Sunday, February 18, 2007

Ghetto Fabulous Friday

After getting in around 3 am the night before, getting up early was out the question! But my biological clock woke me up around 7am anyway. So I got some blogging done, watched some tv, and then headed to the strip around 1pm. It was such a beautiful day I decided to walk. Walking gave me the opportunity to observe people and get some much needed exercise. While moving through crowds of loiters it came to my attention that most of the people on the strip were young and Black. I swear at every turn there appeared to be a Hip Hop video audition. Young men dawned sagging jeans, oversized t-shirts, Tims or sneakers. Girls' attire ranged from ghetto fabulous to bootilicious to just plain stank. Basically, the Vegas strip became a bucket of chicken. Breasts, thighs, and ass were on outlandish display for the world to consume, and it was all dark meat. Which brought to mind another question. If most of the Black people were on the strip, where were the White people that came to enjoy NBA All Star weekend? They weren't at the malls nor at the clubs, so where were they gathering in large numbers? Where ever they were, I'm sure there were not armed police officers lining the street.

At first glance, they reminded me of images from the Civil Rights movement when riot policemen lined up in front of business to keep Blacks out. In 2007, that was not the case. Instead, this was a case of perception. What this generation of young Black kids doesn't seem to realize is that a reputation of bad behavior precedes them. I'm pretty sure when Vegas businesses were informed that mobs of Black kids were about to descend upon them, they didn't see it as a positive financial opportunity. Instead, they equated it with a money-loosing opportunity due to theft and possibly violence.

Anyway, Friday night we hit the strip to see what parties were really jumping. First stop was MGM, aka chocolate city. It was overcrowded with predominantly Black people loitering in the casino, the lobby, and at the entrance of the club inside the hotel. We left there to observe people going in to an "invitation only" Micheal Jordan event. There was no chance of getting in that party so we ended up at a party at Empire, hosted by Kenny Smith. The cover charge was $100. VIP $200. The line to get in was long but we managed to squeeze in ahead of most of the people in it. We entered the club and headed upstairs to the VIP area. Of course, there was no place to stand or sit, so the patio was our only option. Unfortunately, it was also the smoking section. Soon as we sat down I said to Perry that coming there was a waste of money. It was overly crowded on the dance floor, not to mention hot as hell, and the only space available was populated by smokers. Truly, I was ready to go but since the money was already spent we continued to sit outside. When it became cold, we ventured to the dance floor. DJ Jazzy Jeff was working hard on the ones and twos. You couldn't help but move to the music. After dancing in our spot for about 15 minutes, Perry decided to cool off on the patio. I stayed. Of course, now that I was alone, some fool behind me decided to get a little familiar. An arm snaked around my waist from behind. Dude was all in my ear, pulling me close to his body. Definitely, wrong move. Drunkenly, he asked my name. I told him "Tina".as I pulled myself out of his embrace. He then told me he liked me, and I informed him he didn't know me to like me. That was not the response he was expecting but it sobered him up enough to leave me alone. The man next to me must have observed me pulling away from the drunk guy. He said in my ear, "Don't let him ruin your night." Turning slightly I told him I would not and started dancing again. I took off my leather jacket and draped it over my shoulder. Brotha man beside me took it from me and put it over his arm. Wow, what a nice gesture I thought. Only old skool players did things like that. I thanked him and we began to dance together. Almost an hour later, Jazzy Jeff left the turntables and the music took a bad turn. It was my cue to end the dance, get my coat, and find Perry. And no, I didn't bother to get my jacket holder's number. I thanked him for the dance, embraced him and left.

On our way back to the car, which was several blocks away, we stopped in Walgreens. Perry's feet hurt so bad she had to get a pair of flip flops. Posted outside the store was that line of policeman mentioned before. I found it interesting that they were standing relatively close together, like in riot mode. The potential for some shit to pop was ever present, but I didn't want to dwell on that. Instead, I followed Perry into the store to the flip flop aisle. It was packed with black women looking for comfort for their feet. One drunken woman was literally sitting in the floor with a huge toy penis in her hand complaining about her feet. Think she got that toy from Walgreens? LOL. My feet hurt too, but not so bad I needed to replace my shoes. Perry bought a pair of bright pink slippers that ended up being too small. For several blocks she flip-flopped her way to the car, stopping only to readjust them to keep them on. She was not alone, though. The strip was full of women walking with their heels in hand, and not so flattering slippers on their feet. By the time we made it to the hotel it was after 4 am in the morning.

No comments: