By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
We attempt to interview some of them, but as one capoeirista, Angelique Marquand, tells us, they're off to another demo right after this, so they have no time. Still, the toned, curvaceous Marquand performs a handstand for our camera before she runs off after the rest of her crew.
Time for another drink. So I hit the bar, after which I turn my head and see that Jett's exploring her newfound interest in boy toys with three eligible bachelors nearby. These are Simul Parikh, Kenon Ronz and Jiger Shah, all in their 20s. Come to find out, Parikh's soon to be a doctor, Ronz plays minor league baseball, and Shah works for a medical consulting company. All three are fairly fly guys, and Jett's making googly eyes at them as I approach.
"So, Simul, think you'll be able to cure what ails me?" asks the now het-frisky Jett.
"I don't think you'll want to come to me," says Parikh, oblivious to Jett's advances. "I'm going to be an oncologist, which means I specialize in tumors. I'm not a doctor yet, but I should be in a few months."
"Have you been to these SMoCA events before?" I ask Simul, before Jett rapes the guy.
"I've been here a few times," he says, sipping a Merlot. "I like it. It's kind of East Coast-ish. Very non-Scottsdaley."
"Who gets the most chicks," I wonder, "baseball players or doctors?"
"Not this doctor," laughs Parikh. "None, in fact."
"I think we do better," says Ronz, who's a relief pitcher for the West Michigan Whitecaps, a Class A affiliate of the Detroit Tigers. "We're, um, dirtier. I think our standards are a little lower."
"How do you know these guys?" inquires Jett of Ronz.
"I'm friends with Jiger, and I just met Simul tonight," he answers, nursing his rum and Coke. "This is a cool event. I just wish I could take my drink in to where the art is. I'd like to check it out. The security guys won't let us past until we finish them."
"They know you're trouble," I tell him, then turn to Shah. "Hey, Jiger, is this a good place to meet babes?"
"Well, I'm one for one tonight," he smiles, gazing at Jett's exposed midriff in the purple, tasseled getup she's wearing.
"Reminds me of my mom's purse," says Shah of Jett's dress, effectively striking out with her.
"Come on, Kreme, I think this interview is over," pouts the bawdy bi-star, strutting away. I follow her outside so she can enjoy a ciggie. There we get to hear the tail end of a concert by Phoenix rockers the MadCaPs (www.themadcaps.net), who are tearing up the stage before a crowd of about 100. A lot of you may be familiar with the trio from their antics on First Fridays when they ride around downtown in a flatbed truck and give guerrilla performances until the po-po show up.
While Jett's smokin', I'm getting next to two luscious black ladies, Simia Henry and her cousin Bonita Arnold, the owner/designer of Boco, Bonita Clothing Co. (www.bonitaclothingco.com). Arnold's got curves in all the right places, and she boasts a badunkadunk so fine it'd make Oakland rapper Too Short beg.
"You should see my stuff. It'll knock you out," says the bodacious Bonita, who doesn't have anything in this particular show. "It's kinda classy from the front, but a little bit of hoochie from the back."
"Mmm, you know what I like," I say, grinning.
"Yeah, cutie, my fashion is bangin'," she asserts with a wink. "All I got to do is get it on the right person, either Brandy or Oprah."
I wish Bonita the best, and go in search of Jett. But by the time I find her, and we make it through the crowd again, most of the fashion show has flown by. We just get to peep a few standout pieces, such as a revealing white gown by Alma Primero, a graduate of FIDM (Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising) in L.A., and a wacky circus-themed design called "Cirque de Stompe" by Angela Johnson, Rhonda Zayas, and Brian Tanner of LabelHorde fame (www.labelhorde.com).
"Next time, Jett, spend a little less time scoping dudes, and we might see more of the fashion," I snarl.
"Au contraire, Señor Fatso," says Jett, equally snarky. "We'd get a lot more work done if you'd stop messin' with them black chicks."
"You know, I think I liked you better when you were a lesbian."