By Michael P Coleman

trump fine peopleI’ve been doing a reasonably good job of staying away from the news over the weekend.  For my emotional and spiritual health, I turn the omnipresent iPhone news alerts off and lean away from social media, while focusing on friends and family as much as I can on weekends. 

So when I turned the news back on Monday morning, I got hit between the eyes with the reports of Saturday’s terrorist attack in Charlottesville. And yesterday,  I watched an event that was more circus than press conference, during which the President of the United States, Donald Trump, compared our country’s founding fathers to the Confederacy. 

In case you haven’t heard, President Trump went on to lay equal blame for the attack with both the Alt Right movement and the event’s counter protestors, whom he labeled the “Alt Left.”  

That’s the first time I’ve referred to Donald Trump as President.  I was one of the ones who used to use “45” or other more colorful terms, depending on my state of sobriety, to describe him.  Jack Daniels in hand, I’ve boldly slurred that he was “not my president.” 

But to paraphrase a classic line from one of my favorite movies, he IS in the chair, and we should use the term — the title — to describe him.  Maybe when we start doing that, we’ll realize just what we’ve done. 

I have sometimes looked beyond Michael Jackson’s man in the mirror and held others responsible for Trump’s ascendency.  Others like Bernie Sanders’ most ardent supporters, for being unwilling or unable to let go.  Or Joe Biden, for wanting to enjoy an earned break.  Or Hilary Clinton, for…well, for simply being herself. 

But In the sober, stark light of day, I realize that we elected Donald Trump. The American people gave Trump the keys.  And to date, we’ve sat by and allowed a bigoted demagog to run our country. 

In this writer’s not-so-humble opinion, we all need to stop the madness.  Before it’s too late. 

I would call President Trump’s off-the-rails performance at Tuesday’s “press conference” a tragic, pseudo-comedic nightmare if we hadn’t all been wide awake as it unfolded.  While I was watching it, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I did both before the night was over. 

I have to admit that I chuckled at times during Trump’s televised rant.  President Trump exposed himself, once and for all, as a manic, duplicitous racist. Many commentators have been reluctant to call him a racist, but I come from the “call-a-spade-a-spade” school of thought.  (And yes, the pun is very much intended.).

I shuddered — literally — as I listened to President Trump describe neo-Nazis as “very fine people,” and as I learned that former KKK leader David Duke thanked him for doing so.  Unlike past GOP presidents and leaders, including Ronald Reagan, President Trump did not distance himself from the KKK connection.  And as of this writing, he still hasn’t. 

I teared up — literally — as I listened to the mother of 32-year-old Heather Heyer, the woman who was murdered in last weekend’s attack, openly mourn the loss of her daughter and hopelessly wish for her return. The contributions that young lady could have made to our society will never be realized.  As a parent of adult daughters, my heart broke for that mom. 

At the same time, I was emboldened by the knowledge that Heyer died for a cause that she believed in.  May each of us have the courage to do that. 

As I learned of Republicans like Marco Rubio and Paul Ryan denouncing President Trump’s racist words, I wondered when — or if — they’ll begin to walk the walk.  How can they, or anyone, do that?  Let’s start with the 25th Amendment, which outlines how a sitting president may be removed from office. 

The day after we elected Donald Trump as the 45th President of the United States of America last November, I hung a portrait of President Barack Obama in my living room.  Just last week, I took that portrait down, telling myself that Trump is in whether I like it or not, and that it’ll only be another three years. 

But last evening, as I watched people like CNN commentator Van Jones and host Anderson Cooper tear up as they reported on yesterday’s presidential debacle, I realized that our country can’t afford another three years of an egomaniacal, divisive, racist dictator in the White House. 

And let’s not even talk about North Korea.  Or the revolving door of Trump’s cabinet.  Or Russia. 

President Trump yesterday spoke of the “very fine people” who were members of the Alt Right movement.  If that’s true, we have another fine person running the country.  As fine as he is, I suggest we as a country evoke the 25th Amendment and get the very fine Donald Trump out of the Oval Office.  Then, we can begin the long road to restoring some level of respect and dignity to the office of the presidency of the United States of America. 

 michael bioThis blog was written by Sacramento-based freelancer Michael P Coleman. 

Connect with him at or on Twitter:  @ColemanMichaelP. 

By Michael P Coleman

lionel mariah sliderFirst, let’s ditch the politically correct lingo:  no matter what the concert promoters are calling this tour, it is without question a Lionel Richie show with Mariah Carey serving as the sequin-studded, wind-machine-in-the-weave-wearing opening act.

