Sunday, November 16, 2008

Staying Vigilant

Rarely do I feel like the whitest guy in the room. In fact, quite the opposite, I often feel like the blackest. But yesterday was a rare exception. With the African Bull in town for a little "work", I capitalized on an opportunity to mingle with my people under the shelter of the Chicago Sheraton. And mingle I did. The only thing more prevalent than the snow flurries littering Michigan Avenue were the dashikis colorfully occupying the lobby. And where Africans congregate, so too do those who love studying Africans and their history. It's as if bald jewish graduate students are magnetically attracted to two things in life: Africa and corduroy pants. I'm thinking its our collective appreciation for flattering headgear.

So there I sat, intrigued by my Cameroonian associates, yet disturbingly out of place without facial hair, my nalgene bottle or a Mac computer. I didn't even have one of the fancy tote bags they gave to each conference attendee. But something about me must have made it clear that I was down. Perhaps it was my savvy use of urban slang. Or my draft day suit. Maybe it was even my Marcus Garvey shirt. One way or another, my African connection was quite clear, and my jaunt downtown proved well worthwhile when on the way out of the lobby one of my brother's colleagues did the unthinkable and dropped the N bomb on me! I felt so honored, like I had finally arrived in this world. He wasn't calling me the N word, but he felt quite comfortable using it in my presence. Actually, on second thought, I'm pretty sure he directed it at me. Regardless, being accepted is a beautiful thing.

Last night I went out with a couple brrrrroads who I hadn't seen since I was in Australia. But first I went to some meat market bar in Wrigleyville to link up with an old chap from college. I waited in line. I rolled my eyes at my surroundings. I stared at the tiny skirt directly in front of me, and I took out my ID and showed it to the surly bouncer bursting with authority. Then to my dismay, he pointed at my feet, pointed at a conspicuous sign on the door, and yelled "No Timberlands in the Club!" This is pretty much my biggest pet peeve out there in the world of socializing. That and when every white person in the spot joins voices and sings "living on a prayer" or "pour some sugar on me." That video is inspiring. Why the fuck can some little shit in beat up Chucks get into the club but my crisp Timbos get me not so politely booted out of the line, so to speak. I even have glasses on for God's sake! There is but one explanation. So I cursed at the bouncer, and may have called both him and his policy retarded. But when he began to indicate a willingness to physically remove me, admittedly...I stepped to the side. Point being, I don't want to be in some shit bar that doesn't allow Timbos anyway, so ultimately, my best interests were served. And that's why from here on out, I'm hanging out here, and not here.

And yes, I fully intend to link to an Eddie Murphy movie in every post.

18 comments:

  1. The no Timbos rule is certainly racist, but I think, and I'm not opposing your argument, that it is also a safety issue. In the event of a brawl, getting stomped with timberlands is a much different experience than being lightly kicked with light-ass hipster chucks.

    You are a multi-racial bul. If Puffs can wear a dashiki, I'm sure you could pull one off:

    I was looking for a clip from family guy of Peter as Kitchwatembo, but no dice (insert here.)

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  3. questioning the blackness of big firm is like questioning the blackness of africa itself. stay vigilant, young brother!

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  4. Ironically, I'm fairly sure you can't wear timbs at Palmer's, but I'm also fairly sure you can rock them at McFaddens.

    Where's Jesse when you really need him?

    RE: the Pour Some Sugar on Me vid, those two were definitely built to make some buls of African descent very happy.

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  5. You know, I had a feeling that was the case at Palmer's. But it's so cool to ride up in my hot new Kawasaki with timbs on. McFadden's is the worst place on earth.

    Those two jawns were drunk. And hot as all hell. They really knew how to make regular sized shirts look extremely small.

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  6. Those jawns are fine! "Look at awl deez brrrrooaaaaaads!"

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  7. I only go to clubs that sport a "No tims, no jerseys, no white tees" policy. It's how you know where the fun is at.

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  8. Naz, I think it's the equivalent of Logan's. Hence, pour some sugar on me...and all the other songs that were made for cray chubby white girls and frat boys that grab your ass while you are serving them shots of jager.

    I laughed to my poor stomach's detriment on this one. I love Cameroon.

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  9. Incredible as always big firm...I think I know the girls in the video.

    You think when i roll up to chi city i can get in with my camo jacket (not urban camo)?

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  10. You know the girls in the video bc they were numbers 74 and 75 on the hit list. Nothing in your wardrobe would be even remotely acceptable at the club, especially your rifle.

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  11. Is Logan's the place in Dallas where Fintonio works?

    Big Jern, is one of those girls the one that you gave ten bucks to and told her to go wait out by the road for a cab?

    What about crocks, Big Firm? Maybe you should go back with crocks on.

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  12. I wouldn't be surprised if that was Fintonio's place of employment one bit.

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  13. I can get on board with Cuntonio, though admittedly, this is the first I've heard of it.

    The World Be Free suit is a thing of beauty.

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  14. It is certainly not the first time you've heard it.

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  15. Could be. Shut up, Cuntonio.

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  16. Im adding a comment strictly to push us into the 20 comment frontier.

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  17. Lets' make these comments bar-legal

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