Monday, June 28, 2004


Yesterday, I nearly completed a rare double:

1. Play frisbee with P. Diddy;


2. Trample P. Diddy's miniature dog while playing frisbee.

We were in Central Park tossing a disc yesterday when Samson uncorked a wild one, soaring over my head into the bright summer sky. And it landed at the feet of one Sean Combs, star of stage and screen, rapper, producer, fashionista, bidnissman and, apparently, loving dad, who was tossing a football with P. Mini. Well, sure enough, P. Diddy picked up the frisbee and tossed it back to me...and I caught it! He had decent form too. I said, "Thanks, man" and flinged the bee back out to Samson, a strange, never-before-experienced celebrity-frisbee boner rising in my shorts.

No more than 2 minutes later, streaking like white lightening to catch a throw, I felt a strange cotton sensation at my feet. Yup, it was P. Diddy's dog, Sophie, galavanting. I was mere inches from trampling this puffy, white "dog". Luckily, I swerved and Mr. Combs' personal assistant with dreadlocks came to scoop her up. I'm glad I didn't kill her cause P. Diddy had two HUGE bodyguards there in the park with him and probably several ninjas in the nearby trees and Mrs. Huxtable, who is in his Broadway production of Raisin in the Sun. And it was too nice a day to get a wagging finger and a "Let the Record Show!"

But the record can show this: After 25 years of not caring much at all for rap music, I've now seen Jay-Z and P. Diddy live and in person in successive weekends. I can only assume that I'll see L.L. or Candyman or the guys from Onyx next weekend on LBI. So...ummm...Holla at yo' boy! Or something.


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