Say Goodbye To Hollywood, To Luiggi… And The Gang At P & D’s Pizzeria

Has this ever happened to you?


It’s a late afternoon that's swiftly turning into evening. You’ve been sticking to your diet like a champ in training, but damn it, the time for fun has come and you deserve a special treat! You’re in the mood for your favorite food. You begin to crave this food so much you can actually TASTE it on your tongue. You know its flavor by heart. It’s so mad-crazy-stoopid delicious, you’re actually salivating. It's sooo damned good, even your senses trip and begin hallucinating. This becomes your one and only preoccupation.



You just can’t WAIT to sink your teefus into this delectable meal. It’s… it’s even mo betta than great sloppy sex... on dough!




This object of desire could be most anything edible and mad luscious. In my case, it happens to be that once–a-month slice of mouth-watering NY-style pizza served up so spicy-hot with that tasty killa combo. Yes, that combo! It has become so familiar to the senses and to the people working within the establishment that it has earned its own shorthand nickname: “Pizza/ MOP.” M.O.P = Meatballs, Onions & Peppers. Oh my!





Luiggi knows how to do it up most righteously. It’s long ago become akin to witnessing fine performance art just to watch him flipping the dough and then making a spectacle of olive oil, tomato sauce, mozzarella, parmesan and shredded feta cheeses. There’s so much love in this cat’s work. There’s a sense of pride in knowing that he’s creating these edible masterpieces for the masses, sometimes cranking out about a hundred of them a day.


This place, this joint, this spot, this boite has become such a usual and perhaps even vital part of your world, your sphere, your lifestyle and your steelo, that you begin to think of it as your own personal Cheers. Yes, everybody there KNOWS your name. Sometimes, they even shout it out in unison when you enter.

"LINNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

And afterwards, the more somber, buttoned-up waitress addresses you as "Leonardo."


This is love, right? It’s like your second-home. This is your Valhalla and your Mecca. It’s your sweet spot and your ambrosia!



The atmosphere is friendly and clean, but not too ornate or fancy. It suits you. It invites you inside to partake in a variety of Italian cuisine and culinary delights. You like it here. You can kick back and exhale here. Ahhh yes...


So you turn that familiar corner, hungry, beyond hungry… just so damned anxious to taste that nirvana on your tongue... And then... you notice how the place looks somehow different and strange and unusually darker. Hmmm… you wonder: Are they going for a newer, dimmer ambiance? Then you attempt to open the door, this entrance to your second home, expecting to be hit by the smells of all those delicious aromas wafting up your nostrils, and that patter of friendly banter caressing your ears, and the employees there to call out your name like they tend to do, which both embarrasses and welcomes you… ONLY... the door never opens... those aromas never arrive... and the banter never materializes.

That damn door is LOCKED!


WTF?

It’s closed, yo. Closed? No. NOOOOOOOOOOOO! Can't be. This is madness! Aiiight now… stop playin’ y’ all! I’m serious! Hey, its Lin, yo! Open up!

Only no one ever comes to the door, and no one is there to greet you.

This place, your second home; that dome of heavenly aromas is gone. Is no more.... is Poof! Is... ghost! Is... Out. Of. Business!


Pipe in that Esther Rolle as Florida Evans patented 1, 2, 3, 4 times with feeling:


"Damn! DAMN! DaMMMMN! Day-YUM!"

No one told you. No one warned you. No one ever gave any clue that this day was coming.

You feel all at once: ravenous and foolish. This feeling soon morphs into chronic states of disbelief, disappointment and then... betrayal. This suddenly shifts into curiosity, grief, anger and something like a death within your immediate family.


How could this possibly happen? Where the HELL will you get your pasta fix, now?

More importantly: What will happen to the workers, the cooks, the waiters and waitresses? What will become of the ambitious bartender who wanted to be an actor, and had once appeared in a bit role on an episode of Law and Order, and who never failed to mention it once you indulged in conversation that lasted longer than a minute or two? What would become of these beautiful people with their humble plans and their dreams, their ambitions and their families?


Yes, the hunger pangs are physical and pressing, but it’s the Bigger Picture that is haunting and much more overwhelming.

This economy is a beast that gobbles up the dreams of little people in one fell swoop.

This economy is a bitch that gnaws at the arms and legs and the vital parts of this collective body we call America.

