In any case, I explained I was at the MB thing, and confirmed that, yes, there were a lot of hot hipster women there. Maybe he just hit me ’cause my number was in his “recent calls.” Who knows. In fact, at that point, we had barely ever talked on the phone, but I think I’d called him to congratulate him earlier in the day. We’d just collaborated on his third COMPLEX cover, an issue he’d guest-edited, but we’d never, like, hung out. I’d known Kanye about five years and written about him a half dozen times at that point-some of which he liked, and some of which he didn’t. To be clear, this was not a normal happening. So needless to say when that exchange was interrupted by my cell-with Kanye West and Plain Pat on the other end, asking where the party was at-things started to look up for the kid. Eight years later I don’t recall exactly what I said when I arrived, but I definitely do recall some yelling followed by some tears. I was at a party thrown in honor of my recently ex’d-girlfriend launching her new magazine, MISSBEHAVE, and was trying my best to do the cordial yeah-I’m-so-happy-for-you-and-totally-over-us thing.
TBH, though, it wasn’t Kanye’s improbable sales victory that I was celebrating. 10, 2007, and HITS Daily Double was projecting based off pre-orders that West would actually outsell the incumbent heartless monster of SoundScan, 50 Cent. Where were you the day Kanye West killed gangsta rap? Me? I was super duper drunk, propped up on a banquette at Room Service watching Kanye West, standing on a table in front of me, rap along to “Good Life.” Because, you know, life was good.