Tonight Beth and I went to Via Via for dinner and music. It was fun, but the band called “Sounds of the Serengeti” which was billed as “African music” played about as many Mexican songs as they did Congolese! So rather than just walking to my local Cantina to hear “La Bamba,” “La Cucaracha” and other Mexican party hits, I flew halfway across the planet to hear them performed by a 5 piece rock ensemble from the DRC. These guys sat down at our table and started running game, but it was about as developed as Tanzania, so I had no problem shutting them down. Beth had a little more difficulty, as her predator was even more relentless. He went so far as to whip out his HIV test results, to show us that he’s negative. Which I think is actually a really good idea, but hey, why not wait until the 1st date, at least? He was explaining to her that they live together and have their own rooms, and that we should come home with them tonight. Ernest asked why I don’t like men in Los Angeles, and I told him because they’re all playahs. He was the first Tanzanian who understood what I meant, everyone else thought I meant athletes. Which of course are playahs too, but not just in the sense I’m talking about here.
So I asked him what the Swahili word is for that type of guy, and he told me it’s wachapaji. As he said it he kinda snapped his fingers, in a very “Fonzie” kinda way. I asked if the hand motion was necessary to the definition, and he said yes, it helps. So I said “Wachapaji hapa!” (There’s some playahs here!). Takes one to know one, I guess, and his game was relentless. His friend was even more insistent with Beth, but we both escaped safely into a taxi, after two free rounds of drinks. They even wanted to share the taxi, having us dropped off first. Knowing where we live is not the sort of information these guys needed, so we insisted on our own cab, and as we drove off, they went back into the club to try their luck with some other girls.
Amani, Mama Siara’s grandson, whose really got good game. I think more guys should try the ol’ shoes-on-the-wrong-feet trick, works every time!
I am so glad my brother dragged me out here, rescuing me from the clutches of a brutal Los Angeles winter. It was so cold friday night it actually SNOWED in Malibu. That’s not right. So I arrive in ATL at 7PM sweating in my bomber jacket. Sweet! Took Gary out for his last night of freedom, with some help from our friend George who happened to be in town on business. It was great, we ate caribbean food, then went clubbing, winding up an early night at a strip club called Cheetah that is very different from Cheetah’s in LA. It was almost more like a nudist colony, there were so many nude women standing around, it wasn’t even titillating.
If they’d been shaking it more, or if there had at least been a pole, that would have been more exciting. A strip club without a pole is like a Ducati with stock pipes. Boring. George met some soap opera star who comes to Atlanta to moonlight as a stripper, and I fell in love with the little pro shop. Right by the door, there’s a shop that sells all the gear a dancer could need, just like the pro shops at ice rinks of my childhood. I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic, in that little room filled with spandex and special purpose footwear. Sigh. Lots of sportbikers here, making me really want to be sure I have a bike with me when I come back in April.
Sleep Inn kicks ass! Freeeeee wifi and dsl, and fast too! Too bad it’s in a boring part of town. In other news…I spent the last two nights on my fabulous new bed, and wow. It was so comfy I just lay there soaking it in, not sleeping very deeply because it felt so good, I wanted to be conscious of it. Yet I woke up easily. Can’t wait to get home and test it some more. Vale likes it too, I don’t kick him out of his favorite corner anymore.
I won’t say which it is, as it’s getting awfully popular already. As a monthly, I get plenty of time to look forward to it, so love it more than the weekly ones that can so easily be taken for granted. Because it’s so “freestyle” I feel free to be me, unlike at other clubs, which are so genre-biased. Genre-fuck music is the best because not only does it ROCK, it draws such a wonderfully diverse crowd. In a city as woefully segregated as Los Angeles, it is truly blissful to see damn near all races, many different cultures, and gay, straight, etc, all shaking their booties together. Also unlike other LA clubs, everyone’s there to DANCE, not “be seen.”
“One nation under a groove” may be upon us, via the boundary-shattering music of mash-ups. I love it!
story behind the shoes http://pinkyracer.buzznet.com/user/