: The Memories Hiding in My Data Dump

Looking through information stored by Facebook and Google was like reading a diary I hadn’t intended to keep.
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The Memories in Dolores O’Riordan’s Fierce, Fragile Voice

The Cranberries singer fascinated the world, but her success meant something special in Ireland.
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LeBron: Poignant memories will be about family

LeBron James says he doesn’t dwell on the Cavs’ 2017 NBA Finals Game 3 collapse that all but assured the Warriors their second ring in three years. Instead, he said, what sticks with him are moments he treasures with his children.
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Elizabeth Smart Opens Up on Triggers for Painful Memories: ‘I’ll See Something … and It’ll Take Me Back’

By all accounts, Elizabeth Smart is doing remarkably well.

The 30-year-old is living a normal life — something that she never dreamed possible after she was kidnapped from her bedroom late one summer’s night in 2002 and brutalized by her captors, Brian David Mitchell and Wanda Barzee, for nine months before being rescued.

Smart got married five and a half years ago. She lives in lives in Park City, Utah, with her husband, Matthew Gilmour, and her two children, Chloe, 2, and 8-month-old James.

But Smart still has moments where she remembers the trauma she endured as a teenager.

On Monday, she spoke with Access Hollywood’s Natalie Morales and Kit Hoover to promote her upcoming television projects — I Am Elizabeth Smart, a movie that premieres Nov. 19 at 8/7c on Lifetime, and the second half of her two-part documentary special, Elizabeth Smart: Autobiography, which airs tonight at 9 p.m. on A&E.

During the interview, she spoke about various triggers that bring the horrific memories back to the surface.

“I have been so blessed,” she says. “I have been so lucky. I have not struggled with PTSD. I mean there are moments where I’ll see something or maybe I’ll smell something and it’ll take me back.”

• Want to keep up with the latest crime coverage? Click here to get breaking crime news, ongoing trial coverage and details of intriguing unsolved cases in the True Crime Newsletter.

“One time I was visiting my grandma and she had a book of Russian art on her table,” Smart continues. “I was flipping through it looking at it and there’s a picture of Rasputin in there, and I saw a picture of him and I was like, ‘Oh my gosh. That looks just like Brian Mitchell.’”

Despite the traumatic memories, Smart says that she’ll tell her children about her ordeal when they get older. “I’m certainly not going to hide it from them,” she says. “Already, I struggle with not wanting to be so overprotective, but protect them enough. Finding that balance, that’s hard.”

“I talk to my daughter all the time and say, ‘nobody has the right to hurt you, or scare you, or make you feel afraid,” she says. “And if anyone ever should, you need to tell me.”


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Crime: The Latest in Crime Novels: Bad Mothers, Bad Memories and Bad Sex Toys

Marilyn Stasio’s Crime column shows what happens when a daughter turns in her murderer mother, a town confronts a killing and cold cases unfreeze.
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Meghan Markle Celebrates Suits 100th Episode, Reveals Favorite Memories From Set at ATX TV Festival

Meghan Markle, SuitsMeghan Markle and the Suits cast took Austin by storm at the 2017 ATX TV Festival to celebrate the 100th episode of USA Network’s Suits. Markle joined costars Gina Torres, Patrick J. Adams,…

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Awful iPhone Videos Are Ruining Our Memories. Here’s a Remedy

Shaky, blurry videos are all the rage, but do you really want to preserve your precious memories as a pixelated mess? An easy guide to making your iPhone footage more cinematic.
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Scientists find way to erase painful memories

Scientists believe they have found a way to erase painful memories from the mind – helping addicts cope with drug abuse and enabling soldiers to overcome post-traumatic stress disorder.
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Lenox Childhood Memories Ballerina Jewelry Box – Clearance

Lenox Childhood Memories Ballerina Jewelry Box – Clearance


Lenox Childhood Memories Ballerina Jewelry Box. 4.25 Inch x 7 Inch x 5 Inch
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Flowers May Form Memories Using Mad Cow Protein

New research has found that prions could be responsible for how the mother plants form memories.
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101 Anniversary Gifts for Her, Anniversary Gifts for Him: The Ultimate Guide to Creating Lasting Memories & Making Their Heart Smile!

