In which 50, nebech, plays the rubber chicken (no dairy) circuit.
"History will forever record Elizabeth Brooks' bat mitzvah as "Mitzvahpalooza."
For his daughter's coming-of-age celebration last weekend, multimillionaire Long Island defense contractor David H. Brooks booked two floors of the Rainbow Room, hauled in concert-ready equipment, built a stage, installed special carpeting, outfitted the space with Jumbotrons and arranged command performances by everyone from 50 Cent to Tom Petty to Aerosmith...
For his estimated $500,000, I hear that 50 Cent performed only four or five songs - and badly - though he did manage to work in the lyric, "Go shorty, it's your bat miztvah, we gonna party like it's your bat mitzvah."
At one point, I'm told, one of Fitty's beefy bodyguards blocked shots of his boss performing and batted down the kids' cameras, shouting "No pictures! No pictures!" - preventing Brooks' personal videographers and photographers from capturing 50 Cent's bat-miztvah moment.
Apparently a couple of pictures did surface, after all, though:
Personally, I cannot wait until the gangsta aesthetic goes the fuck away already.
It's not that I don't love hip-hop/rap, either. Old-school. Kanye West & Missy Elliott (among contemporary mainstream artists). Indie quirkies like Princess Superstar and MC Paul Barman, whom I'd like to affectionately rename "Effeminem." ("My pissed-off Jablowski turned three colors like Krzysztof Kieslowski/He said a hand job's a man's job, yo' job's a blowjob...")
But enough with the damn bling already. And, if you really want to look scarifying, you might consider pulling up your damn pants. Oh, yeah, I hate the look. On the subway, all you see now are the stocking caps, which irk me even more than the backward baseball cap over the do-rag look (one or the other, people; both is just de trop). Yes, I know, it's supposed to say "thug." All I can ever think when I see it, though, is the ancient little cashier in some buttfuck town in the middle of nowhere in "Raising Arizona," saying to an antsy, gun-wielding, diaper-stealing Nicholas Cage, mildly:
"Son, yew got a panty on yore head."