In the second part of Fab’s appearance on our 100th episode, watch as he discusses why he took a hiatus from Twitter, his thoughts on marriage, his hustling days and going from bologna sandwiches to McDonald’s in central bookings, putting Young Jeezy on and why he doesn’t mess with reality shows that tough anymore. … Newmanati!!!!
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It’s funny how BET’s “106 & Park” isn’t in Harlem as it’s name suggests. Rather it’s located in Hell’s Kitchen, at the CBS Broadcast Center on West 57th & 11th. Ironically, instead right on 106th in Harlem’s White Park Handball Courts you will find the graffiti piece seen above celebrating Ralph McDaniels’ Video Music Box Silver Anniversary. To some, Ralph McDaniels is the voice you hear on Sunday’s while listening to Hot 97 during your drive on the FDR coming from shorty’s crib in the Bronx that you met the night before at Club Imperial, and ended up beatin after breakfast at the Chelsea Diner. But to folk like me, Ralph McDaniels is family, an Uncle to be exact. One who would go on to raise me and millions with the single most important, yet often forgotten Hip Hop video show ever. Continue Reading →
In the late 1980’s, around the time that the grimy streets of New York City lay in stark contrast to the colorful tops of crack vials that filled them, Squeegee Man was born. The city was broke and broken. Ronald Reagan and his conservative agenda forced the city to put its budget to the guillotine. Some enterprising crackhead took the conservative’s “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps” rhetoric to heart and realized that with a squeegee and a bucket, he could make a buck. At any given traffic stop in the city, Squeegee Man would run up on your car, splash some piss on your windshield, squeegee it off with one hand and ask for money with the other. Sometimes there’d be a few Squeegee Men at a light who’d try to out-maneuver each other or they’d gang squeegee your shit and they’d all be expecting to get paid for it. By the 90’s, it seemed that Squeegee Man would find you at every traffic light in the boroughs and he’d be mad aggressive too. It reached the point where Squeegee Man would put a dent in your car if you didn’t throw him some coin after muddying up your shit, unsolicited. It got so bad that Rudy Guiliani ran for NYC Mayor on an Anti-Squeegee Man platform. Continue Reading →
Never imagined I would have to be responsible for so many people living under one roof. Life was so much simpler then. When I was running dolo. For self. Like, I could leave my home on Monday morning and not have to come back until a week later. And my home was fresh too. One bedroom apartment on 7th between Lincoln and Berkeley in Park Slope. When rents in New York were cheaper, and neighborhoods like that had more color. New York was banging too. The club scene was crazy, and I loved the many flavors of women the city had to offer. I finally started making some decent money and the city was my playground. Kniccas was feeling so good we even named our crew the Mack Pack. Sounds corney now, but believe me how we lived up to the name. One of our boys owned a ginormous brownstone in Prospect Heights. It was massive. Eventually his wife convinced him to put it on the market as they, with kids in tow moved to the suburbs of Chicago.
My cousin Fritz, a member of our crew, was overseeing the affairs of the Brownstone. Being that it took almost two years to sell the house and we were young and full of ourselves, we did what any fly 20 something year old dudes dudes with keys to a big house would do, we started throwing parties. House parties in Brooklyn is magic, the right parties though. We’d set up the dj set, pool our monies to cop liquors and beer kegs, made sure the women to men ratio was always in favor of the fairer sex, just cause we didn’t want a hard leg fest resulting in niggas fighting and all damaging the crib, and we’d be set. After a couple of joints, the rep got bigger and eventually we’d have the whole place packed, people spilling out onto the street. Regular 9-5 cats would be building with music industry execs and maybe a handful of street hustlers. And trust also, that at the end of every event, I’d find something soft and warm to hold on to, back at my crib a coupla blocks away, as the sun started to rise.
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