made ya look

Press is hot. Truth is out. Ready? The two REAL reasons I got a New York zip code have finally culminated in one weekend: 1. Hot 97 and 2. Nas, live and purportedly assisted by my spirit guide Jadakiss, in Central Park. I have seen many things, during these weeks, including a live man and his blow-up doll (in a shopping cart wearing a mink coat) selling "Tell Me Off"s for $1. I have danced until 4 am on several occasions, humidity and sweat forming grotesque pools in the small of my back, to Peanut Butter Wolf, and Mr. Mao, and some Hollertronix dudes who played 9288387 dancehall joints before they hit it with Terror Squad. I have dumpster-dived with the fine denizens of Park Slope; I have subjected my interim roommates to the "betta get that bitch told tonight" song by Teedra Moses (track eight, produced booty-edifyingly by everyone's fave car-horn Lil' Jon) on neverending repeat; I have fist-fought for dish liquid with fellow rabid shoppers in New York's lone, brand-new Target (the Target which also yielded a clock radio, and therefore Hot 97, what!! SHOUT OUT TO TARGET STORES); I have not yet stalked Jake Gyllenhaal. But NONE OF IT MATTERS, because tomorrow is NAS, WITH JADAKISS, IN CENTRAL PARK. It is the pinnacle of my entire life. Seeing Nas and Jadakiss in Central Park is what I was born to do; it is why Jesus has bestowed me with this precious existence. And the selfsame Jesus knows: if shit doesn't get thrown, I'm gonna be fucking pissed.