POP CULTURE

I still maintain that without exposure to all sorts of different people, one doesn't know sh*t. You know, the whole he-who-doesn't-travel-thinking-his-mom's-the-best-cook thing. A week or so ago, I got an interesting peek into so-called "civilized" culture.

I used to travel, drive around I mean, all the time. And I mean all the time. That would explain the many miles on the Slo-Z, I guess. This year tho, I haven't driven around much at all. Matter of fact, I haven't been anywhere I didn't need to be for months. But that all changed the weekend before last.

On Friday, I got off work early as usual, and promptly took a nap soon as I got to the crib. A few hours later my 'driver' came over, and soon after we left. I hadn't driven the Zoom-Zoom in a while and I'd missed that lil' bugger, so I told my driver to slide over to the co-seat and shut up. A few hours later found us in the Philly area.

The following day, I called up one of my oldest friends and made plans to meet up later. While we were driving there, their kids had gotten hungry and tired, so they asked to meet up at some restaurant. Thanks to technology, I looked up the restaurant's address on the phone, plugged it into the GPS and we were good to go. Herbert, the GPS's new voice that Shawty hates, got us there in no time.

But we were in for the shock of our lives when we got there: The restaurant was in a freakin' country club! Not only was it gated and surrounded by acres of manicured grass, and frankly I was surprised there wasn't a wochi at the gates, but there was a County Police vehicle idling at the far end of the parking lot.

We parked and sat awhile in the car watching the people walk - no, waltz - into the lobby in genuine horror: we were severely under-dressed! It was cold that night and had thought we were only going to be at our friends' house, so were were both in sweats and sneaks. Meanwhile, everyone walking in and out of the restaurant was in khakis and dinner jackets. Pearls adorned every other lady's neck and diamonds sparkled in each ear. Little boys even wore khaki pants, dress shirts and those sleeveless Carlton Banks-like sweaters, whatever they're called!

Shawty was mortified and wouldn't get out of the car at first, and I too was reluctant to make a spectacle of myself, but then I remembered I was born with a pair. I grabbed them, assured Shawty it'd be alright and strolled into the restaurant like we owned the place.

I looked up and around at the expensive furniture, massive chandeliers and the impeccable servers sashaying about. Then I really looked around and noticed, much to my amusement, that we were the only chocolate and were surrounded by a whole lot of vanilla, if you catch my drift. That never bothered me too much, however, so we walked over to the dining area and were immediately accosted by a female server.

"Do you need a table, sir?"
"No we don't," I replied. "We're joining another party."
"Right this way," she gestured, and pointed at a table by the far wall. Lo and behold, there were our friends!

After greetings all around, my friend was like:
"How did they know to bring you here?" she inquired. "I only told our server that we were expecting 2 more people, not that girl who brought you over."
"Somehow I don't think she had too much trouble figuring that out," I replied.


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"In this white man world, we the ones chosen."
Kanye West - Power