Friday, January 8, 2010

New Year's 2010: Is that Snoop Dogg's Uncle?

We’re all ushering in a new year. Zae’lyn, the first baby of the new year in my city, rang it in with a gala of latex, crying, and amniotic fluid. Just a few miles away, I was attending a different sort of celebration. I, Whitey McPasty-as-hell, was busy sticking out like a tranny in mass. My parents, my dad’s high school friends, a few of my friends, and I attended a 70’s funk concert hosted by a former Caveliers player and BMOC around my hood. One man was taken aback by me and my three friends, he counted us off as we walked by. Yes, sir, there are four white girls in the building, and yes, we all came together. Three bands and four hours later my ear drums were ringing and I was a convert. My mom is stuck in a musical time-warp that keeps her perpetually in the 70’s, and for a night I time traveled with her and enjoyed myself greatly.

First of all, the music was incredible. The strong belief that I need to be a soulful black woman so I can sing out all my pain and anguish was reaffirmed.

Secondly, I realized immediately that I was underdressed. I had somehow forgotten to wear my fuzzy fedora and red pimp suit. The two guys who took the cake, (and also happened to be related to Snoop Dogg, demonstrating the F-list type of celebrities my city attracts) were dressed in black and white snake skin suits and capes. My sequined tank was rookie shit.

And of course there was dancing. Give my dad a beer, turn on the tunes, wait five minutes, and the ‘twist’ ala Chubby Checker appears. It’s magic. My friends and I gigged up close to the stage, although not close enough to get the champagne the band members and entourage were pouring into the audience.

After we had our fill of dancing, playing with anti-climactic New Year’s noise makers, and getting hit on by Snoop Dogg’s uncle, we rolled out.
I thought of my friends spread all across the U.S. and felt tiny pangs of longing to be joining them for toasts with strawberry Andre and kisses (again, anti-climactic.) But that thought was fleeting. My New Year’s was hard to beat. Also, hard to replicate.

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