Perhaps that’s justified, as Carey wasn’t even talking — let alone singing — when Richie began his chart-topping run with The Commodores and later as a solo superstar. 

That said, Carey has an almost unprecedented run of #1 hits — only The Beatles have more — so dubbing this show All The Hits makes a lot of sense.  Between Richie and Carey, they certainly have a lot of them. 

The tour’s title would make even more sense if all of the hits had been there Saturday night.  Some of them were woefully, almost suspiciously, absent. 

After a very good set by a contemporary gospel artist who’s name I didn’t catch — no disrespect to him, but I was there for the headliners — Carey, 47 took the stage for about 30 minutes.  She was in full “diva” mode, beginning her set with a cover of the ultimate diva Diana Ross’ “Love Hangover” before morphing into her own “Heartbreaker” and a string of #1 hits from her impressive catalog, including “Vision Of Love,” “We Belong Together,” and “Hero.” 

Let’s get right to it:  I think she was singing live, and she sounded damned good doing it.  She’d brought the key down a hair on some of her songs, but with her multi-octave vocal range, she’s got notes to spare. 

Speaking of that almost inhuman range, Carey mixed in one of her trademark “whistle” high notes for good measure.  It could have been dubbed in, but if it was she pulled it off far better than she did on New Years Eve.  And speaking of technological enhancements, I couldn’t help but notice Carey’s use of a Teleprompter throughout her short set.  Clearly, Mimi’s memory is fading along with her upper register. 

To give herself time for the obligatory diva costume change, Carey introduced the utterly underrated background singer Trey Lorenz, who did an awesome cover of Stevie Wonder’s “All I Do.”  You’ll remember Lorenz from Carey’s chart-topping cover of The Jackson Five’s “I’ll Be There” back in the 90s. 

And it was Lorenz’ stunning performance that begged the first question of the night:  since he was there, and he was certainly singing live, why didn’t the two of them reprise their chart-topping duet?  Maybe, just maybe, some of Carey’s surprisingly glorious high notes were pre-recorded.

Carey’s tour mate Lionel Richie has never been one to lip synch, but after hearing him Saturday night, he might want to rethink that.  At the age of 68 and with almost 50 years of touring under his belt, he’s earned the right to have a rough night, and vocally, Saturday was one of them.  After taking the stage with a rapid fire “Easy,” “My Love,” and “Running With The Night,” a visibly winded Richie joked “I’ve been in the business 750 years!  My job tonight is to start the song, and you finish it.” 

As the night wore on, we realized the legend wasn’t joking.  While still sounding good, Richie’s voice was far raspier than it was in his heyday.  Luckily for him (and for us), his pop catalog is much easier to sing along with than Carey’s, and his adoring fans were more than willing to help him out, taking over for Richie when his aging lungs just couldn’t handle beloved songs like “Penny Lover,” “Truly,” “Stuck On You,” “Sweet Love,” and “Three Times A Lady.” 

Given Richie’s interest in going so deep into his catalog, one of his hits was conspicuously  absent from the night, as well:  “Endless Love.”  The smash 1981 duet with Ross was Richie’s first single as a solo artist, and given Carey covered the song with Luther Vandross in 1994, many were left wondering why that duet was omitted from the show.  

My conclusion?  As shaky as Richie’s voice was, at least he was singing live.  And Carey?  The jury’s still out. 

Another of the night’s surprises was Richie’s tribute to music superstars who we’ve lost over the last few years, naming George Michael, Natalie Cole, and Prince before launching into an emotional rendition of his collaboration with Michael Jackson, the anthemic “We Are The World.”  After it, he left the stage, leaving his fans in total pandemonium. 

Independent of how Richie sounds, he’s always been a consummate showman, and Saturday night, he delivered.  Seconds after “We Are The World,” he confidently strolled back out and said “Well, if you want to stay here and dance all night long…” before launching into the Caribbean-inspired track that had the world dancing back in the day, “All Night Long” (All Night).”  As we walked out of Golden 1 Arena Saturday night, many of us were still singing it as we danced back to our cars. 

It was somewhat ironic that both Richie and Bruno Mars played Sacramento last week, as in many ways, Richie was the Bruno Mars of our generation.  Time will tell whether Mars and his Hooligans are still singing and dancing — let alone selling out arenas — 40 years from now.  With Lionel Richie, Sacramento was treated to a superstar that’s closing in on the end of his phenomenal career…and with Carey, we saw a much younger star who may well be near the end of hers. 


 michael bioConnect with Michael P Coleman at or on Twitter: @ColemanMichaelP.

