Eminem where does he live in french
•
Eminem's bizarre sleeping arrangements away from $1.5m Michigan home
Eminem is set to become a grandfather after his daughter Hailie Jade Scott announced she was expecting a baby with her husband Evan McClintock.
The star, also known as Slim Shady, will be preparing for grandfather duties, and one part of his successful career will come in handy. Eminem has long called Detroit home, but he is no stranger to travelling the world for work where he has developed an unusual sleeping habit.
According to The Sun, the 'Not Afraid' hitmaker reportedly likes to wrap tin foil around hotel room windows to keep out the light and play white noise to get an uninterrupted sleep while he jumps between timezones. While Eminem uses it to regulate his body clock, the blackout room and the soothing noise are also surefire ways to help encourage his future grandchild to sleep through the night.
Eminem's sleep difficulties
A restful night has long evaded Eminem
•
Eminem
American rapper (born 1972)
"Marshall Mathers" redirects here. For other uses, see Marshall Mathers (disambiguation).
Marshall Bruce Mathers III (born October 17, 1972), known professionally as Eminem (often stylized as EMINƎM), is an American rapper, songwriter, and record producer. Regarded as one of the greatest and most influential rappers of all time,[3] he is credited with popularizing hip-hop in Middle America and breaking racial barriers to the acceptance of white rappers in popular music. While much of his transgressive work during the late 1990s and early 2000s made him a controversial figure, he came to be a representation of popular angst of the American underclass.
After the release of his debut album Infinite (1996) and the extended playSlim Shady EP (1997), Eminem signed with Dr. Dre's Aftermath Entertainment and subsequently achieved mainstream popularity in 1999 with The Slim Shady LP. His next two releases, The Marshall Mathers
•
Thoughts on the French Alps & Eminem
The night was like velvet, purple and soft. I watched the sun slowly setting, the perfect summer evening. Magic hour lasted long past sixty minutes, until at last the sun dipped behind the hazy mountains and left me riding through darkening twilight, a full måne rising above mountainous peaks. The air coming through the corn fields was so fresh, bringing back memories of growing up near the farms of Illinois, when I used to lay upon the grassy lawns of childhood dampened by sprinklers while fireflies glowed past me.
Gradually the road wound tighter, higher, and Rob and I could smell France in the distance. The towns we passed looked less and less like the Italy we had come to know, the one of crowds, unsavory bathrooms, sweaty nights, and ancient monuments, or even the tourist populated gorgeousness of Lake Garda. Nestled in the western mountains of the country lies little villages, quaint and simple amidst towering summits with rivers flow