101 Anniversary Gifts for Her, Anniversary Gifts for Him: The Ultimate Guide to Creating Lasting Memories & Making Their Heart Smile!


101 Anniversary Gifts for Her, Anniversary Gifts for Him: The Ultimate Guide to Creating Lasting Memories & Making Their Heart Smile! Series on anniversary gifts for men, anniversary gifts for wife, anniversary gifts for husband, wedding anniversary gifts, marriage gifts The quality of time together is not measured by the minutes or months that have passed by. It does not matter whether you have been together as a couple for many years or only a couple of months, the main point is that as a couple you appreciate each other’s company. An Anniversary is truly like a birthday of your relationship. However, sadly for many couples anniversaries pass by without anything eventful happening, without any appreciation being shown. If your anniversary is approaching and you want to make it a memorable time, then this book is just right for you. With painstaking effort, I have compiled a list of 101 creative yet easy-to-do gift ideas to make your anniversary day special. I hope that by taking inspiration from this book, you can make the day special and memorable for your partner. In This Book You Will Discover: Fun & Romantic Wedding Anniversary Gifts to inspire love and lasting memories and smilesCreative Marriage Gifts that don’t cost a thing, but that will make your partner think you put in A LOT of time and effort. Tired of doing the same ole thing? In 101 Anniversary Gifts for Her, Anniversary Gifts for Him: You will discover unique ideas to Surprise, Be Spontaneous, and Keep or Re-Kindle the Spark! And More! Let’s Begin!

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Release of 'Madden 16' brings memories, complaints from NFL players

Release of 'Madden 16' brings memories, complaints from NFL players
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On Father’s Day: War, Memories and Moving On

The essay below is adapted from my first book, “Perfume Dreams: Reflections on the Vietnamese Diaspora.” On Father’s Day, as a child of a veteran, I am posting this in commemoration of all those who fought and live still haunted with memories of wars.

Home for the weekend recently, I chanced upon my father’s South Vietnamese Army uniform, the three silver stars still pinned meticulously onto each lapel. Once in that tropical country, my father had worn it regally, a warrior in a civil war he bravely fought and lost. Once, as a child, I had looked up to a man who had seemed more like a deity. Hadn’t I imagined myself as an adult walking in his soldierly footsteps?

A particular night emerges from my childhood memories: the cool wind blows through a villa where distant B-52 bomb explosions echo, melding with the monsoon rain. I am 10 years old, an army brat living with my family in the imperial city of Hue, near the DMZ (demilitarized zone). Somewhere in the servant quarters our two German shepherds are barking loudly as a few army jeeps screech to a halt on the cobble stone courtyard.

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My father’s hat and cane, relics from the Vietnam war.

“Papa’s home! Papa’s Home”! I yell and rush to him — he laughs as he lifts me up for a warm embrace. His wet uniform emits the smell of sweat, cologne, mud, cigar and gunpowder — smells that I will always associate with the battlefield. But it does not matter — I am happy in that embrace, happy in that house by the Perfume River when history was still on our side.

A few years later, however, the war ended — badly for us. When we set foot on the American shore, history was already against us; Vietnam went on without us; America went on without acknowledging us. In America, there were no territories for father and son to defend, no war to fight. Instead, a gap slowly widened between us.

Though he managed to remake himself as a banking executive with an MBA — a remarkable feat for someone who came to America in his 40s and who spoke English as his third language — my father’s passion remains extraterritorial. At dinner time, after a drink or two, he would relive the battles that he had fought and won. The Vietnam war has become for him “a twenty-five years century” — the epitome of his life.

My father’s booming voice shook every pane of glass in our new home and filled me, slowly but surely, with an impending sense of doom. His war, my inheritance; his defeat, my legacy. By the time I was 12, I, too, had become a bitter veteran of a war — but one I had never actually fought.

What my father rarely mentioned was the last time he wore his uniform — the day South Vietnam surrendered. My father had commandeered a navy ship full of army officers to the Philippines. Nearing shore, he changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, threw his gun into the Pacific Ocean, and asked the U.S. for asylum. I was not there but that image, more than any other, spelled the end of my childhood mythology.

