Tie-dyed shawls, beaded jewels, fufu spoonbread, myriad cultures, tribal tongues, intrinsic spirit, manic dance, intoxicating ceremonies spun around bonfire spire, painted symbols and carved tattoos. In one word, Africa: the original Motherland, your hometown that knows you by name.
[/center] What do we care about Africa? Do you care about Africa? Does Africa’s survival have any impact on you? What is the cost-benefit analysis? Will the Feds raise interest rates? Will it affect your dividends? What’s really going on in Africa? Do you read the world news? Civil war, sectarian strife, government-funded militias, famine, extinction of species, AIDS, it’s a bleak homage to the cradle of civilization.
After all, Africa is the bellybutton of humanity (nihilists and Scientologists respectfully excluded), the ultimate Ground Zero, the puddle of primordial ooze, the origin of that funky spunky glump that glommed into humans, the birthplace of groove, the kernel of truth. We are all originally Africans, from way back in the day. The common thread of all descendents, Africa’s residue resides locked inside our DNA gloopy-soup, seated within every human bacterium and spore that ever was before or will be riding this blue twirling world (Creationists’ recusal noted in the log book). Let’s face it folks, we’re surfing this electron wave together.
And so, without further ado, I implore to your sense of philanthropy, mis bella banditas, to join the hullabaloo next Saturday’s eve (April 29th, 8pm): TO AFRICA WITH LOVE Cocktail Party & Fundraiser Fete (hosted in a private Tribeca Loft). This is the perfect event to drag out the girlish clan to nosh on hors d’oeuvres, sippie drinkies (featuring Soju, thank you! martinis), and raise money for the children of God’s Golden Acre (www.godsgoldenacre.org), an orphanage in South Africa.
Will Africa survive, or will she crumble back into ashes and snow? Here’s my optimistic answer: Africa must succeed, for the sake of us all.
IBedia Productions Presents:
TO AFRICA WITH LOVE
Saturday, April 29th, 8pm
Guest Musical Performance by the Infidels
Live DJ Spinning All Night!
106 Franklin Street, 2nd Floor
(Take 1/9 to Franklin – btw Church & W. B’way – Parking Lot on Worth & W. B’way)
Pre-registration by April 28th
Buy tickets online in advance
Walk-In Registration on a First Come, First Serve Basis
[/center] Life unfolds like a phantasmal TV commercial:
FANTASY SEQUENCE. SLOW-MO. You enter the party, looking fabulous. Your fabulous friends gather round and rave about how fabulous you are.
“Girl, you look fierce!”
“Did you whiten your teeth?”
“She’s in love!”
And blah-blah, etc… amidst a barrage of additional gibberish commentary, when all you actually did was pour yourself into your skinny jeans.
In the world of woman, every mamacita’s most highly prized possession is that one perfect pair of skinny jeans: sculpted by Da Vinci, contoured by Koons, denim from heaven that transforms you into a rock star. Skinny jeans selfishly demand all attention; beckoning and inspiring, they elicit passion. For femmes like I (stacked in the back), it’s almost impossible to find great-fitting blue jeans: they always gape at the waist and the high-rises feel just God-awful. But there are occasional exceptions.
Upon my first encounter with NYDJ Jeans and their so-called ‘tummy-tucking’ action, I am understandably dubious. They get the sidelong glance at best. “Not Your Daughter’s Jeans” quoth the label… mayhaps not the most glam, methinks. Readeth the wry sticky inside: “NYDJ cannot be held responsible for any positive consequences due to your fabulous appearance when wearing the Tummy Tuck Jean.”
As I dig on their theosophy, I commit to taking Jeans out for girly whirl, test-strut promenade and behold their impact on the world.
I behold Jeans before I don them. I regard them in the mirror, observing my reflection. Jeans are fibrously stretchy and surprisingly soft, snuggly and pliant… flexible enough from the get-go to feel like a pair of old lovelorn denims. I am intrigued. Snug as a bug in a rug and ‘aint nothin’ jiggling where it ‘aint a’supposed ‘ta be. Me likey so far.
I slide it to the left into the glorious spring morning, el sexi city day. Breezy petals rain down upon me, rocking the SJP vibe, moseying across East 73rd Street, ‘baw-chica-bow-bow’ insatiably ricocheting the brain. I none-too-subtly rubberneck for reactions (to Jeans, of course), on the lookout.
Okay, that was something, over there… that was definitely a look. We have attained official lookage. Would Uncle Jackie (Mason, of course) call it a leer or a look? Was it a look, or a leer? It’s hard to tell.
I resume my disco sashay to the Park, checking my reflection constantly in passing glass, trying to assess Jeans, to analyze them. In addition to the tummy tuck, I believe I detect a tad of lipo action around the thigh arena. Me likey, moto bene even more!
I jaunt past hot dog stand. Hot Dog man notes, “beautiful” as I ease on past, most decidedly not looking at Jeans (classic leer).
I settle down on the grassy knoll for some Saturday R&R with a good paperback. Even sitting in lotus, Jeans remain comfy and never bunch up into those insatiably disagreeable creases, which jab cruelly upon mein tender skin. There is no exploding muffin-top stomach drooping painfully over the waistband. Score again!
I remember watching Oprah when Spandex was but a fledging babe: ‘Spandex is a wunderkind, a miracle how it holds it all in! All the rage!’ she marveled.
[/center] Now I do hereby proclaim that Tummy-Tuck Jeans are the wave of the future! The re-birth of cool in the new Spandex Revolution of the Now Millennium! (It could happen like that…)
The afternoon turns breezy and Jeans and I pack it in. My passing does draw a particularly solicitous “Hi there” from Mr. Random Doorman, but perhaps he is just being neighborly? It’s hard to say.
It’s a complex relationship between woman and her blue jeans, which no man could or should ever come between. Heed!
Despite the virgin excursion of Jeans on the town, the only true litmus test of course is the court of my own opinion, and NYDJ Jeans make the coveted skinny jean list. Nice one! Jesse and Joe would be way proud!
Visit the site at: www.tummytuckjeans.com
You can purchase NYDJ Jeans online at: www.sarahsboutique.com and Nordstrom & Dillards
And in the flesh at:
9219 3rd Avenue, Brooklyn
(718) 833 – 0132