By Michael P Coleman

Happy 4th of July.  I'll be frank: the day never meant much to me until about eight years ago. 

Well, that’s not completely true.  As I little kid, I enjoyed sparklers, fireworks, backyard barbecues and the like just like every other kid in my neighborhood.  It was sometime around junior high school, I think, that I pieced together an American history timeline that revealed that many of the “founding fathers” who fought so hard for their independence were also fighting to deny the independence of the black men they enslaved. 

From that revelatory moment, I turned by back on the holiday and all things patriotic.  I wouldn’t have worn a star spangled piece of clothing to save my life.  I suffered through hot, humid Independence Days wearing a black t-shirt (seriously).  Even Whitney Houston’s stirring rendition of our national anthem 1992 didn’t convince me to embrace the day. 

I didn’t do so until we elected Barack Obama as President of these United States of America. 

The morning after the election in 2008, I drove to my neighborhood Home Depot and bought the first American flag I’d ever bought and mounted it on my front porch.  For the first time since I was a kid holding those sparklers, I was proud of my country.   For eight years, I flew it every Memorial Day and Independence Day, and more sporadically on other holidays. 

Can you guess what’s happened now that Trump’s in office? 

I’m still flying it.  Put it up proudly a few weeks ago on Memorial Day, and as I hung it this 4th of July weekend, I pondered why.  I surmised that I have President Obama to thank for my newfound patriotism. 

We’re still a country that elected Trump president, but the pride in my country that President Obama awakened in me won’t be dampened.  We’ll fix this damn thing.  If Trump doesn’t resign, we’ll take Congress back in 2018 and the White House back in 2020. 

Yes, we will.  We The People will do that. 

Thanks, President Obama. 

And again, Happy 4th of July!  Let me fire up this grill. 

 michael bioThis blog was written by freelancer Michael P Coleman.  Connect with him at or on Twitter:  @ColemanMichaelP.


by Michael P Coleman

fathersdayAs a kid, I celebrated Father’s Day by honoring a father who provided a stern, consistent “old school” sense of order to our home. He battled his demons, like we all do, but he did the “dad” thing. And Charles Franklin Coleman didn’t just parent his four kids. He parented the neighbor’s kids, as well.

My friends often referred to my dad as “Mike’s Crazy Father,” as Dad would whip off his belt in a heartbeat and whip any kid who misbehaved in his presence…whether that kid belonged to him or not. Then, he’d walk the crying kid back home to his parents and tell them what the infraction had been — and calmly inform the parent that the same thing would happen again if the kid misbehaved at or around the Coleman house.

It wasn’t until I had children of my own that I appreciated the value of the example that my dad had set for me.  

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wonderwoman eblast oneThose who know me know that I’m the world’s biggest Superman fan.  Every other hero plays second fiddle. 

That may have changed after having seen Gal Gadot’s stunning turn as the Amazonian princess Diana in the wonderful new Wonder Woman.  THIS hero is playing second fiddle to no one! 

Wonder Woman is the best origin story I’ve seen since 1978 when I watched Superman take flight.   And it may be the best I’ve ever seen, drawing inspiration from not just Superman: The Movie but the more recent Captain America: The First Avenger

CLICK HERE for Michael P Coleman's exclusive review on

by Michael P Coleman

janetjacksontourThe element of surprise has been a hallmark of superstar Janet Jackson’s 30+ year career. 

If you’re too young to remember, Jackson’s landmark 1986 Control album, with its defiant distancing from her famous family, surprised even her most ardent fans.  I was one of them; I’ve loved that girl since she was little Penny on Good Times.  As I think about it, Jackson’s entire recording career was a surprise, with her having spent the first years of her career focused on acting instead of trying to compete with her incomparable older brother, the King of Pop. 

At the age of 19, Jackson fired her father (he’d been her manager) and shocked the entertainment world as she emerged from her brother Michael’s enormous shadow via a series of huge hit records (courtesy of wünderkinds Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis) and impossibly sexy music videos. 

Then there was the follow-up album a few years later.  Instead of issuing a Control 2, the artist released Janet’s Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814, an opus that was her generation’s What’s Going On? with a strong, running theme of social consciousness interspersed with a groove that wouldn’t quit. 

Rhythm Nation encapsulated visual joys as well.  What an impression she made in those jeans — Lord, those jeans! — that push up bra, blond, upswept wig, and that signature megawatt smile in her Herb Ritz-directed Love Will Never Do Without You video.  I still haven’t recovered from it.  “They said it wouldn’t last, but we had to prove them wrong…”. WOW. 