When I turned 18, my father — a big fan of Napoleon — took the family to Europe for vacation. Paris, where he had once been a foreign student, was the main attraction but he insisted on seeing the battlefield of Waterloo in Belgium. We spent hours driving through the Belgian countryside until, at last, we found the place. Climbing to the top of the hill overlooking the field, my father began narrating where Napoleon’s army stood, and how the Duke of Wellington arrived just on time to turn the tide. I already knew the story and I was no longer intrigued. I suddenly realized that passions are not inherited — that what the pasture I was gazing at invoked in me was not a martial ethos but poetry.

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My father visiting West Point as a general during the Vietnam War.

Somewhere in between the boy who once sang the Vietnamese national anthem in the school yard in Saigon with tears in his eyes and the young man preparing to go to college believing in his own power to shape his destiny was the slow but natural demise of the old patriotic impulse.The boy was willing to die for his homeland. The man had become circumspect. The boy had believed that the borders, like the Great Wall of China, were real demarcations, their integrity not to be disputed. The man discovered that the borders have always been porous. The boy was once overwhelmed by the tragedy that had fallen on his people, had resented history for robbing him and his family of home and hearth and national identity. The man, though envious of the primacy of his childhood emotions, has become emboldened by his own process of individualization.

Indeed, the Cold War and its aftermath has given birth to a race of children like me — transnationals. The greatest phenomenon in this century, I am now convinced, has less to do with the World Wars than with the dispossessed those wars sent fleeing. Today displacement — movement — has become the contemporary narrative.

Today in America, in retirement, my father watches CNN and practices his martial arts. He does not expect history to be kind and is, therefore, not an unhappy man. He watches the collapse of communism around the world with glee and sips his wines.” Perhaps one day soon, when communism fails there too and democracy reigns, my father will return to Vietnam, if only to dance one last dance on his enemies’ graves.

Whereas I…

Every morning I write, rendering memories into words. Only this morning, waking from a recurrent dream in which I am diving into the ocean to retrieve a rusty gun, do I begin to appreciate how tricky history is, how powerful its grip on one’s soul. Always in the dream I reach out for the gun but it dissolves into sand, into mud, and sifts through my clutching fingers.

Every morning I write, going back further, re-invoking the past precisely because it is irretrievable. I write, if only to take leave.

A kiss then for my father as the weekend visit ends. I tear a hole through the army uniform’s plastic cover, lean close and sniff. There is no odor now of gun powder, no smell of scorched earth, no cigar stench — only the faint smell of mothballs, old dust.

Related posts:

Setting the Record Straight on South Vietnam

The Impulse to Travel

Andrew Lam is an editor with New America Media and author of the “Perfume Dreams: Reflections on the Vietnamese Diaspora,” and “East Eats West: Writing in Two Hemispheres.” His latest book is “Birds of Paradise Lost,” a short story collection, was published in 2013 and won a Pen/Josephine Miles Literary Award in 2014.

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

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Youthful Memories

Youthful Memories


The book begins before my birth in 1942, during World War II on my Dad?s farm in Borden County Texas. We moved many times during the first eighteen years of my life. My family and I have gone through many hardships during those years. We were very poor but did not know it in our younger years. Everyone we encountered was in a similar situation. We soon found out when we started to school. I started to school on a cold winter day in November, 1948. My brothers Richard, Ray and I had to walk a mile to catch the bus. I have never forgotten how cold my hands and feet were when the bus finally arrived. It seemed like hours but it was probably ten or fifteen minutes. Starting late to school was the normal, because farm children had to pick the cotton before winter set in. I never heard of any parents getting into trouble for keeping the children out of school so long. I know Mom and Dad didn?t. We moved five times between 1948 and 1957. We moved to Roswell, New Mexico in 1954. We were fortunate to move within the same school district so we did not have to change schools the next three years. I graduated from the eighth grade in 1957 from Berrendo School. In September I started to North Junior High School my freshman year in Roswell. The first time I went to a city school. The next year I went on to Roswell Senior High School. My dad gave up on farming and worked in a service station in Lake Arthur the next two years. I stayed in Roswell with my three brothers living in a trailer house. My oldest brother JW sold the trailer and married his girl friend Betty in 1959. My mom, two brothers, Richard and Ray, two sisters, Mary Jo and Annie and I moved into a house next door to JW and Betty. My Mother baby sat Betty?s? two children. I took on clothes ironing jobs, so I would have money for school supplies and spending money. I did not change schools again. However, I did not graduate with my class in 1961. I took a correspondent course and received my diploma and immediately I h

