On the Schmooze

Talk to me. And make mine a Jack Daniel's.

fucking honest. They'll stomp your chest while wearing golf cleats. What, you been in a coma since the Me Decade? Get greedy, bro.

Say what you will about some of us presenters, but if Jim Hayward of the Palm Beach Post isn't articulate and professional, I'll, I don't know, I'll...play it rough trade in public. I tried to show Hayward, who has a sociologist's interest in these things, that there was a guy who had a gal pinned backwards against the back wall of the Button, holding her arms up in a position vaguely symbolic of crucifixion, mushing her from behind. I should've videotaped it for Hayward's ongoing studies. Or maybe I should've been so bold as to tell the kids to take it outside. The 2 Live Crew was not there to accept their Best Rap nod, maybe because two members are suing Luke Campbell.

I talked to a bunch more very cool scenesters, industry wags, hustlers, and I wish I could put all your names in the newspaper. But I'd probably dis you anyway. So then Todd drove us -- us being me, Irving Azoff, Davey Geffen, and Chris Blackwell -- home. At least that's the way I remember it.

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