Internets! I am the mother effing winner.
After leaving my worksite in lower Manhattan I decided to walk to my favorite DEWse spot in TriBeCa. The TriBeCa Grand Hotel is my shit for my shit. If you have ever been inside that piece then you already know. Imagine nestling down onto a lightly heated mother of pearl toilet seat. The countertops are all Italian granite from Pompeii. I feel like I can hear the people screaming when Mt. Vesuvius erupts.
The Def Jam office was parked in front of the hotel so I knew that something was about to pop off. Plus some of my Twitter family was gathered outside. I quizzically asked what was popping off and they told me that there was going to be a Rick Ross listening session inside the hotel’s lounge. As you can also imagine these events have open bars. The free swill tonight was Belvedere. Thank you Lord, you see your nigga so fucking well all day every day.
*This event has to a gift from my great-granddad HUGH C. O’LOUGHLIN. An emerald isle cab driver who married a beautiful lady from St. Kitts.*
I shouldn’t let this out into the open but I still almost didn’t get it. The bitches on list patrol were dead ass serious and they denied my boss from XXL entry on his initial attempt. Motherfuckers were shook as hell now. If CARL CHERY ain’t on the list then their asses certainly don’t have a chance. No one wanted to step up to the plate. I decided to step up because if I got rejected I could just slink off to the bathroom and leave a DEWse for the Def Jam partygoers. I gave the girl my name. DALLAS. DALLAS PENN.
Keep in mind that I was NOT invited to this event so there is no way in hell my name is going to be on this list. I don’t know these people. I don’t even like these people, and believe you me, they sure as hell don’t like me. Just as I suspected my name was not on the list. However, some dude named DALLAS GREEN was. Holy shit strange world! Is the former Mets skipper into Rick Ross’ music like that? The girl said to me “Dallas Green?” Y’all already know I said yes. The doors to heaven swung open and I never looked backwards.
Free Belvedere was going down like insanity and the first thing that came to my mind was the fact that there was no food. What kind of peanut butter and jelly shit is this? These organizers are lucky that I don’t just walk out of this bitch. I sure would have too if my homey PANAMA wasn’t in the building, along with LOWKEY and MARVELOUS MO.
*sidebar Internets*
Why that chick MARVELOUS be at all the obamas and she NEVER sends the kid any of the invites? EVAR! Let me find out MARVELOUS MO is on some secret society spaceship shit and she be holding out on the kid.Next time I have an i.C. DVD for sale I am charging her ass double.
Anyhoo, I decided not to be double fisting up in this piece since it was on some intimate business shit. You have to know when you are at a party party and when you are at a politicking party. I talked my eyebrow shit to the broads, I made the fellas laugh out loud, I passed out a few biz cards, and I still might have had a half dozen rounds of Belvy + pineapple + cranberry. I really, really like Belvedere. I considered stealing a bottle from the bar too, but I again reminded myself what kind of event this was and my drunken focus remained raZr sharp.
Just then I felt a sweat bead run down the center of my back into my asscrack. Shit. I was clearly past my scheduled drop-off time of 6:35pm. My day job’s H.Q. has the bathrooms cleaned and mopped from 4:45pm until about 6:20pm. By that time everyone has already gone home. Well worth the wait since I get to leave a DEWse at the workplace in peace and quiet. Here it was 8:30pm and I was about to have an assquake. My bio-rhythms are extremely bourgeoise and they don’t like being taken offline. So I slipped out of the lounge to handle my B.I.
*T.M.I.F.Y.I. nutty log for the win*
When I exited the bathroom everyone had left the lounge for the adjoining small theatre space. It’s just a tiny little projection screening room with less than a hundred seats. I’ve been here several times before back when C.S. used to get all the invites to view Oscar nominated films during awards season. How do you think I knew about deluxe the bathroom? I sat next to my dude PANAMA and his publicist and the chick from RapRadar. Shouts to CASEY GANE-McCALLA whose drunk ass whooped and hollered in the screening room that “Rap Radar sucks!” It doesn’t suck as bad as he yelled it did.
When all the alcoholics simmered down Rick Ross was ushered into the theatre. He kicked it with us in his character voice which amused everyone and then he uttered his trademark tagline, “Bawssss”. Everyone loved it. They played a few songs from the new album using still shots of Ross interspersed through some of rap music’s most near and dear gangsta flicks. ‘King Of New York’, ‘Belly’, ‘Donnie Brasco’, ‘Usual Suspects’ and of course ‘Scarface’. The video editor did a yeoman’s job of synching up the movies with the music. Rick Ross should repackage this project as a concept album that is an homage to rap music’s favorite cinéma vérité.
*I should Twitter that. Done*
I did some DP2FTV cinéma vérité my damn self. Wanna watch it? Here it go…
After the session I went back out into the streets and found myself at another rap music event just one block away from the TriBeCa Grand Hotel. I didn’t get to this joint in time to enjoy the free alcohol but my folks like SPEC BOOGIE and CAUSE was in the building. CHE GRAND, VONPEA and DONWILL from TANYA MORGAN were drunk as fuck. I asked DON WILL about why he was avoiding sending me the .mp3 for the Love Song 4 Laura? It’s not like I can’t just rip it down from the web. DONWILL is my dude though and I will wait for him to finish the project that song is being placed on. Artists and content creators deserve that respect.
The best, best part of the night was catching MEKA from 2DopeBoyz twin sister spitting a hot sixteen on the subway ride home. All she needed was a blunt behind her ear and a 40oz. in her hand to make her super official. I already knew I was official. I had swag from both events stuffed in all of my pockets. Just like the ocean, my pockets are deep. Deeper than cRap music.