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Dim All the Lights for Donna Summer: My Personal Memories of One of the All-Time Great Singers

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May 17 marks three years since Donna Summer died unexpectedly, having kept her illness a secret to even those she regarded as close friends. Though her passing was widely reported at the time, the coverage was limited in scope, as so much of it boxed in one of our most virtuosic vocalists as the “Queen of Disco,” essentially burying her with a mirrored ball tied to her feet (which she would have loathed).

I was troubled that so many of the obituaries were dry, fact-based lists of her accomplishments, wholly lacking in heart, failing to convey the true measure of her spirit or cultural impact. I knew Donna and worked with her over the years. On this anniversary, I want to share my feelings about her in a way that more vividly and emotionally reflects her legacy.

My first memories of meeting Donna have the dreamlike quality of one of her 20-minute musical suites. It was 1989, a good year for Donna Summer, who had just scored her first huge hit in several years with “This Time I Know It’s For Real,” a worldwide, multi-format success. I knew the chart positions in every country because at the time I worked as an assistant to the head of public relations at Warner Music International, Donna’s label. One of the best parts of my job was to occasionally look after artists while they were in New York for promotion. With Donna, this never felt like work because she and her husband Bruce Sudano were real people: down-to-earth and kind.

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One afternoon my boss was busy and asked me to accompany Donna and Bruce to the Roseland Ballroom for a radio show soundcheck. This was what was referred to as a “track date,” meaning that Donna would be singing live to a pre-recorded track to promote the album Another Place and Time. That was the first time I heard Donna Summer’s voice live, and it was a musical moment that still produces intense euphoric recall. Donna was fairly unassuming, and hadn’t been noticed much amidst the environment of chaos that filled the room. And then she began to sing.

The track for “Love’s About to Change My Heart,” the album’s second single, began with a hallmark Donna Summer-ballad intro. At first, her voice was lost amidst the ballroom’s din: “I never needed someone/Cause I always led a life of my own.” By the third line, I noticed the energy began to change, heads whipped around, immediately identifying the unmistakable sound of Donna Summer. The song continued, building, growing, Donna standing with one hand on her hip, casual, in jeans with a big hat, big smile, and that sound just emerging from her body with seeming effortlessness.

The room had become hushed, the rapt silence creating an atmosphere of reverence and respect. She gave hand signals to the sound guy to adjust her levels: a secret language. The rest of us just stood and listened, rather stunned. “How does a person even do this?” I remember thinking. The voice: clear, brilliant, throbbing, thrilling. By the time the song’s rhythm track kicked in, a group of disparate people, many technicians (who generally don’t give a shit) had become a Donna Summer audience.

At the song’s crescendo, each note moving up a half-tone on the scale, until it reaches the payoff, the money note: “Love’s about to change, change, change, my… heart.” I looked at Donna’s face, which seemed to say, “Nothing to it,” but to the listener it was everything; the moment was sublime, the essence of Donna Summer’s artistry. She sang like Fred Astaire danced.

Though Donna Summer was synonymous with disco, there was so much more to her stylistically. To listen to recordings like “Hot Stuff,” “Cold Love” or “Protection” (which was written expressly for Donna by Bruce Springsteen, a fan), to name just a few examples, is to hear authentic rock ‘n roll vocals: shredding and balls to the wall. To hear her recording of the Billy Strayhorn standard “Lush Life,” her own Giorgio Moroder/Pete Bellotte swing era-tinged collaboration “I Remember Yesterday,” or her recording of Evita’s “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,” is to hear a theatrical voice of exceptional power and interpretive acuity (Donna got her start on stage, in the German production of Hair).

