A Dissertation on Rap Music

My excuse is that I'm a percussionist. I've been beating out rhythms on any available surface since I was old enough to coordinate my hand movements. It's in my blood, and therefore not my fault AT ALL that I occasionally indulge in some rap music. There is something about the beats and rhythms in a rap song that any percussionist and/or math freak can't help but crave.

So it's not my fault at all, you see, that I just happened to be listening to some soulful tunes on my way to work this morning.

Unfortunately, I'm in an analytical mood today, and the thing about rap music is this: the lyrics are ridiculous. All of them. I don't think I've ever heard a rap song that didn't contain some form of nonsensicality (yes I did just make up that word). As I listened to Nelly sing about the pair of shoes he just bought, and then about his "grill" (which my husband had to explain to me was some type of dental appliance and not something you char burgers on), I realized that rap songs seem to be comprised of the following components:

1. I have some hos
2. My clothes/shoes/dental appliances are great (and expensive)
3. I make more money than you
4. I like my car
5. My penis is 10 inches long
6. I am better than you
7. I am a gansta and could therefore kill you

This put visions in my head of a great financial endeavor I shall now undertake -- building a rap song generator! Before you laugh, hear me out. Have you ever seen those recipe sites where you select an ingredient from each of the categories, and then it combines it all and gives you a casserole recipe? I'm going to make the same type of thing for rap songs, and sell it to rap artists who are a little down on their luck and need to put out a quick album.

For example, one could choose "I go thumpin' with my bling bling on" from the Rap About My Clothing category, and there they've got a line that they can use and repeat throughout their upcoming greatest hit. Combine that with a "rollin' on my 20's" from the Rap About My Car category, and soon every little thug will be "rollin'" with the song on full blast.

In all seriousness, it was somewhat disappointing to me to realize how assinine the lyrics in nearly all of the rap songs I listen to are. I'm afraid my literary nerd voice will now have to battle it out with the little gansta in me every time I think about belting out "Give me two perrr! I want two perrr! So I can get to stompin' in my Errrrr Force Ones!"

I'm out.

Old People

Now don't get me wrong, I respect age and wisdom as much as the next person. Some of the most interesting people that I know are old. All of you old people who have figured out how to turn on your computers (congrats on that, by the way) and happen to be reading this, this is likely not a flame on you, so think before leaving me a nasty defensive comment.

But seriously. Old people.

What is it about growing old that makes you feel:

a) entitled
b) wronged
c) justified in overriding whether the light is on or off at work at 6-bloody-45 in the morning, regardless of the fact that the 20+ other of us want it OFF vs. your solitary vote for it being on

Can you already predict my rant for the day?

Coming to work before the sun even has to get up is bad enough, but knowing that just a few minutes into the day you're going to be blinded by putrid fluorescent lighting makes it just that much worse. Me and the other troglodytes prefer to leave the lights off and let our eye adjust as the sun starts to come up and through the massive windows that line our walls.

But she. She has to hobble in and flip the glaring switch the second she's here, regardless of the chorus of protests: hey, turn it off! Between you and I, I think she may be too senile to realize that our protests are directed at the fact that she just turned on the light. Perhaps she fantasizes that her turning on the light directly correlates to us all telling ourselves, out loud, to turn off our bad attitudes because the sunshine has been let into our lives. This is one of the greatest mysteries.

What is that you say? Go turn the light back off? Oh, but why would I do that when I could write a scathing blog entry about it instead!

Honestly. Old people.

National Raspberry Cream Pie Day!

Why didn't anyone tell me? I'm blaming you for this travesty. That's right, YOU. I'm sitting here at work, like a chump, when I've had it confirmed by multiple sources that today is indeed National Raspberry Cream Pie day. [Google it if you don't believe me!] D'oh! I would never knowingly disrespect raspberries OR pie, yet here I am, disrespecting both.

And it's all your fault.

I wish I'd known of today's intended festivities when I awoke this morning. It would have made my decision of whether or not to call in sick a breeze -- sorry boss, I'm not coming in today: I'm observing National Raspberry Cream Pie Day!

But where am I instead? Sitting at work, writing this sorrowful blog entry, with a pounding headache. And yet, even through the searing pain, I'm scrambling through Google, trying to find a recipe for Raspberry Cream Pie so that I may make ammends to this holiday by celebrating when I get home.

Oh why did nobody tell me?