Wendy Williams and Whitney Houston have a contentious history. Although Williams claimed to be one of Houston’s biggest fans, for years she took to her popular radio show and mercifully gossiped about the fellow New Jersey native. Williams’ on-air rants all led up to a tense interview between the two ladies, in which Williams questioned Houston about her relationship with Bobby Brown, her drug abuse, and her parenting skills.

It was a train wreck, but many couldn’t stop listening.

After Houston died, a tearful Wendy Williams said she’ll no longer talk about the singer, but for Hubert, the damage was done.

Hubert recently penned a letter to Williams taking her to take for her treatment of celebs, and asking her to put her gossiping ways behind her.

Read Hubert’s open letter to Wendy Williams and let us know what you think. 

Dear Wendy,

This past weekend was a very difficult time for so many of us.

I watched the funeral service with the rest of the world, and cried time and time again with each story that was told. I felt like I knew more about this amazing woman than ever before. We all watched her as a little girl, center stage, singing like a bird, she was destined for superstardom. To watch her center stage full circle in death was a feeling no mother should ever have to feel. I applaud Ms. Warwick, the pastor, and all others who formed a police line of love and protection around her that was impenetrable only to those who really knew her. We, the public accepted their decision to keep it private, but they allowed us to witness her Home Going ceremony, I don’t know if I could have been so gracious. WE felt like we knew her and we knew nothing about her except what we read and hear from people like you and other media outlets. I listened to her interview with you and was compelled to say out loud. “Go on Whitney tell her like it is,” when you pried into her life back then. I had my son in the same year as Ms. Houston; we did Ebony Magazine that same year, she introducing her baby girl and me my son. I am trying to be dignified, but here goes.

The Internet has become somewhat like the 10 commandments, and this is why… whatever is posted or commented on… is forever written in stone. Neither I nor anybody can stop anyone from making up stories, reviews, lies etc, cutting and pasting whatever they decide to put together like a bad buffet breakfast.

I have had some horrible meals shoved down my throat on the web that I had no parts of.

I still have a bad taste in my mouth from a recent cut and paste meal from your beloved TMZ (THE MUDSLINGING ZONE). I believe you said once “If you heard it on TMZ then it must be true,” really Wendy?

The Internet is indeed the information highway, but it can also be “a Forum of Hate.”

Though I never knew Whitney Houston, I felt a profound sense of loss and sadness. On Sunday morning I took my dog for a walk in the park across the street and still could not shake the sadness I felt. I wondered if what I was feeling was perhaps related to losing my mother and brother this past year, but then I thought no, it was something else.

The funny thing is, this woman wasn’t being at all shady, as she was in her late 30′s and considerably older than my friend who had just turned 30. If anything she was complimenting my friend on being in good enough shape to shimmy into such a tiny dress and just tellin’ it like it is (or as she sees it) style-wise. But until then I’d never thought about the need to start dressing less revealingly at a certain age. I’ve never been a fan of short skirts but I do like low-cut tops…do you mean to tell me that I’m going to have to start covering these puppies up and maybe should already be doing so?

I think that images that we see in the media have skewed my thinking on this because most of the women we see dressed demurely are elderly or members of government. For example, Toni Braxton (pictured) is 45 years old, looks amazing, and is showing more leg than your average woman would ever dare — as she should, she’s an entertainer. But let’s say Toni had the same figure and was an administrative assistant. How revealing would too revealing be for your average woman and at what age does the need to cover up a little bit kick in?

Is there a need to start covering up as women get older? If so, when does it start?

Just in time for the release of Tyler Perry’s Good Deeds this Friday, which White has a role in, the actor spoke with Essence.com to clear the air by letting people know how he really feels.

Read some excerpts from the interview:

You’ve caught a lot of flack for your comments about how Black women, so we just have to ask, Brian White, do you hate Black women?

BRIAN WHITE: No, come on. I’m Black Carpenter [the tile of his book and youth development program]. I’m out making sure kids have a future. I did that interview on speakerphone and my mom was in my car with me. I said the majority of what we, as a community, celebrate in the media, isn’t worthy of our women. Not the ones that I know and love. I’ve been out on the road with the UNCF, NAACP, and National Urban League doing Black Carpenter or working with little girls and boys in schools. I’m about that, more so than anything else. I’m not trying to be famous; I’m trying to make a difference. That’s all I meant to say. I apologize for any confusion.