This economy is taking the (fast) food from my mouth, and squashing the souls of those who once served it up with a smile.

Yes. They’ve turned off all the ovens, shut off the lights, and bolted the door shut to my favorite pizzeria.

Never again will I imbibe in the utter lusciousness of a 'MOP' slice.

*sigh*

Never again will I hear my name shouted in some slightly Italian accent as I enter that small piece of urban paradise.


This isht hurts so much… and not just within that gnawing empty space inside of my belly.


Nah. It's so much BIGGER than that!


This time... it’s gotten personal!



"Damn! DAMN! DaMMMMN! Day-YUM!"


One.

for a friend who is seriously considering suicide...

Dear G:


Really?


I mean... seriously?


I’ve just finished reading your words. Now this crazy tear sits inside of me. It lingers here... blurring my vision... but I refuse to cry. Now this same tear is threatening to form a gray cloud over my right eye until it mimics some emotional cataract. Always hate it when that happens.

Your thinking is obviously misguided and splintered, and yet your words were clear. Your intentions sounded so decisive and methodical, as if you were standing at this last chance terminal, finalizing your flight plan.

G, trust me... final is a very, very long time, my friend.


I am so sorry that the trip you’d planned and all those arrangements you’d made didn’t pan out the way you’d imagined… especially after you’d hoped and written and prayed that it would. I am truly, deeply, seriously sorry that this person you profess to love, ignored your pleas, refused to even see you, or answer your emails or respond to your texts or take a single one of your desperate calls. I am sorry that you’ve allowed someone else the power to make you feel so meek and small and so damned unnecessary. I am sorry that your efforts were all for naught.

I could say that this is THEIR loss. But I fear that, being in the place you are, you won’t really process this reality or even hear me, now.

G… please know this: When it’s real, when it’s actual, alive and thriving and factual, Love is a Verb; an all-consuming verb. It doesn't play cruel games, ignore or abuse you, or kick you in your gut. Love doesn’t ridicule or crush your spirit. It doesn't hurt or fuck you in some deeply wounding way.


Love is supposed to support you, hold you…. and LIFT you up!



Love is supposed to produce a feeling in its hosts “so High…" your “shoes are scraping the sky”… remember?

But Love, The Real Deal Stuff, doesn’t truly exist if it isn’t reciprocated. Yes, that’s a rough and mad tough pill to swallow, my friend. Yes, it may hurt like all hell, but I swear, it’s true. So what you thought was Love, was, in fact, a joyful memory, a past-life experience, an illusion, or some beautiful dream you’ve retained in your heart.


It doesn’t mean you are not worthy of Love, because you most definitely are worthy. Please know, you ARE worthy of REAL LOVE! This episode simply means that *this thing* this experience, this one-sided emotionally fanatic thing you’ve somehow miscomputed and mislabeled as “love” was not destined to bloom, or flourish or endure for the entirety of your journey.


But... guess what? This Too Shall Pass.


I’m also very sorry that the reunion with your estranged father fell through. I am sorry that your dad chose to spend time with the “beloved” brother, instead of you. Sad. This too is HIS loss. If you have been made to feel as if you’re unloved or loveless, then that is deeply unfortunate. But it also happens to be a blatant untruth.



So now… what? You not want to punish those people who’ve hurt you, ignored you and chosen not to present and honor you with their love?


The truth is, your demise might sting some, might hurt others, MIGHT cause a few to grieve you, for only a minute or two. And… then what? You’re gone, and their lives will continue to go on.



I fear you haven’t truly THOUGHT this thing through, my friend.


And what about your son, and his family? You want them to suffer, too? Do you really think leaving them a few things, articles and your precious computer will soothe them through your eternal absence?


What about the friends who’ve offered you help and guidance, Light and Laughter and Love through your consistent episodes of pain? Do you want to spit in our faces, too?


What about those times when the sun shines brightly, and a smile comes into your heart and it crosses your face, and for no reason, you experience what can only be described as a Good Moment? Do you want to destroy those Good Moments, too?


What about the Spirit in you, the one who believes in The Creator... what are you really saying to Him? Are you saying that He Made Some Tragic Mistake in Creating you? Life is rough. It isn't for sissies. Are you, by this foolish intention, stating that you’re not worthy of a full and authentic Life, lived with zest and JOY, heartache and pain?


