Pop Life

Swiped from my diary:

Thursday, August 23
In the year of our Lord two-thousand-seven
Harlem, NYC

Title: Industry types get all cutesy and whip out their preciouses on the dawn of the epic media clusterfuck that will doubtless be referred to as KANYE V. 50.

Today was…cool. Hectic, but still cool.

So I went to hear the Freeway joint at Island Def Jam with not one red cent in my pocket. But when that ended I had to go pick up a check before the bank closed. No dice. The check-cashing joint had to suffice.

When I appeared at the front desk at the Def Jam offices, an attractive journalist was already there. We both exchanged smiles, as the security guard inquired about whom we were there to see:

"OK. And can you spell that last name?"

"Um…"

"Oh God, it's like, T…"

"I Think it’s Italian or something."

"Yeah, T… Oh wait!—here it is in my phone: T…"

Security Dude: "And you are representing what companies?"

Pretty Journalist (who I'll call Tiffany): "Billboard."

"The FADER."

Then we both exchanged the "Oh really? You don’t say/You’re a writer, too?" glance.