Speaking of substance, you were very critical of reality TV and said something like; ‘You can’t call it a stereotype if it’s the majority.’ What did you mean by that?

WHITE: I’ll use my role as Randy in the movie ‘I Can Do Bad All By Myself’. People get mad and say that’s a stereotype of Black men. I’m saying guys like Randy might be a stereotype but when I go to the club on Friday, I see 150 of them grabbing sisters by the wrist going, “Yo, come over here.” That’s not how gentlemen act. We support those images because they a little closer to truth than we care to admit. Let’s take a character like, Madea, who is based on Tyler Perry’s aunt. She’s like 6-feet-tall and probably has a gun in her purse right now. Tyler is holding up a mirror. In traveling across the South doing plays, I met a lot of Big Mommas, like Martin Lawrence’s character. Sure, we’re exaggerating a little bit, but there’s some reality in there. 

Your comments may have been taken the wrong way since you were also criticized for marrying a woman who wasn’t Black [ his wife Paula is Latina]. Do you constantly feel like you have to defend yourself?

WHITE: Yes, I do. I have five younger sisters. My sister Ashley has a Caucasian husband and my sister Erin has an African husband, from Liberia. My other baby sister is a sophomore, and she’s dated every race from all over the world. And that was why I popped off about my wife. Because that’s the biggest love of my life, acting is second. It made me uncomfortable to be challenged on who I love. I thought, ‘There are 31 flavors of ice cream at Baskin Robbins, can I like one?’ Does it mean that I don’t like the others? No. It’s just confusing because I try to be positive and I think I’m about something that’s valuable, and to be slighted for love, or whatever, it’s just frustrating especially in 2012. 

Brian White doesn’t owe anybody any kind of explanation for his life or his opinions, but I don’t think this response gets to the heart of the matter. He basically said “I have a mother and sisters and I work with kids and am a positive person” as if those attributes and having a negative attitude towards black women are mutually exclusive.

Most folks wanted to hear him say, no, I don’t think most black women behave like overly-aggressive reality show fight-starters, I meant something else…anything else. Instead he clarifies his comment by pointing out that people consider any negative portrayal a stereotype, including un-gentlemanly men, even if it has some truth in it, because most men are not gentlemen. Does that change his claim that the majority of black women are like Nene, especially considering she’s (technically) not a character? It seems to reiterate the idea while also speaking negatively about black men. Brian White doesn’t seem like a bad guy at all but I’m not sure that he needs to be the poster boy for discussing black stereotypes in media with this logic.

Read the rest of the interview at Essence.com.

What do you think of Brian White clearing the air?

“Take control now. Forget about the negative thoughts which others have told you – that you are too old or too young. Stop letting the thoughts of others rule your life; stop being weak and cowardly, blaming your lack of progress on those negative programs. If you begin now and become a do-er, you will have earned your right to remain here.” - Thomas D. Willhite

It’s easy to blame your lack of progress on your weaknesses. You tell yourself you haven’t dropped those pounds because you’re too tired to take care of yourself, or you’re still single because you’re unlovable, or perhaps you can’t pursue a new career because you don’t have enough experience. Forget that!

Negative thoughts (and people) always seem to creep in when you’re on your way to greatness. Push them aside and keep plowing ahead toward your goals.

Happy Wednesday!

The White House hosted an installment of the series In Performance at the White House featuring BB King, Mick Jagger, and a host of other bluesmen. “Red, White and Blues,” will air on PBS on Monday, but you can catch the best part right here: President Obama, albeit reluctantly, treating us to another taste of his vocal stylings.

By the way, the musician egging Obama on by referencing his Al Green performance was Buddy Guy, a legend in the Chicago blues scene. His no-nonsense grown black man coercion was priceless! Am I the only one still needs moments like these to realize that our President is for real a black man?

Remember when Bill Clinton would go around playing the saxophone? I guess Obama singing is kind of like that — I’m fine with a few verses of song every once in a while as long as we don’t get to Herman Cain levels of nonsense. More than anything I’d like to see him do whatever is necessary to keep the attention of his supporters as the election approaches.

