Charlie Murphy, Carry Me Through My Hangover

I just got back from an impromptu mid-week trip to St. Louis to hang with some of the Kentucky Derby gang-- since, sadly, it looks like I'm not making it back to the Derby in 2014.  We went way too hard, so I'm way too run down to try and put any kind of coherent and/or funny thoughts together, so I'll let Charlie Murphy take it from here.  Carve 10 minutes and 14 seconds out of your day to watch this.  You're not that busy.  (Or at the very least, go to the 6:15 mark.  I KNOW you have four minutes to spare.)

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OK, one funny thing I can describe quickly from STL, that's all I can manage:  On Tuesday night, we hopped around downtown, finishing the night at a little hole-in-the-wall bar with a fun little jazzy, bluesy band rocking the house.  After the band's set, we got to bullshitting with them-- in particular the drummer, a portly middle-aged black guy that Schne was calling 'Huell' because he vaguely resembled the henchman from Breaking Bad.  We ended up talking about Stevie Wonder, although not before Huell questioned the validity of a Stevie discussion with a prepster white boy (once again, my reputation as a bro preceded me, and I'm sure my zip-up-sweater-over-button-down-shirt outfit didn't help my cause.)  Anyway, after about five minutes of me holding my own with a crew of black people in their 40s and 50s, Huell stopped me mid-sentence, clapped me on the back and laughed, "Damn, white boy, I apologize, I was wrong!  You DO know your Stevie!" 

And my face lit up like the 4th of July-- or better yet, like the kids from The Sandlot during the 4th of July fireworks.  (Hamilton Porter at the 2:20 mark is perfect.)  Probably the greatest compliment I've ever received in my life.  Maybe a close second to when Paul and I rapped 'Whoomp! There It Is!' in a sketchy bar in downtown Indianapolis, failed to edit ourselves even a little bit (they drop the N bomb in that song) and walked off the stage right into a group hug of a bunch of hoodstas who thought we put up a dynamite performance.  Either way, my self-esteem is probably a tiny bit too tied up in what black people think of me. 

The whole scene was probably a fitting end to Black History Month for me.  Now if you don't mind, listen to the black guy above tell stories for ten minutes.  And have a good weekend.