I was out for a jog or my attempt at jogging. A song came on my IPOD. I thought how did I let this no talent wind up on my list of favorites? I don’t want to name her, in case you find yourself saying, “Why, I love her. She’s fabulous.” But we all have different opinions, so rest assured it’s some girl with skinny legs singing rap.
Do you sing rap, or do you rap rap?
I love all music, but let’s face it. When white people rap, it’s embarrassing. Frankly, I’m embarrassed for the entire human race.
This girl always seems to be wearing hot pants and go-go boots. Her clothing doesn’t bother me so much; it’s the lack of lyrics, the lack of meaning. All I hear is grunts and oohs, and whatever else that noise is. I hate to sound like the old folks talking about Elvis and his gyrations, but seriously, her songs sound an awful lot like someone reading an eye chart.
I suppose anybody could put gibberish to a beat and call it evocative, moving, and a statement piece. Just remember to place the microphone to your lips, (as if eating an ice cream cone), hold your fingers in gang symbols and make jerky motions while sitting on your haunches. Sway from side to side and you just might be a hip-hop star.
The song got me thinking about my dad & the things he used to say like, “I wouldn’t walk across the street to see her/him/them/it.”
The saying always sounded so mean. He might have said he wouldn’t walk across the street, but the emotion, the tone in his voice said, “That pile of doggie doo-doo? That walking, singing pile of monkey excrement? Are you kidding me? Yes, Dad. You nailed it. “I wouldn’t walk across the street to see her.” So, if Miss Go-Go boots were playing across the street in a free performance, because why would I pay? I wouldn’t walk across the street to see her.
My dad lived through a time when political correctness was well, a walking pile of monkey excrement. He probably wouldn’t have said that in front of her, or her family, but he didn’t mind stating his opinion about what he liked or disliked.
Dad had lots of sayings. This isn’t another S**t my Dad says, by Justin Halpern. My dad wasn’t prone to foul language, but he still had sayings. Like, Don’t be Stupid. He said that to my brother when he got his first vehicle. My brother saw that enormous bill for car insurance and refused to pay. My dad said, “Don’t be stupid.”
When I was a kid I liked chocolate malt balls, my brother told my dad he was going to buy me a case of them for Christmas, my dad said, “Don’t be Stupid.”
When my sister and I said we were going to quit college, my dad said, “Don’t be Stupid.”
If we sat behind a car at a green light, my dad would say, “It doesn’t get any greener.” (Although, Don’t be Stupid would also fit.)
Again, Dad nailed it. It was simple enough. But really, why do people sit at green lights? They are daydreaming, texting, talking to the love of the life, or contemplating not paying their car insurance. But they could truly be sitting there saying to themselves, the bottom light isn’t exactly the right hue. I will not go through the intersection until I see chartreuse, sea foam or parakeet green.
I asked my sister if she remembered any sayings from my dad. “Money doesn’t grow on trees.” That’s right. We can’t be wasting our money on dumb concerts of people we can’t be bothered to watch on television.
My brother said the only thing he remembered my dad saying was, “Girls, leave your brother alone.”
On the way home from lunch, that dreaded song came on the radio, and, unfortunately, the song stayed with me while I mowed the lawn. An hour later, that stupid tune was still going through my head and that’s exactly why I can’t be bothered to walk across the street to hear her sing rap. It never goes away!