Woe is me. I’m just a lowly writer living hand to mouth. Nobody even loves me. Wahh, wahh, wahh. Okay, I need to admit that as far as bloggers go, your boy has it pretty damn good. I have a link to one of the most dynamic ad agencies in the city. They haven’t cut me a check yet, but they reach out to me and make sure that I get to live the lifestyle on their coattails.
Monday through Wednesday in New York City is the entertainment industry’s virtual weekend. These folks are typically grinding while everyone else celebrates Fridays and Saturdays. Consider Tuesday night to be the film industry’s Saturday. All throughout the city people are assembled to imbibe upon the libations that will be ridiculously marked up starting on Thursday night to offset all the free shit that was doled out earlier in the week.
As usual, your favorite blogger is a two-fisted beast. On this night I pounded Dewars and coke (not Doc Gooden’s white pudding) like it said something bad about my momma. the celebration was for the fifth and final season of HBO’s triumphant ghetto gospel ‘The Wire’. I don’t even watch this shit anymore since I caught feelings of fakery during season two. In this case, just like in ‘Flavor Of Love’, I am in the minority of the minorities. Still and all, GOD bless HBO and ‘The Wire’ because without these two forces coming together we might never get to witness the humanity of the street corner narcotics dealers.
FADER mag hosted the popoff. Remember when FADER mag was the Hipster-Hop darling of downtown NYC? They had that slim dude with the dreads calling the shots along with this mean-ass Mexican shorty Mariael, or some shit was her name. Those were the days. Eminem was still a slim Slim Shady. What the fuck happened to the FADER since then? That flash in the pan cool syndrome jumped up and bit them in the ass. The FADER still gets it in more thorough than most of the other rags including XXL, but they aren’t holding it down with the grey-green eyed chicks from Oakland anymore like they used to.
The party was still a solid affair with no drama at the door and almost no wait at the bars. Live go-go music kept the flow nice and smooth. Shouts go out to all my Morgan State University readers. Holler at your boy when you come back up top for the summer break. I like go-go music more than I like reggae which is still a tepid endorsement. It was regional offshoot of funk music from the B-More/D.C. area that had its greatest moment with E.U. and the ‘Butt’. I ain’t mad at you Baltimore and even though I nearly got merc’ked in that town I still can’t rate it higher than Camden, Philly or even D.C. in hardbody status.
The party… Right, so… I talked about the open bar right? Whenever you are at an industry party with O.B. status always drink the most expensive shit they have available. I remember getting wild-eyed one Wednesday night at some shindig in the old Nell’s after drinking way too much Piper-Heisdeck champagne and Belvedere with tonic. My dumb ass passed out on the subway overnight and I was awoken by the 8am morning rushhour commuters when the train pulled into the terminal. I calmly sat up, put back on my sports jacket and went to work.
Don’t be me party people. Be better than me. Get drunk and then make it back to your home.
Before dunn Heath Ledger’s himself. No Brokeback to the following drop…
