Reason #248
They say that New Yorkers have 8 million stories. Well, on Saturday night, I heard "T"'s story and it exposed me to a cool, little corner of New York City that I'd never known about before.
For those of you who read my previous post, you heard a little about "T" (who was going to sneak me into the English Beat concert.) Anyway, I showed up at the building and, as pre-arranged, called up T. He told me to buzz the intercom and take the elevator to the basement. When I get down there, I hear a deep throaty voice telling me to come into a tiny room on the side. I navigate through the semi-darkness and hesitantly open the door, only to enter what looks like the boiler room abode from Ralph Ellison's "Invisible Man." In a tiny room not bigger than a suburban walk-in closet, T has created a little oasis in the city. Hanging light bulbs illuminate the space. Second-hand rugs cover the cold, concrete floors. And the tiny space is replete with televisions and a little couch. Strangely enough, in the corner is a wine rack stacked with a nice collection of Bordeauxs and single-malt scotches. Darting around the cramped space are two little kittens. The smell of incense and Newport cigarettes permeate the air. The whole scene is completely bizarre.
As for T himself, I don't even know how to describe him. He's a giant of a man who, sans afro, bears a slight resemblance to Samuel Jackson's character Jules in the film "Pulp Fiction." Mainly because he's got "Bad Motherfucker" written all over him. Could be the leather jacket. Could be the goatee. But anyway, T is certainly one of the more intimidating-looking people I've ever come across and he looks every bit the part of the bounty hunter that he once was. But, as it turns out, T is the coolest cat in town. We end up hitting it off and, after hanging out for awhile, he asks me if I'm ready to go to the show. He warns me by saying that we'll be going through some secret passageways but not to worry. Shit, since this has already been an interesting adventure, I tell him I'm game for anything. Let's go.
I follow T as he opens another door in the basement that leads to a catacomb of darkness. I can barely make out T in front of me. At one point, we were crawling on the floor under some pipes through spaces that we could hardly squeeze through (and for a guy who's 6'7, T moved like a cat. No wonder he was such a good bounty hunter.) Anyway, after about 5-10 minutes, he pops open a door and, bam, we're in the club!
T is like the mayor of the building. Everyone knows him and he walks around with the air of a man who owns the place. Whether they're genuinely friends with T or they're afraid of him, everyone in the club treats him with the utmost respect. When they find out that I'm with T, I get the same treatment. My first few cocktails are on the house. I'm ushered into the VIP area. I don't have to wait in the line for coat check or the bathroom. It's amazing.
The concert is great. The venue is cozy so it feels like The English Beat are playing a small show for some close friends. The vibe is great and though the band members have certainly crept up in years, they still put on a good show. All of sudden, I feel like it's 1981 and I'm 13 again.
But despite the enjoyment of the concert, I'm still more amazed at having met T. Having carved out this little oasis in the heart of this little cement building, he's made an interesting life for himself. Of the 8 million stories in New York, T's is a good one. And hanging out with him during the show, we must have look like the oddest pairing of people in the universe. But that's what I love about this city. We've all got our stories and sometimes we get to share them with people that we'd never meet anywhere else under any other circumstances. I've always found that to be one of the most interesting parts of life.
So thanks, T, for reminding me once again why I'll never leave this city.
Why I'm No Longer Capable of Adult Conversation
Last night, BossLady and I were invited to our neighbor's birthday party out in Brooklyn. Our neighbors are restaurateurs who specialize in food from their hometown of Sorrento, Italy. Their newest place is a little cafe/wine bar out in Willamsburg so they decided to invite some people out there to see the new place and celebrate their birthdays. It was a small gathering of friends and a very cozy affair.
However, at one point, I went up to the bar to get a glass of red wine. As the bartender poured a beer for someone else, she accidentally knocked over a glass of water. Before I could even catch myself, I actually heard myself yell in the gayest, sing-song voice ever, "UH-OH!"
I'm not 100% sure but I think the music screeched to a complete halt so everyone could stop and stare at the totally unhip guy with the vocabulary of a 15-month old infant.
Of course, this was only slightly more embarrassing than last week when one of my clients, noticing a band-aid on my hand, asked me if I was ok and I replied, "Oh yeah. Im fine. It's just a little boo boo."
Been there, done that. At work even.