Truthfully, G, regardless of the few Donny Hathaways and Don Cornelius’ of this world, I really don’t believe suicide to be a natural part of our DNA. We have known Real Tests of The Human Condition: centuries of indignities, kidnapping, and slavery, centuries of systemic emasculation, physically, mentally and spiritually, and still most of us somehow survived without the terminal crutch of suicide.

But *heartbreak* and heartbreak alone is enough to do YOU in?


How Deeply and Sadly and Tragically Un-resilient of You!

Your sensitivity sometimes enlightens me... but your weakness only frightens and defeats me.




I would like to Believe that you are so much STRONGER than this, G. You are a Spirit-filled, God-fearing Being. You are, and you have been, a Light and a Beacon of True and Luminous Inspiration. And so, should you choose to selfishly snuff out that light, everything you ever said, everything you ever stood for will forever ring of fraudulence and dishonesty.


Should you snuff out that beautiful Light, you will truly know Hell, and NOT some sacred peacefulness you only imagine that other plane will be.


You need to remember this: What Doesn’t Kill Us… does in effect Make Us Stronger!

You need to know that the Sun sets... but it does indeed rise again.

You need to realize that suicide is a foolish and permanent solution to a temporary problem.

You need to always remember that as long as you are breathing, life can change, do a 180, and you will bear witness that: This Too Shall Pass.

You need to know and to put into daily practice, this, my friend:

ALWAYS BELIEVE that something WONDERFUL is about to Happen. And then, from the jaws of human suffering, reach down deep within... and...

Snatch JOY!


That’s it. That’s all.


I Love You.


Choose Life!



One.


LMR



P.S. Now I’ve all these crazy tears inside my eyes. Yo! Imagine that! Me. Crying over your tragic black ass! Guess I must be one of those people who actually feels that you matter in this world, G.

*Ponder* that, my friend.





One Love.


Lin

Honoring Ophelia Devore: A True Pioneer Who Forever Changed The Perception of Beauty…

Long ago and far away, when I was a shy and skinny student in high school, I recall there was this one girl who stood out far and above the rest. She was beyond fine, in fact, supermodel-pretty... and her skin was the color of good chocolates. She was very tall… almost my height, 6’1, and her style and swag were striking in every way. She had the proud posture of a seasoned Alvin Ailey dancer. She walked differently, spoke differently, even sat, stood and ate her food differently. Hard to say exactly what it was about her that so arrested and then captured the imagination, but she possessed a certain poise, grace and fashion-sense that seemed to be uncommon amongst other young women of her age, and especially at that time.

She was, of course, swiftly hated on, thought to be ‘siditty’ and projected an image or attitude that signaled she believed herself to be better than everyone else.

Well, everyone else was wrong. After finding the gonads to approach her, to speak with her and slowly become her friend, I discovered that all those impressions of her were erroneous, and she was a very cool, real down-to-earth person. The only exception: she had attended Charm School, thank you very much. But NOT just any charm school, mind you. It was some elite, high-faluting place known as The Ophelia Devore School of Charm... darrrhling! The whaaaaa?

And thus, this tidbit of information became my initial introduction to the existence of a woman called Ophelia Devore....“The Architect of the Charm and Modeling Business for People of Color.”




You see, long before the dawning of Donyale Luna...




who many fashion historians consider to be the "First Black Supermodel"...






and before there was a Naomi Sims…




or a Pat Cleveland…



...and before the doyens of the rag trade began to revere the names of Beverly Johnson…





Iman…




Naomi Campbell…





Tyra Banks…



Veronica Webb…



Or the ‘exotic’ Alek Wek…



And waaaaay before Jessica White…



her goodlookin' mama or her daddy were even born… more than sixty-five years ago, Ophelia DeVore pioneered the way for Blacks and other minorities in the modeling profession when she founded Grace Del Marco Models.

She was born in 1922. At age fifteen, Ophelia DeVore became a model in New York City, the mecca of the fashion and modeling world, where she started a career in the “Beauty Business.”


In the realm of modern history and of SOUL, pioneer is her role. Long before Black people en-mass had enlisted in the “Black Awareness Revolution” which exploded in the 60’s, Miss DeVore was engaged successfully in persuading big business that sales propaganda and advertising are inadequate without the Black mystique.



