Wednesday, January 11, 2006

more observations about nu yawk from a southern gal

1. there is ALOT of interracial dating going on there.

not just the black man with white woman kind, either. i'm talking about fine white guys getting with sistas. i'm talking about fine puerto rican papis getting with sistas. i'm talking about fine italian cats getting with sistas. i'm talking about fine asian ninja dudes...wait, i didn't see any asian on black love, but no doubt it was there. that shit simply does not go down in the atl. at least, not like it was going down in the ny. folk still got all that residual jim crow animosity working against us in the south, including the whole 'white master raping the black female slave' thing. makes it more difficult for the swirl to take place without drama.

meanwhile, i was walking in manhattan when i peeped this really attractive white guy.. he was about six feet tall with wavy sandy colored hair. and he was holding hands with a sista who had a corkscrew weave in her hair. i was like WHAT?

they looked mismatched. that cat could have come straight up off of an abercrombie and fitch catalog. meanwhile, she could have come straight out of my family album of "things folk ain't supposed to wear with hair they shouldn't have bought." no really though, she was just average. in other words, she wasn't the model iman getting with david bowie. she was a sista from the hood getting with a guy who looked alot like matt damon and they looked like they were in love. i ain't mad at it (although i still got love for my 'frican brothas no doubt!) speaking of which...

2. there is a LARGE haitian, west indies, african crew in the ny.

my granny's neighborhood is mostly west indian now. they were everywhere in all of the gorgeous glory. both the brothas and the sistas were representing and doing it beautifully. i heard reggae pumping from cars and from inside 'stones and clubs. me with locs in the south is still a curiosity. me with locs in brooklyn is a 'whatever' moment. not to say i saw hella sistas with locs. actually, i saw more brothas with locs than anything and damn if the locs weren't absolutely beautiful. those cats take care of their hair. also, i was constantly talking to west indian brothas just to hear the accent. my name sounds like a long, strong stroke from behind when it falls from the lips of a guy from the west indies. it gave me the shivers! and NO, they weren't all smoking weed. get that ignant ass stereotype out of your head right now. irieDAYUM.

3. new york is more interesting at night.

what i love about new york at night is the fact that life keeps moving, only now it's moving beneath the lights shimmering from the bridges and the buildings. it's almost like folk are on spotlight as they make their way to clubs and work and home. the stage was the cracked concrete of manhattan's sidewalks and the players were the folks huddled in woolies, sheepskin, peacoats, crackled leather, k-mart pleather or woefully inefficient southern california windbreakers as they made their way quickly through 15 degree windchilled weather to the next spot to catch a drink and a dance. i stood at the entrance to a bagel place and just watched the folk performing, their arms sprawled, fingers feverish in an expression of animated glamour as they talked to each other, boisterous tones soaked in that tangy accent unique to new york folk. i just wanted to bathe in the moment, to let their energy penetrate my pores and revive my weary spirit.

4. some of the subway stations are like something out of a really scary horror flick.

my cousin denise and i were lost. we had caught the j train and gotten off at brooklyn junction when we should have gotten off two stops prior. then when we got back on, we took it in the wrong direction and ended up in a scene from 'jason takes on manhattan'. the corridor was long and dark and totally silent. the tiles lining the walls were crumbling and stained with what had to be a combination of rat shit, cat shit, bat shit, and 'what is that shit?' there was a lone guy on the platform with us and he had the look of kingpin only with hair and without cigar. denise, who had to pee very badly, told me she was gonna end up peeing right there cuz she was so scared. i stepped away from her cuz i had on my most comfortable shoes and wasn't about to get pee stains on them.

then i noticed kingpin staring at us both. his eyes were saying 'you're two women and i'm only one guy but i could kill you right now and still make the next train.' at least, that's what i thought they were saying, cuz at this point my fear was fever pitched and i started looking around for a camera or something that would get kingpin murdering us on tape. the recently striking transit worker could be entertained by the image of him chopping us up into little indistinguishable pieces of black women with the machete he most certainly had hidden in his long white overcoat right before she turned away from the monitor to pick her nose.

denise looks over at me frantically like i can do something. what did she expect me to do, blowjob him to death? really, that's the only way i know how to leave a brotha incapacitated. i don't do ninja or karate or anything like that. never took self-defense classes. if i want a brotha to get up offa me, i suck him off. now mind you, this is usually reserved for guys i've been dating for a while. i don't just go around sucking guys off just cuz they're getting on my nerves and i want them to just shut the fuck up. either way, kingpin wasn't getting any of that. he had the distinct look of a smelly scrotum about him. sistas know what i'm talking about. there are times we can look at a guy and just know his scrotum stinks. maybe it's in his body language. i'm not sure. either way, kingpin had 'smelly scrotum' written all over him.

denise decides she's so nervous she's gotta get a smoke in before the train arrives. now i'm not sure how it goes in other states, but ny transit forbids smoking on the platforms. i told her she had to wait until we got outside. she just looked at me with that 'i don't give a shit. i'm smoking NOW' look on her face. she goes fumbling through her coat looking for her cigs all the while hopping around like an idiot as though that's gonna keep the pee at bay. why in da hell someone would think jumping up and down is gonna keep the pee up i'll NEVER understand. it's like blowing your nose with the hope that the snot will stay inside your nostrils.

so she's hopping and hoping she can get her smoke on. i'm staring at her and kingpin has started making his way slowly towards us. denise doesn't see this because her back is to him and her jones for the nicotine is so strong she'd probably miss morris chestnut poking his dick in her eye at this point. i noticed, though. i tried to get her attention, but she was now grabbing for her lighter and flicking it frantically, trying to spark the end of the virginia slim dangling from the side of her mouth. i wondered what the proper subway etiquette would be here. i could play the stupid person in the horror flick role, acting like everything was fine right before taking a machete to the head or i could be the one person who survives crystal lake because she didn't give a fuck about what the sound was in the bushes or go looking into the darkness cuz she heard something in the basement...she just ran for dear life.

then again, i'm a girl from hotlanta. no matter what i do, it's gotta look like i'm not being overly frantic cuz i'm on a dark new york subway platform with a guy who looked strong enough to snap my neck with his teeth. i decided to be discrete with my terror. i struck up a conversation with denise, turning as i did so so that we were walking away from kingpin. luckily, the train was at the platform by the time we had reached the stairs heading towards the exit, so we just veered to the right and stepped neat-like onto the train.

and then we found ourselves in one of the cars next to a transient guy who smelled so bad he had to be a rotting corpse.

but that's a tale for another day.