Showing posts with label Miami. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miami. Show all posts

Monday, June 15, 2009

A Book of Judgment

by today's Urban Chameleon contributor

Coming from the Northside Suburban Chi-town every time I rap with my cousins out in NYC it occurs to me how my mentality is getting more gully and raw, finding my way like some Urban Chameleons rather than just the Token Brotha in suburbia. In attempt to break out of my all white prison, my stance has been shaping up like little Huey from the Boondocks. I’ve taken it as a personal challenge and duty to practice three tenets like some Black Muslim:
  1. no pork
  2. no alcohol
  3. no more white girls
…all this in an attempt to cleanse myself.

So, lately I been two-thirds doing it. No alcohol and no white women … but let’s just say I gotta have that bacon in my morning skillet so I was still workin’ on it.

Anyway, last Saturday my boy asked me to roll with some of his old college friends from Bowling Green and Ohio State. Ratio was right: us 2 and 4 single ladies. We started at Fogo de Chao, a Brazilian churrascaria steakhouse. ‘Nough said, I’m talkin’ sizzling steaks, rib tips, pork chops and everything. If meat and a salad bar is what you need, that place does not, I repeat, does not disappoint. That’s one tenet gone. Next, who would have known, these Ohio broads coming to Chi-town ‘bout to be doin’ it bigger than I usually do. These broads were poppin’ champagne before we even got to our table. My dude looked at me and laughed. We didn't have to say it--willpower wasn’t riding with me. Now I’m cheers-ing saying, “Fuck it, only live once.” That’s two tenets out the way and that conscious brotha and angry Black man jive was on its last breath.

So now we’re eating, cheesing it up, busting each other’s chops. Anyway by 11pm the whole restaurant done seen us young, dressed-to-impress professionals looking like we do this on the regular. Recession what? Not here! Not tonight, at least. (Talk to me on the 1st).

So, it comes up going around the table: “Where you from? Like what nationality?” My boy replies, “Dominican and Puerto Rican.” Homechick #1 replies “Chicana.” (Turns out she works at the restaurant, ended up telling us our $800+ bill was on the house! Straight up? Cheers to you again ma!) Homechick #2 could have been mixed with her curly hair and not so average white girl ass but she missed the question texting her fling, some up-and-coming Black Canadian rapper all night. Homechick #3 was salty all night and not worth mentioning. Me? I get mistaken for pretty much anything black or brown, so of course I had the ladies all surprised when I told them I was Haitian. One deaf one replied, “Asian?” Homechick #4 joked, “Hey, everyone! Meet my Haitian Asian, Jean Chao.” It got a laugh, she gave me a whole backstory too but still had my ass coming to the States on a boat. Ain’t that a bitch!

Any way few more drinks, some dancing out on the town and that third tenet was looking real wobbly cause something bout homechick #4 gave me that vibe. That was until we got to this spot where some cocktail waitress I used to mess with was working. She seen me with the whole butter pecan clique and I could tell she had something on her mind. She just had to be slick! Looked me up and down said, in Creole “Typical Haitian! First white girl give him some rhythm and he forget he a Black man!” At this point, I’m like whatever! I been sippin’ Crown all night! Looking fly in all black with a sharp ass blazer popping off! Shiiit! Damn right I’m feeling like a King. But then, Homechick #4 jumped in outta nowhere. She whispered something in Spanish, like “I’ll squash this.” Then, grabbed my hand and hollered right back at that waitress in Creole, “Yo! Lil’ girl. A Man’s only gonna act like a Man when he’s got a Woman by his side,” As she squeezed my hand a little firmer, she continued, “And that’s a fact, black or white.”

Oh-oh! Qui ca? This girl had me all confused. So now, I’m askin’ questions. Turns out, this girl ain’t white at all she was part French-Canadian, part Haitian on her father’s side, and part Peruvian (by way of Miami) on her mother’s side. Did the Ohio State thing, and now she’s workin’ on the master’s. Damn, well at least I ended up sticking to one tenet out of three ‘cause I was about to fry her ass some bacon and sip mimosas with her in the morning.

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Monday, May 11, 2009

I Can't With This Kiddy Shit Anymore

by today's Urban Chameleon contributor

My bank account and I often don’t seem to get along. You see I’m under the impression that my account should have more funds in it than it actually does. It’s been seven years since my graduation where my father told me, “Congrats son, now don’t ask me or your mother for shit” that I’ve had to fend for myself for food, water and rent, which I have. With my degree I managed to land myself a well paying job and for the most part have been pretty responsible with my money including paying down my credit card debt from a couple of those Brooks Brothers suite this brotha had to have upon entering the corporate game. But what I really have a problem with is why when after paying all my bills I still can’t seem to afford a decent vacation?

I’m not even asking to go to Morocco and ball out in a palace…yet but can a brotha just get down to Miami, Florida? My boys and I are trying to plan a trip to Miami and I’m really trying to graduate to being a grown man. I’m not trying to fly into Ft. Lauderdale hitch a ride to Miami, crash in a room with seven of us located in a motel in a crack alley and eat breakfast, lunch and dinner at Denny’s. That stuff was cool for college but now that I’m a working professional a brotha needs room service. I work too damn hard to be on a pull out cot cuddled with a bag of cheese doodles but that’s all my hard earned cash seems to get me. Instead of getting my degree I should have been a rapper ‘cause I can’t with this kiddy shit no more.

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Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The Price to Stay Fly

by today’s Urban Chameleon contributor



Today’s tax deadline has already got me dreaming of what I will do with my refund check this year. As I’ve gotten smarter over this past year enlisting Dave Ramsey from Fox Business News’ advice that "Cash is king" I’m trying to make smarter financial decisions. (yes I watch Fox business or at least Ramsey’s program because all racism aside that white man has changed my life around- and as long as he “Don’t Start nuttin’ there won’t be nuttin’)

This year has me trying to decide between a pair of Giuseppe Zanotti








or a tan by way of a much needed trip to Miami





because who the hell knows when Spring plans to drop it like it’s hot for us here in NY. I mean come on it snowed last week people. Not okay.

Now a year ago I would have easily whipped out my credit card and purchased the Giuseppe’s and maybe even some Dior shades to pump through the airport in on my way to Miami. But as I’ve taken these past few months to analyze my credit card statements and the accumulated interest rate that I’m still paying out on some of those back in the day credit card purchases trying to “Fake it until I make it” that will not be happening. Part of me just wants to just save the entire check maybe even hide it from myself- given the state of the economy with thousands of people jobless and homeless some of which are camping out on lawns who am I to just be sitting over here contemplating between these two luxurious options when I could be next! But then again that’s when I’m like damn, “being in that position is going to be emotionally difficult wouldn’t I be happier on that lawn with that tan and my Giuseppe’s?”

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