In 1946, Ophelia DeVore organized one of America’s first Black owned model agencies, Grace Del Marco, which pioneered in the development, counseling and placement of models of color. It was one of few places where black and brown models could actually find work. The DeVore/Del Marco models became pioneer image-builders in the minority communities. They inspired others, gave them a new faith and motivated them to reach-out and seek higher, bigger and more rewarding goals for themselves.


Miss DeVore offered industry and the public Black models not simply as pretty, beautiful or attractive faces, according to traditional Western standards; she offered models, who, with their utter diversity and wide-ranging skin colors said more than: “I’m Black or a minority person in the ads”– but the inner beauty of these models revealed itself externally, communicating the all-important, most imperrative message that the earth is populated by people of many colors, as within the rainbow. People stood be appreciated as individuals, and when together, they comprised a beautiful floral bouquet.


Miss DeVore’s models learned quite early that external appeal and one's physical attractiveness is a necessary possession to achieve success within the modeling field, but this alone is not enough. The inner beauty should be at least as uniquely lovely as the external... and then and only then, is the individual truly a “Beautiful Person.”


Some of those who benefitted greatly from Miss DeVore’s “success philosophy” would be actress/singer Diahann Carroll, actress Cicely Tyson and actor Richard “Shaft” Roundtree…


Also included among their esteemed alum are: Barbara McNair, WNBC anchorwoman Sue Simmons, news reporters Lynne White and Melba Tolliver, actresses Gail Fisher and Ellen Holly, and beauty authorities Audrey Smaltz and Susan Taylor.
Miss DeVore served as consultant to industry for many years, counseling in all major areas of marketing; new ideas, product testing and development, research, packaging, copy writing, concepts, advertising and distributions relating to the consumers, retailers and the media. She participated in creating new needs and wants, locating and developing new markets, and devising innovative methods of achieving maximum results.





Ophelia DeVore-Mitchell is also the publisher of the 37-year-old thriving Black weekly newspaper, The Columbus Times in Columbus, GA. Her newspaper and printing business are managed on a day-to-day basis by her enterprising daughter, Carol P. Gerdes. These businesses have continually expanded and are completely self-sufficient with all necessary printing and production equipment.


In her lifetime, Ophelia DeVore has received well over 300 awards from various business institutions and civic and community organizations for her valued services and outstanding contributions in creating a better quality of life for all people. Having made her mark, she is still as active today as she was when she created what is known today as the “Black Modeling Business”, with more than 50 years of proven experience as a lecturer, business executive, writer, promoter, and developer. The results of her initial efforts in her chosen field have since become legendary. This woman's continued contribution has been large and storied.

Not one to depend upon sheer luck, or to rest solely on her God-given genetic gifts, Miss DeVore was educated in New York City at Hunter College High School and New York University. While there, she majored in mathematics and minored in languages. Ms. Devore is been indeed, driven, although she never let an industrious career intrude upon her having an equally successful personal life. To that fact, she is the mother of five children, grandmother of nine and the great grandmother of six.




Today, even in her 90s, Ophelia is still very much alive and kicking. She resides in both New York City and Columbus, Georgia when not traveling extensively nationally and internationally.




And so, during this Black History Month, we salute you, Ophelia Devore for helping to forever change the perception of this illusive, most subjective thing we call Beauty.





One.

Honoring Romare Bearden, Harlem Renaissance Man And Black Picasso

He was OUR Picasso. He Was Our Shining and Most Artistic Prince. Unfortunately, unless you were/are a hardcore art groupie/consumer, historian or appreciator of Fine Art, chances are you may never have even heard of him. His name was Romare Bearden.




Romare Howard Bearden was born on September 2, 1911, to Richard-Howard and Bessye Bearden in Charlotte, North Carolina. He died in New York City on March 12, 1988, at the age of 76. His life and art reveal an exceptional talent, encompassing a broad range of intellectual and scholarly interests, including music, performing arts, history, literature and world art.




Bearden was also a celebrated humanist, as demonstrated by his lifelong support of young, emerging artists.


Romare Bearden began college at Lincoln University, transferred to Boston University and completed his studies at New York University (NYU), graduating with a degree in education. While at NYU, Bearden took extensive courses in art and was a lead cartoonist and then art editor for the monthly journal The Medley. He had also been art director of Beanpot, the student humor magazine of Boston University. Bearden published many journal covers during his university years and the first of numerous texts he would write on social and artistic issues. He also attended the Art Students League in New York and later, the Sorbonne in Paris. In 1935, Bearden became a weekly editorial cartoonist for the Baltimore Afro-American, which he continued doing until 1937.




After joining the Harlem Artists Guild, Bearden embarked on his lifelong study of art, gathering inspiration from Western masters ranging from Duccio, Giotto and de Hooch to Cezanne, Picasso and Matisse, as well as from African art (particularly sculpture, masks and textiles), Byzantine mosaics, Japanese prints and Chinese landscape paintings.


From the mid-1930s through 1960s, Bearden was a social worker with the New York City Department of Social Services, working on his art at night and on weekends.




His success as an artist was recognized with his first solo exhibition in Harlem in 1940 and his first solo show in Washington, DC, in 1944. Bearden was a prolific artist whose works were exhibited during his lifetime throughout the United States and Europe. His collages, watercolors, oils, photomontages and prints are imbued with visual metaphors from his past in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, Pittsburgh and Harlem and from a variety of historical, literary and musical sources. In the process, he would go on to become America’s Greatest Collagist.



In 1954, Bearden married Nanette Rohan, with whom he spent the rest of his life. In the early 1970s, he and Nanette established a second residence on the Caribbean island of St. Martin, his wife's ancestral home, and some of his later work reflected the island's lush landscapes. Among his many friends, Bearden had close associations with such distinguished artists, intellectuals and musicians as James Baldwin, Stuart Davis, Duke Ellington, Langston Hughes, Ralph Ellison, Joan Miró, George Grosz, Alvin Ailey and Jacob Lawrence.




Bearden was also a respected writer and an eloquent spokesman on artistic and social issues of the day. Active in many arts organizations, in 1964 Bearden was appointed the first art director of the newly established Harlem Cultural Council, a prominent African-American advocacy group. He was involved in founding several important art venues, such as The Studio Museum in Harlem and the Cinque Gallery. Initially funded by the Ford Foundation, Bearden and the artists Norman Lewis and Ernest Crichlow established Cinque to support younger minority artists. Bearden was also one of the founding members of the Black Academy of Arts and Letters in 1970 and was elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters in 1972.





Recognized as one of the most creative and original visual artists of the twentieth century, Romare Bearden had a prolific and distinguished career. He experimented with many different mediums and artistic styles, but is best known for his richly textured collages, two of which appeared on the covers of Fortune and Time magazines, in 1968. An innovative artist with diverse interests, Bearden also designed costumes and sets for the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, and programs, sets and designs for Nanette Bearden's Contemporary Dance Theatre.


Among Bearden's numerous publications are: A History of African American Artists: From 1792 to the Present, which was coauthored with Harry Henderson and published posthumously in 1993; The Caribbean Poetry of Derek Walcott and the Art of Romare Bearden (1983); Six Black Masters of American Art, coauthored with Harry Henderson (1972); The Painter's Mind: A Study of the Relations of Structure and Space in Painting, coauthored with Carl Holty (1969); and Li'l Dan, the Drummer Boy: A Civil War Story, a children's book published posthumously in September 2003.


Bearden's work is included in many important public collections including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Whitney Museum of American Art, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston and The Studio Museum in Harlem, among others. He has had retrospectives at the Mint Museum of Art (1980), the Detroit Institute of the Arts (1986), as well as numerous posthumous retrospectives, including The Studio Museum in Harlem (1991) and the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC (2003).




Bearden was the recipient of many awards and honors throughout his lifetime. Honorary doctorates were given by Pratt Institute, Carnegie Mellon University, Davidson College and Atlanta University, to name but a few. He received the Mayor's Award of Honor for Art and Culture in New York City in 1984 and the National Medal of Arts, presented by President Ronald Reagan, in 1987.




When he passed, it marked not only the end of an era, but the death of one of the last Great Artists whose work primarily focused on the lives, the joy, the pain, the reality and the celebration of African American culture.



We thank you, Mr. Bearden, for so eloquently helping to tell, illustrate and define our story.



One.