To listen to the 1982 Quincy Jones-produced album Donna Summer, especially its first single, “Finger On The Trigger (Love Is in Control),” as well as her subsequent single, “Mystery of Love,” is to have the odd sensation of beholding the complete chassis of the Michael Jackson Thriller-era pop sound, only the car’s exterior is now regally personified by Donna Summer and the hood ornament is a sparkling “D.”

After the disco juggernaut was snuffed out, radio changed and Donna’s career continued as she experimented with other musical genres, scoring some of her biggest hits, like “She Works Hard for the Money” and the exuberant, reggae-flavored “Unconditional Love” in the post-disco era. Of course, anytime she even opened her mouth, no matter what came out or what year it was, the result was a number one dance record. Like the concept suggested by the titles of two of her albums, I’m A Rainbow and Crayons, Donna’s musical curiosity and diversity allowed her to paint in many colors. It’s no surprise then that she was also a fine artist of notable skill. I remember helping to plan what I think was her first major art show in New York during that first encounter in 1989.

There were three separate periods in my music career where Donna and I orbited each other and I am so grateful for each and every memory. But first, for me and for so many other people, Donna’s music was the soundtrack of my adolescence. In junior high school, not an easy time, Donna’s voice comforted me and consoled me as I dreamed of nights on the dance floor that I was just a few years too young to live out in real life. Her music transported me to light of New York City and Studio 54, just 35 miles away, but so much farther than that if you were an unhappy teenager.

Instead of dancing at the clubs, I danced around my bedroom. In the winter of ninth grade, as I obsessed about my lack of popularity and redecorated my bedroom for the twentieth time, I wore out my copy of Donna Summer Live and More, communing with the outstanding die-cut album art and reading the label copy over and over as if it were a sacred text.

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I met Donna initially during my aforementioned stint at Warner Music. This was a period when I was also writing songs myself. Like many young people who worked at the labels, I was also pursuing my own musical aspirations when I wasn’t in the office. My commitment to songwriting and passion for pop music, coupled with my youth, made this a very heady time for me, as I was beginning to meet some of the people who I had heretofore only dreamed about. This made me particularly vulnerable to the social advances of Paul Jabara, who wrote the Oscar-winning “Last Dance” for Donna, and whose larger-than-life personality redefined pushy. He was an amazing force of nature: a Lebanese Mama Rose, and a songwriting God to me.

Paul had begun to call our offices trying to find out what Donna was up to (tracking someone down was much harder to do in the pre-digital era, you had to “call around.”) Sensing a sympathetic spirit in me (read “gay”), Paul poured on the charm, and without much hesitation, I disclosed that I had reason to believe that Donna and Bruce just might be going to Elaine’s, the legendary Upper East Side restaurant, after the Roseland show. Paul had been down, his productivity hamstrung by his battle with AIDS and a serious coke habit, none of which I knew at first. What I did know was that he seemed to crave the connection to Donna, his old friend, as a different kind of fix — a sort of talisman that he was still “hot.” I identified with so much of Paul’s desperation to be validated without understanding why. Drawn to his charisma, flattered by his attention, I agreed to bring him as my guest to Roseland. Thus began a short, but memorable, friendship.

Paul was a trip. Everything was completely over-the-top with him, and even though I later found out he was already pretty sick, you couldn’t easily tell. His enthusiasm was infectious. Hanging out with him, you could see how his pushiness coupled with his talent resulted in such great success. He had that amazing blend of pathological determination, unwillingness to compromise, and a need to be acknowledged that I’ve only recognized in other people who are carrying childhood trauma like heavy backpacks through their lives.

After the show, Paul said, “Okay, sweetie, let’s go to Elaine’s.” At this, I panicked. “But Paul, I can’t; I wasn’t invited and if my boss finds out she’ll fire me. ” I was frightened of my supervisor, and with good reason: She was territorial and terrifying. “Don’t worry, kiddo, you’re with me and if anything happens I’ll say I brought you. Besides, don’t you want to have dinner with Donna Summer?” The truth is I wanted to have dinner with Donna very much. I also wanted to have courage like Paul Jabara, so I borrowed his. The resulting meal was the first time I had ever had dined with a star.

