GRAMMY FAMILIES / DIAMOND DON DADAS

I finally checked in the warranty and got a replacement iPod for the one that was doused in water – this time silver, because I have come to the conclusion that Apple black plastic doesn’t look as hot in presence as it does in theory. But I digress – the point is, walking back from BFred’s after watching the Grammys, 20 minutes across Brooklyn in the -40 cold, the iPod shuffled itself to Oschino’s Major Figgas dis – wherein his brags consisted of 1. “you following my moves like a bitch with a crush” 2. defending State Prop’s filmic achievements and 3. extolling the triumph of selling 10,000 copies of… his mixtape? Something. And even though this year’s Grammys had some of the best performances I’ve seen on that dismal formalist ceremony – taut Bey outshined by the raspy fearlessness of Mama Tina, 70 and working silver lame and a full nipple flaunt, for one – it was refreshing, after the Grammys’ pomp and ceremony and self-conscious torch-passing, to hear such a modest brag, Oschino still knowing the Major Figgas, well – they couldn’t top it. Oschino’s truth, even modest, was just that much nicer. Of course, this was cut before Ab-Liva got up with Clipse, and before Gillie was like… doing whatever he do. But still. Oschino. I must admit, my Roc still beats red.