He loves actually.
He embraces her, then takes her hand and leads her to his door mirror, standing behind her slightly nervous body image, his arms coiling her midriff.
“Look,” he directs her. Her head remains angled, eyes toward the floor. He gently lifts her chin as her tepid eyes finally meet the looking glass. “You are especially beautiful, woman. God has a way with art. Each of us is his own version of a masterpiece, never to be duplicated.”
He sinks his face into her hair, inhales its natural fragrance, and squeezes her warm body more snugly in his arms. A smile adorns his face that reveals itself to her in the reflection glass.
She studies the mirror’s content–like never before.
What would have been a glance in times past, became a lingering gaze, with a smile of her own coming on.
For the first time, a mirror was no longer foe.
And it welcomed two kindred ‘heads’ and souls on a sweetly intimate
Pamper-Her-Friday.

***
A Higher Romance. -Rg2

© 2012 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2™

Los Angeles—12:52 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:

“You promised me you’d behave and look at you, we haven’t even ordered lunch and you’re actin’ up already,” she says to him under her breath while holding in her laugh, trying not to be noticeable to the other café patrons, her foot securely wrapped in his hand.
“Hey, you’re the one with the strict PDA rules. I never said I could totally buy in. Besides, some rules are made for breaking, right?”
Her long-upheld policy of no public displays of affection was now being tested like few other times.
“Am I violating policy?” he asks rhetorically, the foot rub feeling much better to her than it should.
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No,” her lips shoot back uncontrollably.
Their laughter melds as if in harmony.
“You’ve seen the Vegas commercial, right?” he says whimsically. “‘What happens there, stays there?’”
She nods affirmatively.
“Well, what happens under the table, stays under the table,” he alludes, as the game of footsies intensifies.
“So, what’d you decide about facebook? It goes public later this month. You want to get in on the shares?”
“For sure,” she confirms. “But friends of mine aren’t so gung-ho about it. They think the network will only fade like MySpace. And I hear so much grumbling about the timeline conversion . . . .”
“Are the people who’re grumbling about it, grumbling on facebook?”
She releases a knowing smile as she takes in his gaze—that look he gives off in his eye when his hunch about a business or money opportunity is more than a notion.
“They bought Instagram recently for a cool billion and they’re scooping up patents like a gold rush,” the gleam in his eye piercingly attractive. “Steve Jobs is no longer with us and that creative space has got to be filled by a new, young visionary.”