Make It Rain
We lived through the boom times together. We’ve all seen Patrick Ewing standing next to “Cadillac” Anderson in the VIP of a bottomless strip club; that era is over. Wave goodbye to the salad days when your car cost more than your house, until you bought a new house that cost more than two of your cars. No soup for you, and no more platinum coated wheelbarrows to put your money in and take to the bank. The local gold plated Figaro chain outlet store is shuttering its doors. This is a new era. Don’t believe me? The last rap song I heard on the radio was about how to refinance a fixed mortgage.
I think we jumped the shark last October, around the time Birdman gave Lil Wayne a Louis Vuitton briefcase with a million dollars in it, for his birthday. I don’t know if it happened before or after the first TARP bailout, but does it matter? We saw that, and we knew- we knew it was over. This, sir, cannot last. It was the 21st century equivalent of going to a jazz club to watch flappers perform fellatio on Negro jazz players during a complicated bi-plane maneuver.
So welcome to the new economy rap videos, rap stars, rap producers, girls who ignored me at nightclubs in college, NBA All-Star after parties, Buffie the Body, Farnsworth Bentley, U-God from the Wu-Tang Clan, and that bank who approved my loan to open up a chalice shop on Park Avenue. When it rains, it pours.