@ Large

Aaliyah’s song “Age Ain’t Nothing But A Number” is a constant theme in my nightlife experience, one that can make for some brutally awkward moments.

I completely understand how older women can assume I’m their age. I’ve had a full beard since 19, gray hairs sprouting up since I was even younger and a voice that could pass for someone’s dad. I get it. But what I don’t always get is how some women, who may or may not be old enough to have been in my parents’ yearbook, don’t seem to care.

There was the woman who stared me down at Alley Cat. “I’m looking at you, silly!” she yelled out when I tried to sidestep her gaze. She proceeded to tell me she moved to Charlotte 17 years ago for a job. Everything else she said afterward was white noise because all I could think was, “Damn, I was 6!”

Then there was the woman who made it her mission to get me to dance at Luna Lounge, going as far as taking my Blackberry from me. I half-heartedly complied, but about midway through the blaring ’90s hip-hop and my non-committal two-step, it struck me how this one song held completely different places in our psyches. She was excited like they played this at her prom (granted, they probably did). I only heard this song around my older cousins.

Those examples aren’t to say I’m against the idea of an older woman. It’s just always been this way.

I was 17 years old the first time I ever went to a club. I got in with my college ID because it didn’t have my age on it and was immediately accosted by a woman who was every bit of 35, trying to buy me drinks and insisting, “Chill next to me, baby.” I only stayed about five minutes.

I’ve learned the real keys to pulling off these scenarios seem to be laughing at their jokes — that may be generationally irrelevant (I didn’t grow up on Good Times, sorry) — letting them get away with comparing me to bearded stars who’ve passed away like Teddy Pendergrass or Gerald Levert, or, my personal favorite, just shutting the fuck up, smiling and nodding.

By the end of the night when others are sealing the deal, I’m usually admitting I was born in 1986 and either being laughed at, followed by an abrupt exit or, the weirder of the two, only endearing myself more to these potential cougs.

Have you ever been to Fuel Pizza after 2 a.m. sober? More specifically, have you ever been to Fuel Pizza after 2 a.m. sober during Halloween season, when Charlotte’s usual craziness is publicly acceptable?

One night at home, I catch a crazy craving for a slice. Without a drop of alcohol in my system, I head over to Fuel. Everybody else there? Hammered.

I sit at the picnic tables and observe the people around me, many still wearing costumes, doing everything but eating. One strange couple is doing what can only be categorized as light petting. Another guy uses Central Avenue as his catwalk, letting the breeze hit his gown in a way that, I must admit, is Titanic-ly dramatic. Two random dudes pop-locking. But the person you can’t take your eyes off of is Jesus.

This guy actually looks like Jesus every day, but this night, a toga brings together his prophetic look. He is totally in character, spouting peace and love — and insisting we all get high together.

Instead of laughing and moving on, one guy determines to shut him up. (I guess drunk atheists don’t like Jesus costumes). He picks up some BBQ sauce and says he’s going to put it on the back of Jesus’ toga. He tells the people at my table that the sweet stickiness will attract bears and, “as we all know,” he says matter-of-factly, “Southern bears can’t be stopped.”

He went on to explain there are multiple kingdoms on Earth, and Jesus doesn’t run the animal one — Southern bears do (I’ll spare you the rest of that drunken insight). He does his devious deed, resulting in a big brown spot against the white cloth — and Jesus is totally oblivious. People erupt in laughter, but he just thinks it’s something he said.

With the smell of BBQ sauce in the air, eventually he realizes something’s up and asks if he has anything on the back of his toga. “Yeah, it looks like you shat yourself,” I tell him. He replies in calm disbelief, “That sucks, man.”

Somewhere during his pro-Christ, pro-Prop 19 rant, after a brief but playful physical altercation with our Southern bear philosopher inches away from a cop car, Jesus makes a peace offering. He offers us LSD (which got a “hell no” from me), then admits it’s shitty — because someone dressed like Christ wouldn’t lie to you.

I decline and head to the car, laughing to myself. I can’t believe Jesus offered me LSD

The Deal: The Young Affiliates of the Mint held the Annual Black and White Gala at the Mint Museum Uptown on Friday. Nov. 12. The cause: Project Ten Ten Ten, an initiative to bring 10 works by 10 of the world’s most innovative craft artist’s to the Mint.

The Good: The evening’s inspiration was Truman Capote’s 1966 Masquerade Ball. The inspiration turned into reality at the Black and White Gala. The atmosphere was alive with a diverse crowd of young and older attendees, which made for a fun and vibrant evening. The evening started off with a downstairs reception including a silent auction with great gifts including artwork, gift certificates to fitness classes and specialty stores — there was just about something for everyone. A beautifully arranged dessert table was on display with a handcrafted black and white cake and decorative cupcakes (including vegan and gluten free ones too!). An open bar kept guests mingling downstairs until the party moved up to the fifth floor of the museum. Swanky lighting, beautiful flower bouquets and familiar tunes, from a local band, filled the air. A variety of extremely appetizing heavy hors d’oeuvres were served buffet style while guests gathered around tables to chat. Others chose to dance the night away on the floor or catch some fresh air and exquisite views on the large out door balcony.

The Bad: Location: perfect. Food: delicious. Guests: fun. What more do you need?

The Verdict: This is a must-attend annual event in Charlotte! While it’s a great way to promote the arts, it’s also one of the few, true class-act events held in the Queen City.

Courtnee Mason left the Miss Butter competition with a smile, a crown and a new title on Nov. 5. Ten contestants competed for the title of Miss Butter at the N.C. Music Factory hot spot, but only one winner was crowned.

Mason is a model/actress from Gastonia, N.C. Aside from countless appearances on television shows, runway shows and print ads, Mason was named as one of Charlotte Style Mag’s “Charlotte’s 25 most stylish” as well as being 2nd runner up for the title of Miss Black NC USA 2009.

The competition included a panel of five judges including Brotha Fred, former Miss NC USA, Scott Cooper from Evolution Talent Agency, among others. The ladies strut their stuff in both a swimsuit and in evening-wear for the panel and audience. Prior to the competition, the competitors were explained the duties and responsibilities of representing the nightclub. Although the ladies did not answer questions on the night of the competition, they did have an interview with a panel of three judges (current and past N.C. queens) earlier in the week.

Mason says that she feels "so honored to represent one of the nicest upscale night spots in Charlotte.” As far as responsibilities go, Mason said that she is “excited to have a hand in helping with the Ronald McDonald House which is opening in Charlotte in March 2011.”