When we got to Elaine’s, Paul said hello to its owner, Elaine Kaufman, who personally whisked us in to the room and led us to a preferred table where Donna held court. I’d never been to a restaurant where there were famous people anywhere but in pictures on the wall. I noticed something magical about the energy in the room, as if I had crossed over into some other universe where everything looks the same but is somehow just better. It seemed to me that the air was imbued with magic, and all the things you dreamed about as a sad kid that would make you feel less awful about yourself had actually fulfilled their promise.

Donna seemed surprisingly happy to see Paul, and completely unsurprised that I would be there, which struck me as odd; never having been around celebrities socially, I was unacquainted with the casual dynamic of posses and hangers-on. Paul sat me right next to Donna, who treated me immediately like an old friend. In that very moment I stopped caring about what my boss would say, because in that second, and perhaps for the first time in my life, I felt exponentially less terrible about being me. David Munk from East Brunswick, New Jersey was sitting at Elaine’s with Paul Jabara and Donna Summer! This might be accurately regarded as the first time I experienced the drug-like effect of celebrity or, to be more specific, proximity to celebrity.

Donna asked me if I liked the show and wanted to know how I thought it sounded from the audience, which blew my mind. Had I had stepped into a dream where all the pain of my childhood was seemingly ameliorated by my simple proximity to Donna Summer? I looked around the table at six other gay men who, no doubt, felt the same way I did, but I also felt some bitchiness: They envied my preferential seating next to Donna.

At some point during the meal, the conversation came around to a subject that seemed painful to Donna, the alleged homophobic comments that she’d made about AIDS being God’s revenge on gay people. Of course, I had heard the rumors which had been repeated so many times they seemed to have acquired an air of legitimacy and, what’s worse, had had a negative impact on Donna’s career, upsetting her core fan base to such an extent that some had turned their back on the woman they had once regarded as “the Queen.”

Paul practically screamed to me, “Look at this table, David,” with a huge gesture pointing out six gay men, one well-adjusted husband and Donna Summer. “I ask you, is this what the dinner table of a homophobic person would actually look like?” He had a point, but then, I’d never believed the rumors in the first place. “Really, David,” Donna said, her voice quiet and touched with sadness, “I love everyone,” she added defensively, “I would never, ever make a comment like that.” I thought it was odd that she felt compelled to set the record straight to me, a starstruck assistant. “No woman in my position could even function for a day without gay men in her life. I love my gay friends.” “You see,” Paul added, “She never said that about gay men. She loves us.”

I saw Paul periodically after that. I would go over to his apartment and he would make me spaghetti and listen to my demos while he did lines of coke off a table. He seemed lonely. He even let me hold the Oscar he had won for writing “Last Dance.” Even better were his critiques of my work: an Academy Award-winning songwriter tutoring me. “This is good but you have to bring the vocals forward, David. Always keep the vocals in the front of the mix,” he would remonstrate, “Always!” We’d listen to music and he’d tell me stories. He was an odd study in opposites: determined and defeated, embittered but hopeful.

No matter how sick Paul got, I’m certain his relationship with Donna always represented the apex of his success as well as his last, best chance of having another hit. When I found out three years later that he had died from AIDS, I was extremely sad. I’d had no idea. The news of his illness, in that terrible decade when it seemed like almost everyone died, put his emotional neediness in a different perspective, as well as making his adoration of Donna and his abiding hope for having another “great moment” all the more poignant. I didn’t understand him very well at that age, but looking back from this vantage point, after my own years of career highs and lows, I think I understand him better.

Now Donna is gone as well; I can feel the same heaviness in my heart that I felt when Paul died, for they were kindred. But there was a third person: Donna was also deeply connected to Bruce Roberts, who co-wrote “No More Tears (Enough is Enough)” with Jabara and for whom I worked in the late 1990s. It was during that time in Los Angeles, via Bruce, that Donna came back into my life and I got to know her better and spend more time with her.

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I remember one day when I was in the office, which was in Bruce’s home. Bruce had gone shopping to Barney’s with Donna, an outing that I knew he relished (“David, you should have seen the faces of the staff behind the counter when Donna walked up, you’ve never seen such love.”) I was working at my desk and listening to Lena Horne’s recording of “Stormy Weather.” I remember the name of the song because I wrote in my journal that night. “Life is bare/Gloom and mis’ry everywhere/Stormy weather.”

