So I had to drive my boss to the airport today. I really didn't want to do this.

1. It now costs $72 to fill up my tank on my car. I get reimbursed for $0.60 per mile. That doesn't add up in my favor.

2. My boss and I don't "talk" so to speak. Merriam-Webster defines talking as "to express or exchange ideas by means of spoken words." Ideas aren't really exchanged. Nothing is exchanged actually. Orders are giving, words are delivered and verbal frustrations are hurled. What I return are deferential acquiescings such as "okay," "yes," "sure," "you got it" and my favorite, as I only use it when I have anticipated his wants and needs, "it's already been taken care of." Essentially, I am a trained, multi-tasking animal with a genius IQ, a 1400 SAT score, a double major and minor from a top 20 university, a high school diploma from one of the best prep schools in the country and a vocabulary that rivals one of those old-school Franklin electronic dictionaries (weren't those the shit in like 5th and 6th grade?). You are probably thinking, "Dubs...come on...an animal, really? Dubs, can an animal use reasoning, a computer and read a script? Well, I am pretty sure Dian Fossey did research to prove that gorillas in the mist could decide which phone call to answer first between 2 possible calls; that they could operate Word, Excel and Outlook with the same proficiency as the average illiterate American and that when it came to reading scripts, throwing poop was often considered a preferred substitute to the original material as most scripts are shit. So yes, I am a trained animal. Real trained. Trained like Adam Zunder is trained to kick ass at 5AM in Las Vegas. The only thing more ruthless than Zunder's game at 3 am is Zunders claw at 9 am. Good times, Zunda, Good times. I digress.

So I had to drive my boss to the airport. I pulled the car around to the front of my office. I normally listen to my iPod in the car. I have one of those direct hook ups so it sounds really good. Jeezy and Kanye were on heavy rotation but I got the feeling "The Snowman" wasn't really aligned with my bosses' tastes and since he was about to board a transcontinental flight, I wanted to make his ride to the airport as pleasant as possible. I decided to put the radio on KOST 103.5 which is THE SoCal soft rock station...lots of soprano sax courtest of Kenny G. So my boss gets in the car. We have the most substanative conversation ever. Ideas were actually exchanged. About halfway to the airport and four songs deep in Mike Sakellarides' 10AM-3PM slot (pictured right). My boss, out of the blue, goes, "What the fuck are we listening to?"

"KOST 103.5, Southern California's frequency for soft rock," I reply.

"Is this what you normally listen to?"

"No, I just thought it'd be mellow for your ride to the airport."

"This sucks. What do you normally listen to?"

"Rap, err, hip hop. Power 106 or the Beat."

"We can listen to rap, that's fine."

I switched my radio to Power and on came Dr. Dre "Dre Day." For some reason it was really awkward. I don't even like listening to hip hop in front of my parents, let alone my boss.

Little known fact about my upbringing:

I was first exposed to hip hop in 3rd grade. First hip hop single:

3rd Bass "Pop Goes The Weasel" (I was not fortunate enough to be exposed to the better single off that album, hip hop classic, "The Gas Face")

Anyway, in 5th grade I was exposed to Dr. Dre's "The Chronic." I didn't get the album until a few years later (which will be explained in a moment). I did pilfer the "Dre Day" cassette single from fellow camper Josh Smick and was exposed to "Nuthin But A G Thang" by aforementioned Adam Zunder. Adam...thank you.

Around 6th grade, alternative music started getting really popular. Or rather, KROQ, southern california's alt-rock outlet was getting really popular. I discovered G. Love and Special Sauce around this time thanks to a KROQ CD sampler. I knew my parents were staunchly opposed to "rap" and "parental advisory stickers." There had to be a way around this. Young D Dubs could figure out how to get his urban fix while still earning the respect of his parents. He would FAKE interest in alternative rock. Not just interest. LOVE. "Mom, can I go to the KROQ Weenie Roast? Please, Soul Asylum and the Spin Doctors are going to be there along with Weezer and Green Day." It worked. KROQ was the #1 programmed frequency in the Volvo station wagon. I plastered KROQ stickers on my locker and Trapper Keeper. I had KROQ calendar. However, little did my parents know that I was a rogue listener of Power 106 and 92.3 The Beat (now 100.3). I had one Beat sticker, I had a Beat t-shirt that Zoe Jackson gave me, I had a Beat Key Chain and I would listen to to John Londo and the House Party on the morning drive to school. Damn I was good. I got the Bone Thugs and Harmony "E.1999" CD the day it came out, summer after 7th grade. I didn't have CD player in Cape Cod so one day when my parents were gone, I dubbed the CD on my parents' CD player. When Tha Dogg Poung "Dogg Food" CD came out, the highly contraversial CD that was banned in a number of states, I got a copy from Derl and dubbed it, marking the tape "History Notes DPG," just in case my parents came across the tape and wondered what it was. And so began my love for hip hop.