As a meeting of department heads concluded, I found myself telling my assistant that I'll be back in my office shortly because I have to go 'potty.'
Needless to say, the doctors and other execs at the medical center have NOT let me forget it.
Posted by: Kemp | January 16, 2006 at 11:56 AM
At least you still aren't yelling "SHIT!" and then catching yourself because this little person with this spongy brain is listening and repeating. My new years resolution was to cutback A TAD and now I'm sort of hooked on "Jeepers!!" Try it!
Posted by: Xdm | January 16, 2006 at 12:27 PM
And btw re: English Beat
RAWK!
Posted by: Xdm | January 16, 2006 at 12:32 PM
I KNEW that you'd somehow get into the show, MD. Awesome story. Sounds like quite the urban adventure.
Posted by: Brent | January 16, 2006 at 12:36 PM
Ignore the e-mail I just sent you (or you can just reply with show details: set, line-up, etc)
Last night Little Dub poked me in the eye - a good poke, mind you, I still can't see right - and, instead of the string of curses that would have flowed normally, I spoke in some gibberish a la Tazmanian Devil - granted it started with a very lengthy "f" sound
Posted by: Mr. Big Dubya | January 16, 2006 at 12:53 PM
Lucky bastard. Did David Steele and Andy Cox make the reunion? I remember they held out of past reunions because of commitments with FYC.
Posted by: Todd I | January 16, 2006 at 01:17 PM
This is why it's not easy to become a parent and remain cool. Then again, I sorta don't care anymore that I've turned into such a responsible geek.
I haven't thought of The English Beat in years...
Posted by: Donna | January 16, 2006 at 01:20 PM
oh, metro dad you have officially risen to the rank of one of the coolest guys i know (in the way that one can 'know' someone they have exchanged emails with, and in the way two people can 'know' one anothet solely from reading one another's blogs. for all i know, you're really a convict in missouri and i'm actually an instrument of the religious right sent to infultrate the liberal blogosphere). but still, i am really, really jealous.
Posted by: kara | January 16, 2006 at 01:49 PM
This is so much better than having gotten the tix via the box office or Craigslist! So cool and such a great story. I'm too chicken to do anything. Maybe that's why nothing interesting ever happens to me.
Posted by: Leora | January 16, 2006 at 02:53 PM
Great concert story, Metro! You really are the coolest dad in the blogosphere.
As for the child-speak? Welcome to parenthood. After having had 4 kids, I returned to the workplace. After the kids get out of school every day, I usually get inundated with about 50 phone calls from them between 3:00-6:00. Where's the peanut butter? When's my costume going to be ready for next week's school play? Is it ok if the dog eats carrots? NON-STOP!
Every phone call ends with me saying, "OK. Mommy's got to go. I love you!"
Last month, I was completely harried. It was getting late and a client called just as I was about to walk out the door. We spoke quickly and, as I hung up, I heard myself say, "Ok. Mommy's got to go. I love you!" Then, I hung up the phone and ran out to the car. Needless to say, I was absolutely mortified but the client was a great sport about it and we've been joking about it ever since.
Posted by: Stephanie P. | January 16, 2006 at 03:02 PM
You are too cool. I'm glad you got in. The crawling in the dark would have made me feel like a spy or something. Last week my boss handed me a paper, but being the ass that he is, he was trying to make it where I couldn't get it. I grabbed it from him and said, "Mine". Luckily his daughter is the same age as mine, and we both started cracking up.
Posted by: Melissam | January 16, 2006 at 03:10 PM
Yo, MD...howse it hangin'...
Glad you made the concert AND made new friends. T (which probably stands for Tyrone or Terrence) sounds ultra cool. I know a lot of guys like him. That's what makes "Jules" one of the greatest roles of our generation.
Re: Babyspeak...yea, we all do that without even thinking about it. You can't help it. It does go away, eventually, but only after Peanut gets older AND you don't have any other metro-kids. Having more chilren just prolongs babyspeak.
...Keep BN Cool...
Posted by: LeeMarvin | January 16, 2006 at 03:22 PM
MD, I think you just became another one of NY's stories... you know, that guy? The exec who sneaks into clubs and yells "boo-boo" a lot?
Posted by: the weirdgirl | January 16, 2006 at 03:45 PM
Can you believe I've never been to New York? Crazy, I know. But I'm pretty sure I'd love it from the way you describe it.