Suddenly the vocal was strangely doubled. I thought my speaker wires were loose. “Just can’t get my poor self together.” Suddenly Donna sashays into the room, arms rolling in a waving motion and her voice — that voice — joining with the great Lena Horne and singing just for me. Donna was like that: spontaneous, playful and not afraid to use that vocal gift to have fun, to make a point, to celebrate life. Bruce had set the whole thing up so she would walk in and surprise me.

She wasn’t precious about her singing; she shared it freely and with no self-consciousness. I think she enjoyed what the power of her voice and what her presence could do in any context. I will always see her that way: in an imaginary spotlight in front of my desk in Bruce’s house, belting “Stormy Weather,” standing on Lena’s shoulders and giving me a “forever” moment, one that I can, in turn, share with you now.

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In these desultory days of auto-tune, when singer and pole dancer — two professions with formerly diametrically opposed skill-sets — are now, sadly, interchangeable, Donna Summer’s protean abilities seem even more impressive. Only in what’s left of the music business can you be a singer without really being able to sing. The fact that in addition to having that voice, Donna Summer wrote or co-wrote almost every one of her iconic songs is a detail that should be considered when properly assessing her place in history.

It is a fact that Summer was, along with the Bee Gees, the recording artist who most completely captured the essence of what was first affectionately, then derisively called “Disco” music in the late 1970s. But what gets obfuscated in yoking the singer to the “Queen of Disco” sobriquet is her true range as an artist. “Disco” died in 1979 because the homophobic, racist majority felt threatened by what was an unabashed celebration of African-American and gay urban culture, forcing the word disco to shape-shift into the less descriptive (and less overtly gay) “Dance Music.” Donna Summer was simply one of the best singers, period.

In the end, I think she’d like to be remembered as a great musician whose stunning, soaring voice brought joy to people all over the world for almost forty years. In order to do that, you can’t just define a trend: You must transcend it and create something that endures. Donna Summer’s music will endure. That is her legacy and it is everyone’s to celebrate.

A different version of this piece appeared in Stargayzing.com

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

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The Home Made Simple Team Celebrates Makeover Memories | Home Made Simple | Oprah Winfrey Network

The Home Made Simple team reminisces about working with inspiring individuals and families and witnessing their emotional responses to their transformed homes.

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Each week host Soleil Moon Frye and her team of experts meet a couple who find themselves stuck in their quest of making over a room, tackling a once-in-a-lifetime event or repurposing that favorite antique.

Oprah Winfrey Network is the first and only network named for, and inspired by, a single iconic leader. Oprah Winfrey’s heart and creative instincts inform the brand — and the magnetism of the channel.

Winfrey provides leadership in programming and attracts superstar talent to join her in primetime, building a global community of like-minded viewers and leading that community to connect on social media and beyond. OWN is a singular destination on cable. Depth with edge. Heart. Star power. Connection. And endless possibilities.

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The Home Made Simple Team Celebrates Makeover Memories | Home Made Simple | Oprah Winfrey Network
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With Memories Of A Comic Comrade, Margaret Cho Helps The Homeless

The comedian Margaret Cho has been busking around her hometown, singing, plinking on her guitar and nearly stripping to raise money for the homeless. San Francisco has pop-up restaurants, art galleries and shops, but Ms. Cho’s may be the first pop-up charity.

Through social media, she has notified fans, who brought coats, pants, shirts, shoes, blankets and lots of socks as well as cash, which she gave away at each event. Her ninth and final performance was on Tuesday.
Entertainment – The Huffington Post
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Ashley Madison - Have an affair. Married Dating, Affairs, Married Women, Extramarital Affair

