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You Know? I Don’t Really Care About Rap THAT Much

Let’s really be honest: if worse ever comes to worse would you really care about your job, material possessions and virtually every piece of tangible and intangible items that surround your life?

I propose this inquiry because within the past ten days I’ve aged one more year, witnessed both life and death, was temporarily displaced and seen a grown man cry in another country.

What a difference a few weeks makes.

By the grace of whatever deity watches over me, I somehow managed to make it to another birthday relatively unscathed. Not being the celebratory type (I usually get some tattoos, load up on Mexican food and swill then pass out in a burrito, ink and Baileys-induced coma), a good friend of mine decided to drag me away from a night of drunkenly watching the Lakers game and to a soiree highlighted by a bunch of Latinos fist-pumping to salsa and Freekey Zeekey diddy-bopping through the throngs of people.

Captivating stuff.

After a night of partying I returned home to find my sanctuary lit up like the glow from the neon lights of your local strip club, and my entire block resembling a scene from Backdraft. Without getting into too many details, the blaze destroyed nearly everything in its path, before FDNY miraculously stopped it at the apartment right next door to mine. Save for some smashed out windows and a few holes in my walls, my place and everything I own (read: a bunch of sneakers and three computers) remained intact, while my roommate and myself have been bumming it out on other peoples’ cribs. Unfortunately the fire ethered the apartment it started in, forcing its denizens – who, just two weeks prior, lost their son to another freak accident – without a home to call their own during these brick cold months.

Three days later, I became an uncle for the very first time to the most beautiful niece in the world.

Three days after that miracle I was in Canada [1] drinking way more than I should have and spinning for a sold out crowd in my first international show, while G.O.O.D. Music’s Big Sean – also doing his first Canadian show – broke down in tears at how he turned his passion into his livelihood and made it out of a place where not too many people come out alive.

So needless to say, this rappity rap-rap/blog/imaginary beaf shit I’m supposed to have with everybody who’s felt asshurt at my words, bitter because I don’t support their music or whatever fictional reason to not like me is, well, pretty fucking meaningless in my life. I’ve witnessed death, life, destruction, uplifting, pain and joy all within the past ten days; my day has not ended because of my “job’s” musical chair lifestyle because at the end of the day there are way more important things to give a shit about than that.

[1] Funny thing is, during my trip to Toronto I was supposed to link up with XXL alum (and, coincidentally, the person who convinced me to return to writing) Tara Henley. But as fate would have it (she had the flu, I had a hangover) it did not happen. Next time.

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