What do you think of the President singing…again?

To salute Heavy D’s impact and legacy Centric TV will air the one-hour documentary Be Inspired: The Life of Heavy D. The tribute will include performance clips, snippets of his memorial service in his hometown Mount Vernon, NY, and commentary from some of the rapper’s closet friends and colleagues including Will Smith, Mary J. Blige, Eddie F., Anthony Hamilton, Queen Latifah and Kim Fields. Watch Fields talk about working with Heavy D (who had a recurring role as Darryl on Living Single) in this clip from the documentary.

Be Inspired: The Life of Heavy D airs on February 26.

Will you check this documentary out?

That was the best day of that guy’s entire life.

You can watch more from the Janet Jackson/Anderson Cooper interview on the show’s website; Janet talks about her secret marriage, days on “Good Times,” and where she’s heading in the future. And, for the record, I can see a little mega-fan sentiment on Anderson’s face while he’s interviewing her.

I’m still trying to process how I feel about this musical olive branch extended between the once-volatile songbirds. Part of me feels disappointed that Rihanna seems to be in collusion with the boyfriend she once feared enough to file a restraining order against. Another part of me wants to reserve judgment because I understand the incredible burden survivors of abuse carry. We’re considered stupid for letting our partners hit us in the first place, and even more idiotic for staying in the relationship.

Yes, I said we.

I’m a survivor of domestic violence.

At one point, I would have advocated harsh justice for anyone who ever raised his or her hand to an intimate partner. It would be politically correct to advise RiRi to sever all ties with the man who once assaulted her, but there is no one-size-fits-all solution to dealing with an abusive ex, especially one who claims to be redeemed. If I had the chance to talk to Rihanna, speaking from my scars as well as my heart, this is the story I’d tell.

I was only a few years younger than Rihanna when my nightmare of abuse began. At 17, I lost my virginity to a man I both hated and feared. Jeff was one of the neighborhood drug dealers. He cruised the streets of our small town in his mud-colored Pontiac, a giant beetle in search of other invertebrates. I knew he was trouble the minute he lowered his tinted windows. In another world, I wouldn’t have given him a second glance. Instead, I gave him my phone number.

I wasn’t physically attracted to my soon-to-be boyfriend. He was short, four years older than I was, and a dropout. But he had money and tempted me with gold earrings and Gucci totes. I had just entered my senior year of high school and felt rebellious. We dated secretly because my mother would have never approved of the relationship. Jeff must have observed my nonchalance toward him or sensed the way I instinctively flinched when he touched me. Whatever the case, he was determined to make me love him. If some men can’t have a woman’s love, they’ll settle for her submission.

My first boyfriend tried to reshape my will into something that resembled romance. He extorted me for my emotions, and when I wouldn’t relinquish them he resorted to physical violence. He held me hostage in his bedroom for hours, alternately smothering my face in the pillow or twisting my arm behind my back until I thought it would break. Every time I vowed to leave him, Jeff begged me not to, crying that he couldn’t control his temper. Similar to Chris Brown’s upbringing, Jeff watched his mother being whipped into subservience on the regular. In a sick way, my boyfriend loved me–with his fists. And in a sick way, I was afraid to leave him even though I hated him. I fidgeted at the bus stop whenever he drove up to my high school because he bullied me in front of my friends in the quiet voice he used right before he put his hands on me. He wouldn’t hesitate to smack me in public. Once while we were eating breakfast in a crowded Denny’s restaurant with our friends, Jeff reached across a plate of pancakes and backhanded me. The waitress rushed over to our table and told Jeff to take his abuse elsewhere. She seemed to be sending the message that my boyfriend could stomp me, just not on Denny’s property.

Only a few friends were aware that I was being abused because I was too ashamed to ask for help. I was too afraid to tell my parents, too embarrassed to alert my guidance counselor. I was in gifted classes, but I felt foolish for not having the courage to walk away. I was too frightened to dump a guy who spied on me while I watched TV in the basement of my row house at night, who stalked me at my job and had to be escorted off the premises by security, who yanked my hair, tried to break my arm, and who tortured me in his bedroom for hours one winter until I fled down three flights of stairs, out the front door, and down the street barefoot with no coat.

