Highs & Lows of Black Culture

After my spiritually depressing week, tonight was finally the Common concert. The trip down to DC wasn't too problematic. Actually it was almost what the doctor ordered. Solitude and space. And Posh made it even better by actually showing up on time. Go Posh.

Since I usually pay for the tickets, Posh usually takes me out. This time we headed to an event called First Fridays, which unbeknownst to me is a well orchestrated social networking event for Black professionals that has chapters in a multitude of cities. They change locations every month and this time around it was at a spot called UltraBar. It was a cool place and the DJ was playing songs that I thought I only listened to. Plus the libations were flowing, so the cares were melting away just as I'd hoped.

Of course I was in observant mode for the initial part of the night. Of course there were more women than men since we are talking about black professionals. But I found it funny that the patronage was exclusively black, but all the bartenders were white. I wished Malcolm was around to view it. I know some of us were on our ways to getting totally trashed and maybe ending up in beds we would regret later, but Plymouth Rock was lifted for those couple of hours. So loads and loads of well dressed and affluent black professionals dancing and drinking and being all responsible, making connections and shit. Man I loved it.


Then we went to the Common concert. Absolute opposite. It was held at a club called Love, which is questionable in and of itself. Posh has always abstained from taking me to this minor DC nightcub landmark, and after visitation I understand why. Its four levels of fun, or so its advertised. All I saw was a meat market of chickenheads and the sorry brothers who are jocking to take them home. Even though our tickets said doors open at 6, we arrived at 9:45 and the floor for Common wasn't even open yet. By the time it was, we learned that only VIP's would be close to the stage. Luckily we were already drunk enough so we headed up to another floor to dance. We had a good time, but so were all the hos around us. I started to think that booty shorts and stilettos were a uniform. And when the concert finally began, you had the whole mess of people who didn't buy tickets try to get on the floor. Plus it seemed like there were packs of questionable hoodlums who held up the wall and did nothing and looked like trouble brewing.

Oh my people my people, what can you do? Just love 'em I guess.