If Only You Had a Vision And Someone Had Listened: For Michael And Whitney...

Sometimes, you don’t have to be a fortune teller, a psychic or even clairvoyant to see into the future.

Sometimes, if you just live long enough, you can see the destiny of others unfold before your eyes.

Sometimes, you’d rather not know any details of that destiny, because it isn’t always so pretty.

Sometimes, you come to know things, only GOD should know, like what will happen, to whom it will happen, and when…

Sometimes, if you live long enough, you see the warmth of youthful smiles turn older, colder, as the glory days come, go, and slowly burn away from the heat of a million suns.

Sometimes, it hurts to see, to watch, to grieve, to experience Life’s twists and turns and such sadness manifest from an impotent distance…

If only you had a vision, and someone would have listened. If only you had a vision and someone would have listened. If only… if only you could have said:

“I’ve seen this movie already. Trust me. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

Who would have listened? Who would have believed it?




Michael: “Smile! The future’s so bright, we’ll BOTH have to wear Wayfarer shades, Whit!”



Damn. Just damn. I just caught a chill. Did you?




One.

Whitney: Au revoir, la bonne nuit, l'Adieu, Notre la plupart de Glorieux Diva.

1963-2012


Those Who Knew You In Newark Still Call You "Nippy." To Close Friends And Family, You Will Always Be "Nippy." To The World, And For The Ages, You Will Always Be
Whitney... Just Whitney...

Our Greatest Songbird! Our Iconic Princess! Majestic and Regal!
Our Hope! Our Most
Magnificent Whitney!!!


We Thank You So Much For Your Gift. You Possessed A Voice, Kissed By the Gods. It Was Spine-Tingling! It Was Sublime! Though, Sometimes This Sadness In Us Wishes You Had Treated It, And Yourself, Kinder.


Still, We Shall Never Forget The Force, The Gusto, The Sheer JOY This Voice
Could Bring To Us All. All Grit And Gospel! All Passionate Pop! All Shimmering Angelic Soul. Oh! God! How We Lived For The Sonic Thrill And The Soar Of It!
That Voice Could Pour Out Like Honey And Holy Water And Soundly, Most Profoundly Baptize Us All.

That Voice Was The Stuff Of Star-Fire, and Waterfalls...

Then Suddenly The Sky Darkened... And That Voice Was Gone.

You Can Rest Easy Now, Whitney... Soar Your Highest, Most Pristine Note
Inside The Heavens Now. Open Your Mouth, And Let That Symphony
Within Your Soul Fly Free, Now!


And As You Did Here, On Earth, Leave The Gossips With Something
To Talk About... Just Sing And Bring Those Goosebumps Upon
The Angels Skin!

The Lights Have Dimmed. Take A Bow. Fly Home Now, Nippy. And God's Speed To Whitney Houston. Our Most Beautiful...
And Troubled
Diva.







One.

Introducing: The First Official Pics of Baby Blue Ivy Carter, For Real…

Beyonce Knowles and Jay-Z have shared the first pictures of their daughter, Blue Ivy Carter.

The superstar couple - who welcomed their first child into the world on January 7 - unveiled a set of intimate family shots on social networking site Tumblr, which show a beaming Beyonce tenderly cradling the tot in her arms and the rapper comforting his adorable daughter as she sleeps.






In an accompanying message, the couple wrote: "We welcome you to share our joy.
"Thank you for respecting our privacy during this beautiful time in our lives."


After Beyonce gave birth to Blue Ivy last month, the pair admitted they were "in heaven" and described becoming parents as the "best experience" of their lives.

They said in a statement at the time: "Hello Hello Baby Blue! We are happy to announce the arrival of our beautiful daughter, Blue Ivy Carter, born on Saturday, January 7, 2012.




"Her birth was emotional and extremely peaceful, we are in heaven. She was delivered naturally at a healthy 7 lbs and it was the best experience of both of our lives.

"We are thankful to everyone for all your prayers, well wishes, love and support."
The duo recently filed paperwork with the US Patent and Trademark Office to trademark Blue Ivy Carter's name to prevent others from profiting from the moniker in the future.



It looks like the J & Bey dynasty is most likely to continue well into the foreseeable future.


Wishing all the best to the proud new parents, & of course, you too, baby Blue Ivy.


One Love.