This caricature of a “chocolate city” seems worlds away from where I grew up.

I was raised in a big, split-level house in a multi-cultural, beach-side community. It was a hybrid of working, middle and upper-middle class families. There was the veterinarian on the corner; my best friend’s mom, the CPA down the street; educators like my parents; and older folks like our grandmotherly next door neighbor, Mrs. Kaminsky, who spoke tearfully about Lithuania and brought us tasty balandėliai to eat. I spent my childhood riding my bike around our hilly neighborhood, trying not to get the wheels of my Schwinn stuck in the sand; building forts in the woods; and playing dodge-baseball (a sport of my friends’ own design). Often, we visited my grandparents across town on their tree-lined street of bungalows and postage stamp yards, tended by retired steelworkers and their wives.

In the summertime, people would flock from Chicago and neighboring cities to the local lakefront. Tourists coveted the clean sand and picturesque dunes. They marveled at the sprawling homes lining the beach. They enjoyed our quiet neighborhood and the local eatery that still serves the best boned-and-buttered perch you’ve ever had…guaranteed. And usually, visitors failed to realize that they were soaking in the sun and sand in the one place in Northwest Indiana that everyone thinks they should avoid.

I grew up in Gary, Indiana.

When outsiders talk about the 85 percent African American, Rust Belt city where I grew up, their perceptions rarely match mine. Because, as when folks discuss Detroit, New Orleans, Washington, D.C., or the South Side of Chicago, narratives really quickly get steeped in racial and class bias. I don’t mean to imply that these areas don’t have very real problems. But I find that people are all too willing to accept that the problems of a black area are all one needs to know–the full story. Black cities are routinely judged by the worst of what they have to offer. I think this is because crime and poverty and poor education and other urban ills fit the prevailing belief of what blackness is and what black folks will accept.

Also, there is a tendency among the broader culture to view areas strictly as either “good” or “bad.” In good areas, you are always safe. Bad areas are to be avoided at all costs. I suppose it makes people feel safer to think that crime and other bad stuff only happens to those people over there, who must have done something to bring it on themselves. This thinking makes it easier to deride and dismiss cities places like my hometown.

The truth is that even in the cities that house the worst neighborhoods, there are good neighborhoods. Even in places that battle criminality, most people are working every day and living their lives on the right side of the law. There are plenty of people who return to struggling cities to try and make them better. In the urban areas I know of, people are more hopeful than hopeless.

White, suburban areas don’t have a lock on good things; black, urban areas aren’t the only place bad things happen. Gary, Indiana, is not perfect. But it was my home. And the city, and my friends and family who still live there, deserve better than derision and blanket assumptions. There is good there, just as there is good everywhere.

What about you? Do you have fond reminiscences of growing up in a predominately-black area that people often deride?

I define good penetrative sex as energy-sucking, toe-curling, body-twisting exercise that tends to exhaust my partner and me. It’s pleasure on steroids, non-stop, rarely quick, and intense. It’s a thorough, deep, and attentive experience between my partner and me. It’s back-to-back orgasms, trying crazy positions, and matching each other’s lovemaking efforts.

I don’t need or want this everyday.

But I imagine there are women that enjoy penetrative sex on a daily basis, and men that may thank them for it. I’ve never lived with a partner or had one around every single day. But I often think about how my lack of desire for daily sexual intercourse will match my future partner’s desire. To be honest, I don’t give it too much thought, as I work very hard to honor when my body says yes or no regardless of how much I may care about the person. But it is something that I’m sure many women deal with, particularly as we balance careers, motherhood, and other daily interests.

Not all of us need or want penetrative intercourse everyday.

How does this influence our relationships with our partners? Are they understanding? Impatient? Frustrated? Or do they feel the same way and not need penetrative sex as a daily sexual energy release?

There are so many ways to disburse our hormones and desires. Often times, sexual energy is a great catalyst for creativity, health, or non-sex related sensual activities. It’s about finding the right balance for expression that’s suitable for your lifestyle and sex drive. It’s important to pay attention to and honor your personal needs.

How strong is your sex drive? Do you need penetrative intercourse on a daily basis? Or do you invest your sexual energy in other daily activities? Speak on it.