Thursday, September 16, 2010

Come on the Blog like duh duh duh duh, With Some Fugazi Tickets & a Fitted...

Jay-Z- Jigga That Nigga

If anybody knows Martin @ 212-960-3080 tell him I'd like to speak with him. There seems to have been some sort of miscommunication. I said I wanted real tickets that admitted entry. Not the kind that leave you embarrassed at the gate short $250. I need to be more clear next time. Cocksucker.

But at least I get to create my own rendition of the Mastercard Priceless ads:

Fresh out the box BX Nike Air Force 1s- $135.

Crisp Yankees World Series '09 fitted- $40.

Section B4 Jay-z/Eminem tickets with invalid barcodes- Priceless. Literally price-less.

50 hours have passed since realizing I was duped, played, treated as a mark, etc. I'm over it. Nobody wants to lose money, but more importantly I really wanted to be posted up in centerfield in Yankee Stadium. Hallowed ground where the Mick, Joe D, Rickey, Bernie Baseball and so on snagged fly balls and grabbed their crotch. I am aware that none of these players ever played in A-Rod's cribbo but we're discussing the legacy of New York's CF. It's all for naught since I never made it past the turnstyle.

I was giddy all day. Shit, I wanted to get fresh. How Fresh? Easter in September. Hit several sneaker spots but nothing caught my eye. Not that I don't have special event jumpoffs, just aware that kicks could get mightily fucked the fuck up when there are a lot of feet around. Point is I was hyper than the hyper.

I was comfortably lounging on the BX 12 stuck in traffic over the Harlem River when I got the BBM telling me the terrible news. Somebody tried the tix and was denied entry. To say my mood changed with the quickness would be quite the understatement. Having copped off a dude from Craigslist we joked that we'd be cloud 9ing it till we got 86ed at the stadium. After the laughter comes...

From what I caught on 161st St., the show sucked. Sound was terrible. Haha. Nah, I make chistes. Jiggaman brought out Mary for "Heart of the City". That right there was worth the price of admission. Everything else would be a bonus. Especially Drizzy and Nicki. Pardon me while I fart. Who am I kidding, peep the H-Pod and you might catch me with the baby bills crew screaming "Free the Baby F Weezy!!" Then again you might not.

The conclusion we came to is as follows: The tickets were real but the barcode was used with a matching e-ticket or the tix were put on Stubhub thus invalidating the barcode. The black circle is from a scalper I was talking to. He put a lighter to the bottom and said that if a black circle appears and the ticket doesn't burn it's a real ticket. Exactly what happened. Doesn't make matters any better. Just taught me and others that this ticket shit is not a game. Doubt I'd cop tix off C'List ever again unless escorted to the gate.

You didn't think this would end on a sad note? Never that. Headed into the city with my drunk corporate connects. I was sober and fairly miserable. After several attempts at finding grub after 11pm on a Tuesday we found ourselves at PJ Clarke's under the Empire Hotel on 63rd and Columbus Ave. Open till 1am 365 days a year, so they say. Through the glass I saw "Kusshis" on the chalkboard over the raw bar. The mood changed. Puppydogs and ice cream came back into play. Amazing how an oyster can change the color of my mood ring. Ugh, pardon and fuck me for that one. Just paraphrasing my boy Sammy Sifton who paraphrased...

Not the best Kusshis I've had. Smaller and not as firm as usual. Also lacking that dynamic taste experience- no briny, sweet, cucumber combo. Salinity was the main note. Shell fragments were a tad too many. Graveyard shucker needs to hone those skills. We split 2 dozen in which I must have consumed 18? Good looks Arc-doggy. And the skirtsteak? Wow. Impressed. Butter soft, no gristle. Delicious. Fall off the bone baby back ribs? Yes indeed. Tender as the talent (not on stage) in Yankee Stadium.

One last thing for shits and giggles: Waiting for a cab on 161st and the Concourse during Em's show I pulled out the camera to take a pic of the fireworks coming from the stadium and what appears? "No Memory Card." Now imagine I was in there and no card? Aw man homie. Rookie moves coming from a vet are the true definition of hustling backwards.