1996-97 Bowman Best Basketball Complete Set of 125 Cards – Mounted Memories

1996-97 Bowman Best Basketball Complete Set of 125 Cards – Mounted Memories


This 1996-97 Bowman Best Basketball complete set will consist of the entire 125 card set and will include rookie cards of Kobe Bryant, Steve Nash, Allen Iverson, Ray Allen, Antoine Walker, and others. It will also include stars and Hall of Famers such as Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Hakeem Olajuwon, Charles Barkley, Larry Bird, and Magic Johnson. The set will come shipped in a storage box with a Fanatics Authentic label. Please note that once this Fanatics Authentic seal/packaging is opened that this item is non-returnable.
List Price: $ 56.44
Price: $ 49.95

Donald Duck Video Games: Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep, Kingdom Hearts II, Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories, Kingdom Hearts Coded, Donald Duck: Goin’ Quackers, Quackshot, Donald in Maui Mallard, Magical Tetris Challenge

Donald Duck Video Games: Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep, Kingdom Hearts II, Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories, Kingdom Hearts Coded, Donald Duck: Goin’ Quackers, Quackshot, Donald in Maui Mallard, Magical Tetris Challenge


Used – Please note that the content of this book primarily consists of articles available from Wikipedia or other free sources online. Pages: 32. Chapters: Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep, Kingdom Hearts II, Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories, Kingdom Hearts coded, Donald Duck: Goin’ Quackers, Quackshot, Donald in Maui Mallard, Magical Tetris Challenge, Donald Duck’s Playground, World of Illusion Starring Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, Disney Golf, Mickey’s Speedway USA, Disney’s PK: Out of the Shad

Price: $
Sold by Alibris UK: books, movies

Magical Memories: The Greatest Royal Photographs of All Time

Magical Memories: The Greatest Royal Photographs of All Time


A fully updated collection of the very best of Arthur’s delightful color pictures and unique stories, including the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, the 2012 Olympics, and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s new baby In terms of royal photography, Arthur Edwards is a legend. For 30 years, he has captured the most poignant and memorable moments in the recent history of the monarchy. His images range from candid shots to intimate portraits to rare moments when protocol is put aside to reveal the true personalities behind. Princess Diana referred to him as “our Arthur” and Prince Charles introduces him to world leaders when they are on royal tours. He has been on hand to capture the blossoming romance and subsequent wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton; he was there to witness happy and loving moments at the start of Charles and Diana’s marriage; he saw Prince William’s first steps; and he was there for Prince Harry’s first day at Eton. As well as having taken momentous pictures, Arthur has fascinating stories to go with them. For example, the time when Patti Palmer-Tomkinson announced to the assembled press that her “Uncle Harry” would be joining her party–and out stepped Prince Charles wearing false glasses, nose, and moustache. Or in Liverpool when a young lad rode up to Princess Diana and asked for a kiss–and she obliged. It was also Arthur who pointed out to Prince Charles during a polo match that his fly was down–having checked with Arthur that nothing was showing, the Prince then carried on playing. This wonderful book is packed with the magical memories of someone who has been present as history and headlines have been made.

Price: $
Sold by Wal-Mart.com USA, LLC

Gleneagles Hotel and Golf Courses Framed Panoramic Photograph – Mounted Memories

Gleneagles Hotel and Golf Courses Framed Panoramic Photograph – Mounted Memories


This is a panoramic photo of Gleneagles Golf Courses. The panoramic is double matted and is framed in a wood step frame and has a 1” x 6” nameplate with a short description. The framed piece measures 16.5” x 42.5” x 1”.
List Price: $ 158.14
Price: $ 139.95

My Story Memories Book

My Story Memories Book


My Story…A Book of Memories is a busy parent’s Memory book. No more stuffing artwork and other important keepsakes in a drawer for organization at a later time. Now parents can easily organize their child’s artwork, certificates, school photos and other special items into large pockets and
List Price: $ 27.99
Price: $ 27.99

Doug Free Dallas Cowboys Framed 15” x 17” Collage with Game-Used Ball – Mounted Memories

Doug Free Dallas Cowboys Framed 15” x 17” Collage with Game-Used Ball – Mounted Memories


Each of these collectibles comes designed with a photo of the player and home stadium, a team logo, and an actual piece of game-used football from a Dallas Cowboys game. It is officially licensed by the National Football League and comes with a statement of authenticity. It is framed in black wood and measures 15”x 17”x 1”.
List Price: $ 90.34
Price: $ 79.95