ah, the sacrifices you make for your art!

I now have to write this damned book. Last night - amusing, yes - did hammer it home: hiphop, by and large, really does make me want to gouge my own ears out with a fish fork.

Oh dear.

I heard Cristal was now out of favor with the club scene, according to something I saw on the NYT website.

ita was about a zillion times hotter than any of the chicks out there on the dance floor

Very unsurprising.

hiphop, by and large, really does make me want to gouge my own ears out with a fish fork

Oh dear. That's not ideal, is it?

Oh dear. That's not ideal, is it?

Not ideal, no, but actually manageable. The book isn't about hiphop, except peripherally; it does provide the soundtrack and some of the scenery, and also explains or exemplifies how some of the male attitudes toward women are perpetuated. The important thing in there is the women, and those attitudes. There's also going to be major crossover with the world of pro sports, especially basketball, which of course would be the one pro sport that leaves me daintily stifling yawns.

Still, I'm a writer. What's more, I'm a writer who writes about music. I can do this. I can even (hopefully) do it well.

Connie, yep, Cristal is out of favour. The idiot in charge of their PR or something made a snooty derogatory comment about the rappers fixating on Cristal, and a couple of people, including Jay-Z, went ballistic, and then there were frantic efforts to downplay, and it was all very whatever.

I'm sticking with prosecco.

Oh, while I was doing the thirty-second boogie with Felipe's guy, a Moment: we put our heads together for a moment, and he nodded toward a group of white girls in white dresses (including the chick with the black bra and the sensational ass), and said into my ear: "You ever see the Brady Bunch movie? Those chicks all look like they're doing the Marcia Brady dance."

deb, I hope this is all going into the making of doc (or literary equivalent).

This is all going into "Yo Mama Don't Dance", the series of realtime articles I want to do about doing this series. We're thinking a Rolling Stone or Vanity Fair pitch.

Excellent.

Advertising? Hmmm. After the club deal:

Workin' It

There's a gaggle of lovelies, cheekbones carefully accentuated, lips outlined, eyes hungry.

Their bags are oversized; mostly, there are little telltale initials locked together, Gucci, Louis Vuitton. A few of the girls carry the black fabric bag with the coveted Prada triangle on it. Higher status, maybe.

They're out on the dance floor, swaying together, labeled with the lords of couture, drunk and yearning for someone to take them home, sweep them away, screw them blind, change their world.

Juicy and ripe, hard-edged and focused. Versace, Prada, Chanel: For Sale.

Everyone knows exactly what they're selling. And that includes them.

Oh, excellent, Deb. I can see that so clearly.