Who can forget Jackson’s first secret marriage (to El DeBarge), her second secret marriage (to René Elizondo), her secret relationship (with Jermaine Dupri), or her third secret marriage (to Wissem Al Mana), which she has recently confirmed is ending just after having delivered her first baby — unless you believe a long-standing rumor that she had a baby with DeBarge when she was still in her teens). 

And then there was the infamous Super Bowl “wardrobe malfunction.”

So Jackson knows a thing or two about the element of surprise.  Hence, it shouldn’t have been that much of a shock when she released a video earlier this week that both confirmed her pending divorce and announced a new tour.  But it was a shock — and Jackson dominated entertainment news coverage the next day.  She’s certainly proven her penchant for masterful media manipulation — we all ate it up. 

The tour is not the resumption of her truncated 2015 Unbreakable tour but rather a new one, entitled State Of The World.  The tour’s title echoes one of the more popular album tracks from Rhythm Nation, whetting fans appetite for what’s sure to be a great show — if Jackson shows up for it. 

The superstar’s last tour was plagued with cancellations and rescheduled dates, so I’m hoping she’s ready to hit the road and solidify her place among pop music’s would-be royalty.  Sorry, Beyoncé but in my book, if anyone’s a triple threat, it’s Janet Jackson.  She sang, danced and acted her way into my little elementary school heart way back in the day on Good Times — I STILL can’t pick up a clothes iron to save my life.  You’d best believe I’ll have tickets to Jackson’s October 3 show in Sacramento — just in case she decides to join us. 

Tickets for Janet Jackson’s State Of The World Tour stops in Sacramento and Concord go on sale at Ticketmaster at 10am Friday, May 5th. 


Michael P ColemanMichael P Coleman is a Sacramento-based freelancer writer who would marry Janet Jackson if he weren’t still holding out hope to marry Diana Ross.  Connect with him at or on Twitter:@ColemanMichaelP 


Moonlight posterI saw the Academy Award-winning Moonlight for the first time at the beginning of its initial run in theaters, last fall. I walked into a screening of the movie with every intention of reviewing it. I walked out having been profoundly moved, forever changed, and temporarily muted. I simply couldn’t find the words to describe the movie.

I’d not felt that way after seeing a film since Precious, another film with honest, gritty performances, flawed, human characters that commanded my attention, and a character arc that left me literally exhausted and speechless. I felt the same way after seeing Monster’s Ball and, to a somewhat lesser extent, Dreamgirls.

In all of those prior cases, the films went on to win Academy Awards, and I’d accurately predicted them. In the case of Monster’s Ball, I knew that if Halle Berry hadn’t gone on to win the Oscar for Best Actress, it would have been due to racism in the industry. Berry’s performance, particularly a critical scene during which her character is processing an unfathomable loss, earned that trophy.

Similarly, after watching Moonlight, I called Mahershala’s Oscar, the screenplay award, and the Oscar for Best Picture. I knew if Moonlight didn’t win on Oscar night, homophobia — not racism — would have been the primary culprit

One Moonlight scene in particular brought tears to my eyes, during which Ali’s character teaches the young Chiron (played by Alex R. Hibbert) how to swim, before he gives advice on self-acceptance that we all could use, independent of sexual orientation. I was reminded of my dad teaching me to swim decades ago, and our subsequent conflict regarding my own sexual orientation years later.

While Moonlight undoubtedly muted me, I dug a little deeper and realized that I’d not written an initial review due to my own internalized homophobia. As a bisexual black man, I was worried that my glowing endorsement of the film wouldn’t be taken seriously. Now, looking back to last fall, I’m not proud of that moment. In a sense, Moonlight — or my visceral reaction to it — steered me back in the closet — at least professionally — for a hot minute.

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This blog was written by freelancer Michael P Coleman. Connect with him at or on Twitter: @ColemanMichaelP.

No Tolerance For “Nigger”: Calling A Spade A Spade At A Coffee Shop

by Michael P Coleman

A few months ago, I wrote an editorial about the use of “the N word” and why I think it has no place in modern, civilized society. That said, I also think that use of the phrase “the N word” diminishes the impact of the word in media reports of its use.

Pardon the pun, but the media should just call a spade a spade. It’s kinda like writers who use the spelling “f**ck,” or worse “phuck.” We know what you’re saying, so just say it for fuck’s sake — or better yet, find another, more articulate and less abrasive way to express your thoughts and feelings.

