The Texas Tiger Chronicles

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

A swanky affair at 40/40 and my Banana Republic ad campaign via the MTA Strike

Channeling emotions from last night…
Main event: Jay-Z’s 40/40 Club – the Jay-Z Private Room
Mood: Filthy Gorgeous
Mode: Square-toed beige Prada loafers (from a few seasons ago giving them a vintage look), loose fit Ben Sherman slacks, tight fit Ben Sherman vintage print shirt in brown with puce and pink patterns throughout the shirt.
Munchies: Little nibbly things. 40/40s famous mini-burgers, steak, chicken, hot wings, shrimp AND open bar with top shelf everything. My drink of choice: Chocolate Martini
Motif/Question(s) of the evening: Is MTA going to strike? Are you getting Mary J. Blige’s album? Are you an ultimate hustler?

A few conversations ago I shared with you some insider knowledge involving my appearance on the BET News End of the Year Wrap-up Special set to air on Dec.31st and Jan 1st, repeating six times after those dates. The special takes a poignant look at this year’s top hard-news stories, comedic moments and notable pop culture events and mishaps. The producer of the show, True Religion (not his real name, but I like to maintain the privacy of the guest stars of my blog + he was wearing an ill True Religion velvet dinner jacket that was so hot I cannot even find the adjectives to describe it to you) invited me to be a guest pundit on the show, and from what he tells me, you are in for a treat. He tells me Wendy Williams was hilarious. Remember I told you she came on after me? I was right in between Wendy and a hilarious comedian who you will discover once the show airs. They were both hard acts to be sandwiched between. But the Tiger held his own.

But let me segue into the evening…


True Religion’s production company threw a very suzy party in the Jay-Z room at the 40/40 club in New York’s Flatiron District. I must say I am impressed by the décor and design of Jay-Z’s club, but with all of his wealth, he would have no excuse not to have a swanky joint. The bar is very unassuming from the outside. With the mandatory big beefy black man outside checking IDs, my beefy black guy studied my ID as if he was preparing for the newly-designed SAT. This usually makes me fearful because you don’t know if the bouncer is memorizing your address so he can be sitting outside your apartment after his shift ends or if he is looking for your social security number so he can run an online credit scheme that will have you living with your momma for the next ten years. For whatever reason, the bouncer gave me back my ID and asked me if Texas was going to beat USC this week. First of all, who is Texas and what is USC? Secondly, is this a conversation about basketball, football or baseball? These are just some of the questions in my head that I did not share aloud. Then I said to the bouncer (in my deepest butch boy voice) "Oh, I am sure we will." Then he said to me "Ya’ll better."

I so enjoy those ultra-masculine exchanges that center around sports and team activities. I have begun to watch ESPN every morning so whenever I am confronted with a conversation about sports I always seem to have an informed opinion.

Once I passed the bouncer, I entered 40/40 which has a wistfully elegant display of whites, greys and blacks with a masculine edge. It’s pretty yet sleek. Sexy yet gangster. I don’t think for five minutes Jay-Z was deeply involved in designing the interior, some things are best left to the gays. And I am sure it was designed by some suzy gay male who knows how to keep it urban. The bar is two floors and I need to reiterate it’s a sports bar not a club per se. When you walk in the door you face a bar that is slightly on your left surrounded by bar stools. On either side of the bar are tucked-away booths where you could have a secret rendezvous with someone’s husband or lover without being too obvious. To your right is a very small dance floor, large enough for about 25 people to do a two-step but not much room to get crunk. The DJ is suspended above your head. And as you go upstairs, there is a long diagonal grey staircase which sometimes appears to be white depending on the clubs lights and how much Grey Goose is in your Pimp cup. Once atop the stairs (which has unique little resting spots along the way) there is a second bar and beyond the second bar are all the PRIVATE rooms where I am sure it all goes down on the weekends.

There is a cigar room among the private rooms where you can partake of the clubs cigars. Funny thing about New York…it is illegal to smoke cigarettes but you may smoke cigars in certain bars. Maybe cigars don’t cause lung cancer? Wait…..has the TRUTH campaign addressed this?