I didn't really come out of the proverbial hip hop closet until boarding school. It was there that I could share my love with fellow 3H's (hip hop heads) and was exposed to a lot of east coast material I had never heard before. I think my love became truly apparent when I wrote my college essay about Mos Def and Talib Kweli's "Respiration". My parents loved the song and loved the essay and it got me into college so.

Don't know Respiration by Black Star? Listen to the sample below. Amazing song.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/clipserve/B000067CLT001011/0/002-5418389-3433615

Vegas

Work was cancelled Friday so I rolled to Vegas twenty deep in true D Dubs style. Our room was around 3,000 square feet with 6 bedrooms. We had a plasma TV, surround sound, the 49th and 50th floor of Caesar's Palace and the city of sin at our fingertips.

Mark Ronson was spinning at PURE on Friday night so we got a table. Well, we didn't actually get a table. We just reserved one. Apparently it is rather difficult to get 20 dudes into PURE Labor Day Weekend for free. 8 dudes is not an issue. 20 is. So we only got 8 dudes in. Once inside, we were told that we were on the waiting list for a table but if we agreed to buy 4 bottles, we could have a table immediately.

Let's see...I was already very drunk, as was my crew. So 4 bottles multiplied by $300 per bottle equals $1200. Add a 20% tip. Over $1400 for 8 people. Wasn't gonna happen.

I was about 99.9% parched when the VIP host was asking me if I wanted to get four bottles. I said "sir, do you mind if I get some water before we begin talking about this?" It seems he had never heard the words "parched" or "patience" before in his life because he immediately dismissed me and told me to have a good night.

Well shit. I just got 8 dudes into the hottest club in Vegas on Friday night Labor Day weekend without paying and without waiting in line, damn straight I was going to have a good night.

I ended up spending not one dime at PURE and instead wandering the club with my homies. One homie, who shall remain nameless did the following:

Upstairs on the roofdeck, he was walking by a cabana and purposely threw his drink on an unsuspecting girl. No more roof deck.

We were talking to a mother/daughter pair, locals, both with fake breasts. The daughter was cute but it looked like you could parallel park a Suburban between her two front teeth. The mother was actually cuter. My homie slapped her boob. She said "What the fuck do you think you are doing? That is a lawsuit." I said "_______, apologize immediately." I danced with the mom for a a few minutes while her daughter got assaulted by three brotrons. I didn't really have the patience for her so I left, but so began the cougar theme for the weekend.

(Don't know what a cougar is? http://www.dishmag.com/issue27/celebrity/cel103-p1.html)

I left the club around 1:30AM and the line looked like it wound around the inside of the casino. I went upstairs with said Homie and proceeded to pass out. Somehow I rallied and went back to the club. Still nothing. I just had no patience for anything at that point so I went back upstairs and went to sleep in my king sized canopy bed.

Stories from that night included Adam propositioning two women for sex in the casino at around 5AM. His game went as followed (in creepy, over relaxed, super drunk tone): "Hey, yo, it's 5Am...you know why we're both here...let's just do this...I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you." She proceeded to kick him. He fell off his chair. Adam responded with the backhand. Security. End of that. Mark fucked a milf. Apparently Adam got knowledge from two different girls; one was black. After that, Adam kept betting on black at the roulette wheel. "Hey, yo, after getting dome from that black girl, I've been betting on black and I keep winning, it's crazy."

Awoke around 11 on Saturday morning. SHIT! We had a cabana reserved for the day to the tune of $225. Had to get down to the pool. We opted not to take a cabana at the topless pool. I put a lot of thought into this decision. What sort of female would be hanging out at the topless pool at Caesars? If Caesars was actually in Rome, I think the answer would be "the kind of girl I would pay to see topless." But since Caesars is in Vegas, I surmised that there would be older voyeurs there. Not my speed.

We kicked it at the pool all day. Two fruit plates and the hottest cabana hostess. She was a 47 year old grandmother but was hotter than most girls I've seen my age. Said homie from before was not recovering well. He puked thrice behind the cabana. Like, projectile puking style. Levon and I did it up baller style at Nero's steak house then made our way out to Rain. It was so hard leaving out palatial hotel room but nobody was really bringing back females to kick it. So we rolled to Rain like 15 deep got to cut the line. We were chilling with Darius Miles and Emeka Okafor. I didn't really talk to them. Mark did. They seemed real down to earth. We went back around 3AM and tried to scoop some biddies. No nace. Ended up passing out around 5AM. Woke up at 12. Packed up. Headed to the airport. And like that, the weekend was over. We're gonna do it again New Year's, even bigger than this time.