So back to “nigger.” I believe the word has no place, and its prevalence in what’s now popular music and public vernacular (especially with younger people) has desensitized us. Even the media’s use of the phrase “the N word” obscures “nigger”’s vile history and current power.

After I published that original story, most of the readers I heard from agreed with me. However, a small minority argued that the younger generation had reclaimed the word and that the newly-branded “nigga” didn’t hold the same meaning.

I stick to my original thesis, especially after the conversation I had last week with a white fellow coffee-lover in a quaint little bistro in California’s Bay area.

I was sitting at my favorite table in the window, tapping away on a story, searching for inspiration and facing a looming deadline, when an adjacent table began to fill up with middle-aged, business-suited white men. Soon, four of them had assembled and were casually chatting while sipping their beverages, when a fifth friend walked up.

As one of the men pulled a chair over to their table, another commented on the newest addition’s haircut.

“New hairstyle!” he bellowed, drawing the attention of the other friends along with that of a good third of the people in the coffee shop, including that of this writer. His hair was combed up oddly in the front of his head. I was later told that the younger, whiter generation sometimes refers to it as a “pineapple.”

“Yeah,” the man remarked. “It’s just like the kind that niggers wear!”

My head bolted up from my MacBook’s monitor. Could I have heard what I thought I’d heard?? Slowly, I turned my head to the right, in a cloud of disbelief and shock. At my ever-advancing age, my ears HAD to be going.

“Oh, yeah! Kinda!” one of his friends affirmed.

“Yeah, you know, niggers take a comb and comb it right up and it stays up there!,” Mr. Pineapple laughed.

Now, at this point, I really DID think that my hearing was leaving me. The continued torrent of words began to swirl around me, forming a bit of a jumble that resembled the “wah wah wah” from the Charlie Brown TV specials. Could this middle-aged, salt & pepper, shirt and tied gentlemen actually have used the word “nigger” in public at 11:17am in the middle of a work week and a crowded coffee shop?

And if he actually had, what was I to do about it? Wasn’t it a free country, and didn’t the gentlemen’s freedom of speech allow him the right to…

Then, my heart sharply shoved my brain out of the way.

“Excuse me, sir. What did you just say?” I asked Mr. Pineapple, as calmly as I could.

Five white heads turned, and five white faces looked at me. For a split second, I was taken back to the first time I was called a “nigger” by one of a handful of faces in Davenport, Iowa decades ago. This time around, one of the faces seemed amused, while the other four, including the one attached to the guy who’d uttered the word “nigger” — twice — appeared shocked. I don’t think they’d seen me tapping away at my table in the window, just across the aisle from them.

“Oh,” Mr. Pineapple exclaimed. “I was just telling them how you black guys comb your hair up…”

“Sir, you didn’t refer to us “black guys” as “black guys,” I countered, in a tone that was slightly cooler than my initial question had been. A part of me was proud that I’d been able to choke out the word “sir.”

“You said ‘nigger,’”, I countered, “and that is very offensive.”

To Mr. Pineapple’s credit, he apologized to me. (He also introduced himself, but I’m using “Mr. Pineapple” to protect the not-so-innocent.). But either my question or Mr. Pineapple’s apology had clearly ruined the group’s outing, as the five men quickly packed up and left…maybe to go to another location where their racist rhetoric could continue unchecked. The conversation also left me with a severe case of writer’s block, so I closed my MacBook and headed out for lunch.

I’d planned to push the entire conversation to the furthermost recesses of my mind, and had done a pretty good job of it until later that night, as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. I glanced at my hair, a still-dense thatch of tight black curls accented by the ever so slightest of gray. (Self-esteem has never been an issue for me.). Even without the help of the comb that Mr. Pineapple had referenced, I couldn’t help but notice that my hair DID stand up, and it DID stay just where I placed it.

Just like the hair on the heads of the rest of the niggers that Mr. Pineapple spoke of, and the ones he sees every day.

I stick to my original thesis. No tolerance for “nigger.” That’s where we as a society need to be headed — no, where we need to be! If a middle-aged businessman can effortlessly toss the word out to a group of his white friends at a coffee shop, the use of the word “nigger” needs to be abolished — for good.

What do you think? No tolerance for “nigger?” Or would you have just told yourself that Mr. Pineapple may have said “nigga,” that the words are different and the world’s different now, and just walked away? What would you have done? Let us know in the comments. blog was written by freelancer Michael P Coleman. Connect with him at or on Twitter: @ColemanMichaelP