I hit coat check then moved onto the party where it was all going down. The first person to greet me was True Religion’s brother who was wearing a blue body shirt which screamed "I work out 8 days a week." And as my fitted Ben Sherman shirt screamed "Nicole Richie Fitness Club" I thought we made an odd couple. He asked me for a drink recommendation as he said he wasn’t much of a drinker. So I recommended he get a fuzzy navel aka what I drank when I was a 21-yr-old virgin (and yes, I was a virgin up until age 22). Once the waitress (who was like a hybrid Gwen Stefani meets Kirsten Dunst with cornrows) got to me, I ordered a chocolate martini (because I am well beyond those virgin years, sweetie).

I picked that particular drink because it is strong and sweet….like me. And most importantly, the dark chocolate of the Godiva liquor mixed with light cream liquor produces a rich creamy brown hue which perfectly matched my shirt. You know a DEVO has to always give you coordination.


So in the Jay-Z room is a pool table on the left-hand side of the room while the wall is adorned with autographed Jerseys from Jordan, Irving, and Sanders (all persons I had crushes on when I was 15-years-old and confused about my feelings). I used to ask myself, why do I keep watching Atlanta Falcon games to see this Black man with the juicy wet S-curl in his head?
The food was fantastic. If you ever visit 40/40 in NYC or Atlantic City please get the mini-burgers. I love hamburgers and the burgers there are very tasty. But what was even tastier were the guests at the party. I immediately made my way over to a producer who calls herself Butter Pecan and her friend who is also in the industry whom I will call Butter Pecan II. I made my way over to the Butter Ps because they were beautiful women. Both had butter pecan skin, warm and inviting smiles, and sickening boots that extended up their long and luscious legs and they had those New York girl personalities. A New York girl is aggressive and feisty, usually has a warm and bubbly laugh and you always want to see her a second time. The Butter Ps were fabulous. I leaned over to Butter P and started my own version of the whisper song:

Me: I am so over stimulated right now. Why is everybody in here so damn fine?
Butter P: Well, who are you talking about, the girls or the guys?
Me: (looking at her with a PERPLEXED eye) The guys!

We both laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

Butter P II: What ya’ll laughing at?
Butter P: I asked him who he thought was good looking here, the girls or guys.
Me: And though I think you both are very beautiful or else I wouldn’t be over here (I have a thing about surrounding myself with beautiful women), I am on the market sweetie, and I gotta have my game face on.

And then all three of us laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

At some point in the evening, I ended up with a cue stick in my hand and I got into a vicious match with a pool shark name Sin (not her real name). So Sin looks like an all-American Black girl from the suburbs. But she has a shady side. She let it slip in our conversation that she used to troll the pools halls of a large urban city and trick unwitting men into playing pool with her for money. She has the sweet face and personality to play it off. She told me that she always got her books and tuition paid on time. SIDEBAR: Me too (but you know I danced my way through college. Did I ever tell you how I got my nickname Chocolate Thunder?)

Anyway, Cindy broke the set, then she messed up and let me get in the game and I started wearing her out. It was an evil match and the martinis kept coming. We got down to fours balls (two for me, one for her and the 8 ball). I missed my shot and Sin killed me. Luckily I didn’t bet her any money. Cindy actually whipped every man in the room until Mike showed up on the board. With fewer expressions and lines in his face than a severely botoxed Upper-East Side princess, Mike showed Sin no mercy and sat her down…finally.

I enjoyed the crowd. It was a variety of types. Mostly African Americans with your models, producers, reporters, personal assistants etc. You know in New York its all about the slash. Everyone is at least three things. "Hi, I am a model/actor/dancer." "Hi I am a stylist/entertainment correspondent/painter." I am still working on my slash. I want it to be, "Hi, I am a talk show host/spokes model/life partner of Mechad Brooks"


I met a lovely lady who works at ESPN and we talked about sports (what we do and don’t know). And we had an interesting talk about the competition between black women and men who both date Black men. We both tended to agree that sometimes it gets vicious and catty. I told her that sometimes I can tell that some Black women take offense to me and my desires and they react negatively. Is this jealousy? My mom often says gay black men are "wrong" because every gay black man is depriving a black woman of a husband. But that is so not true!


Then I met someone who I will call Thug Passion (his words…not mine). I think Thus Passion was trying to work me…or was it the other way around? I got the number….details to follow. Or maybe not. Boys like me never tell.

I also ran into my fashionable sister who loves Ben Sherman as much as I do. I will call her Bennia.