HA - you told your client you had a boo-boo?!
Posted by: Linda B | January 16, 2006 at 04:14 PM
Lucky T didn't ask about that bandaid hey?
Posted by: Chocolate Makes it Better | January 16, 2006 at 05:20 PM
Uh-oh!
But was your bandaid a Harry Potter glow-in-the-dark or a Strawberry Shortcake smells-like-foul-chemical-strawberry? We use both on our booboos.
Posted by: JJ Daddy Baby Momma | January 16, 2006 at 05:43 PM
Having just read the movie spoiler for Hostel (because with 3 little ones, there's no way we actually go to see a movie these days), I was a little worried about you there at the beginning of your post. Sounded like a setup for some bizarre Quentin Tarantino scene there for a minute. Sounds like a great time, though. Oh, and at least you didn't say "whoopsie!" like I tend to!
Posted by: dakims | January 16, 2006 at 08:44 PM
Cool about the show! Child-speak i think is one of those things that just comes with parenting. My mom still calls it the potty (and her youngest is 22)...I have boo-boos, go potty, we take a poo, and get owies. And thats when I am talking to other adults :)
Posted by: Kristie | January 16, 2006 at 09:04 PM
That concert story is great.
As for babyspeak, as long as you don't excuse yourself to go make a boom-boom you'll be okay.
Posted by: Phat Daddy | January 16, 2006 at 10:00 PM
You are my new urban hero. Anyone that will crawl through passageways to get to the English Beat is too cool for school.
As for babytalk, at least you didn't cut your client's meat for him. We've all said stupid things, but I've actually started cutting up my bosses meat once. Not all that swift!
Posted by: margalit | January 16, 2006 at 10:25 PM
Oh MD two great tales.. I can't stop grinning about your dude/dork duality!
Last week I left my parking garage and as adieu said to the attendant:
"Nigh-night"
I feel honoured to be in such company.
ps. The pants still fit?
Posted by: mo-wo | January 17, 2006 at 12:28 AM
Amazing, isn't it, how the vocabulary of the toddler permeates our lives, even outside their presence? Every time thewife informs me she has to use the restroom, she refers to it as "going potty", which she never said pre-Little Tyke.
Posted by: jg | January 17, 2006 at 10:48 AM
Are you saying other parents don't do this?
(My son says "perhaps" correctly in a sentence. )
Posted by: Queen of Ass | January 17, 2006 at 11:04 AM
Damnit. It wouldn't post the [/ENDBRAG] at the end of that.
Posted by: Queen of Ass | January 17, 2006 at 11:05 AM
Actually, there are people with cool stories everywhere, not just in the Big Apple. It stands to reason that anyplace with more people has more people with cool stories, but that`s not always the case. Some people move to NY and spend 50 years meeting nobody but lawyers and acountants.
Since my toddler came to his preschool straight from a daycare center in another country, I had to let his teachers know all the Japanese "potty" words. It`s amazing how quickly he became potty-bilingual.
Posted by: L. | January 17, 2006 at 11:31 AM
That's a great story. I think I was hearing the Mission Imposssible theme song in my head the whole time I was reading it. The tv show, not the movie, natch.
Posted by: landismom | January 17, 2006 at 12:09 PM
I don't understand why a man with T's apparent clout couldn't have just brought you through the front door.
ah, I know why: because it was so much more badass to take you through the tunnels and shit. he's all about giving his customers the experience they want for their $50. awesome.
Posted by: dutch | January 17, 2006 at 12:44 PM
I'm so feeling you on the boo boo thing. Once I had a scratch on my face from one of Albert's talons (seriously, do the baby nails have to grow so freakishly fast?!!?), and when I was explaining to my non-parent friend what had happened, he gave me one of those looks like, um, why are we friends again?
Sometime when we can sit and have a beer, I'll have to tell you about a couple of guys I know in the music biz ... one an obscure artist, and the other a tour manager. Both have stories that will blow your mind.
Posted by: BIYF | January 17, 2006 at 05:30 PM
One reason I read your blog is to hear things about my hometown. I was a big Seinfeld fan primarily due to the location of the series. Great story, and keep sharing them with us.
I repeatedly make reference while at work that I have to excuse myself so that I can go to the potty.
Posted by: Ed Bacchus | January 20, 2006 at 02:47 PM