The Kid
Yeah, so I spent my entire weekend working. Friday night Jac and I went to a magazine party and then we went to see 50's movie. It's growing on me. The first time I saw it, it left me a little cold. But this time I felt different. More moved. Saturday I read the 50 book, which I enjoyed. Did you all know that 50 did time in rehab? He says that it was cause there was drugs in his bloodstream from cooking crack for his operation and that the judge figured he was an addict and gave him rehab instead of prison. (He spent the whole time there conning the counselors and charming them with his big-ass grin. My question for him is this: So are those skills you learned in rehab transferable? Do you use them on reporters? I say hell yeah. Have you read that GQ article?) As for the rehab story, don't know much about these kind of things, but I was talking to this friend of mine that's a recovered addict and he said that the whole crack-in-bloodstream-from-handling-it line is some bullshit. Who knows.
Also listened to the movie soundtrack (feeling "Window Shopper" and "I'll Whip Ya Head Boy") and checked out the video game. Then Sat night went to the concert. Can't say too much cause I'm writing a review, but I will say that the fellas were d-r-u-n-k. Jac and I were in the press box, and this dude was hanging over the side of the barrier hollering at us and every other decent-looking chick that walked up the stairs. He was actually barking at us. I asked him what response he could possibly expect to that. He shot back: "I'm hoping for a meow." Then he demanded that me and Jac supply our digits. We were all, "Sure. Holler at us at 555-5555." Please. Come correct or don't bother.
It's all about Fifty this weekend cause I have not one, but two articles on him coming out this week. I was supposed to do a sit-down interview with him yesterday, but he decided not to do any press because of the government's attempts to block his entry into the country. Booo. I already can't stand the (not liberal at all) Liberal party and now they have gone and messed up my chance to nab the biggest interview of the year. Big screw-face to that. Plus Buck, Yayo, M.O.P., and Mobb Deep couldn't get across the border, which obviously made me plenty heated. All I need is to hear "Ante Up" live and I will be satisfied forever (forever? forever ever.)
I had a dream the other night that I was having a party at my spot, and I was sitting in my room gossiping with my girls, and 50 came in to sing a song, strumming chords on his ukelele. And that, friends, is how you know that you are a certified workaholic (or hip-hopaholic anyway)--when you start having bizarre dreams about it all.
Also listened to the movie soundtrack (feeling "Window Shopper" and "I'll Whip Ya Head Boy") and checked out the video game. Then Sat night went to the concert. Can't say too much cause I'm writing a review, but I will say that the fellas were d-r-u-n-k. Jac and I were in the press box, and this dude was hanging over the side of the barrier hollering at us and every other decent-looking chick that walked up the stairs. He was actually barking at us. I asked him what response he could possibly expect to that. He shot back: "I'm hoping for a meow." Then he demanded that me and Jac supply our digits. We were all, "Sure. Holler at us at 555-5555." Please. Come correct or don't bother.
It's all about Fifty this weekend cause I have not one, but two articles on him coming out this week. I was supposed to do a sit-down interview with him yesterday, but he decided not to do any press because of the government's attempts to block his entry into the country. Booo. I already can't stand the (not liberal at all) Liberal party and now they have gone and messed up my chance to nab the biggest interview of the year. Big screw-face to that. Plus Buck, Yayo, M.O.P., and Mobb Deep couldn't get across the border, which obviously made me plenty heated. All I need is to hear "Ante Up" live and I will be satisfied forever (forever? forever ever.)
I had a dream the other night that I was having a party at my spot, and I was sitting in my room gossiping with my girls, and 50 came in to sing a song, strumming chords on his ukelele. And that, friends, is how you know that you are a certified workaholic (or hip-hopaholic anyway)--when you start having bizarre dreams about it all.
<< Home