Oh, and let me tell you about Mr. True Religion. He shows up an hour late. Now, I have been known to be fabulously late myself. My Chicago friends can attest to my 24th birthday party which I arrived at a full 45 mins after my guests. But Mr. True Religion took the cake. He arrived an hour late with full fanfare. He was rocking a red velvet True Religion jacket with a red print shirt with hues of beige and white. And he didn’t stop there. His jeans were black and had a red stripe along its contours. I failed to detect which brand of jeans they were. But knowing Mr. True Religion, I am sure they were in that (I got my $200 jeans from the denim department at Saks Fifth Avenue) category. And did I tell you about the red boots. Yes, he was sickening. And then he topped it off with a hat cocked over his right eye. Don’t you just love New York?

The New York people give flavor.

I also met a guy who looked like Lexington Steele….which I shared with him. He looked slightly perturbed. I can’t help it you look like a porn star!

Oh, and I did a shot of tequila with Butter P II.

I just love being amongst the black glitterati. But it was time to go because I knew I had to get home before the trains stopped running. They have the nerve to strike! Messing up the social lives of over 700,000 people. I knew Tuesday morning was going to be a hot mess, and it was….

TUESDAY MORNING

3 Am. I wake up to find the strike is in full effect
3:30 Am. I dress warm yet light cause I know I am going to have to do some serious strutting down 7th ave.
4:30 Am. I pull out the scooter and head downstairs.
4:33Am. My concierge laughs at me because he knows I am going to catch hell on the way to work.
Let’s begin shall we?

Mood: Weirdly fascinated at the fact that I am about to embark on a journey over 60 blocks on a push scooter.
Mode: Blue long-johns (top and bottom). Loose fit blue jeans and a thick brown shirt I picked up in London a few seasons ago. For the kicks I choose some brown and burgundy Banana Republic casual sneakers. I wore a brown kangol floppy hair to protect my ears. Add the trench coat and I am ready to jet.
Munchies: I don’t eat at home. I was feeding off adrenaline.
Music that started me off: "I’m Catching Hell" by Natalie Cole.

I walked up to 7th avenue and proceeded with my journey down Central Park West on my scooter. Now, to get to Central Park West I have to first get out of Harlem…which made me a little nervous. Imagine a slender black guy in a floppy hat and loud trench coat at 4am riding down the mean streets of Harlem on a little push scooter. I know right! I was so hoping I didn’t run into some G-Unit wanna be who was gonna hit me with a brick so he could join some tacky Tookie Williams type-gang. I know every time I pump down 116th I am taking a chance but that is what New Yorkers do…take risks.

So, I pass the bodega (corner store) and some guy, in one of those very "common" and might I add UGLY black North Face bomber jackets, says something under his breath as I scoot by. Then I hear him yelling "hey" like he wants to get my attention so I can come back and holla at him. Needless to say, I didn’t even look over my shoulder, except to see if he was following me and I needed to call 911.

I continue my adventure.

Now, here I am on the picturesque Upper West Side scooting by all the multi-million dollar high-rise condo buildings made of the world’s best limestone. The sun is in the horizon and if you were to take a snapshot, I could be the cover boy for the next Banana Republic ad campaign at sunset/dawn. As I continue to pass the police officers, (who are stationed on the street to enforce carpooling rules as a result of the strike) they marvel at me as I give them cover boy poses as I scoot by making eye contact with each of them. I am single remember….and I don’t know where my next life partner may come from. so I smile at everyone.


Just then, as I scoot by giving very Banana Republic ad, I approach a guy who is giving me very Source magazine ad. At first I am a little nervous. A little afraid. Then he looks at me and says "Wassup, man that scooter is better than the train." We both laughed and proceed. Now that I have been giving gangsta approval I proceed down the street armed with street credibility. Now I know what a rapper feels like. I am so keeping it real on my scooter!


But the time I get from 116th down to 72nd, my back is killing me. I begin humming
"I’m coming up, on the rough side of the mountain. I am doing my best to make it in."
Like that old commercial they used to play on BET in the 80s. BET must have given them cheap airtime because I swear they played that commercial every two hours. That was back in the day where you could order an album or cassette and CDs were extra.

I finally made it to Times Square and I was so tired. Then I started singing to myself

"My neck, my back….." as I slid into my cube.

Today was such an adventure. I hope Bloomberg gives the MTA what they need because I can’t take too much more. Meanwhile, my workout this morning was great. I know I really got the buns of steel now. I was singing in mezzo-alto B Flat again. And like I told you, my B is far from flat.


Posted by Texas Tiger in NYC :: 7:33 AM :: 4 Comments:

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