Monday, May 11, 2009

Word to your moms -- I came to drop bombs

So, obviously, the past month or so has been both wonderful and trying. My rival's disappointment in not getting the job made things very difficult for both of us -- in many ways. That's all I'll say, except that things seem now to be on the mend.

But in the meantime (and perhaps as a result?!), there's been a disturbing development in my musical preferences. There's no way to ease into this, so I'll just come out with it: I am obsessed with 90's white boy rap. For the last month, all I want to listen to is House of Pain's "Jump Around," Cypress Hill's "Insane in the Membrane," and just about anything by the Beastie Boys, but especially "Body Movin'" and "No Sleep Till Brooklyn." What the fuck, I ask?!

To know how funny this is, you have to imagine the whitest of the white girls you know and then make her whiter. I'm an English teacher -- that should automatically put me somewhere near the top of your nerdy scale. Moby Dick is my favorite novel (those who know me know what this means -- it is severe), and don't even get me going on the Metaphysical Poets -- I might have an orgasm.

Why, then, do I find myself cranking the bass every single time I get in the car, sitting slightly lower in the seat and leaning way too far to my right, wrist-steering and turkey strutting my head to the above tunes? I especially love the songs that deal with some kind of rap off, in which bustin' rhymes replaces poppin' caps (e.g., "Feel it, funk it/Amps are a junkin'/And I got more rhymes than there's cops at a Dunkin' Donuts shop" or "You know I don't take a dulo/Lightly/Punks just jealous `cause they can't outwrite me/So kick that style: wicked, wild/Happy face nigga never seen me smile") Yo, it's all about rep, man. Don't get on my poetic turf; I mess you up good, mothah fuckah.

So, here's the deal. It's fine to go to a wedding, hear these songs and tear it up on the dance floor in a fit of nostalgia, but actually listening to them repeatedly? Why do they make me feel so good? I kid you not when I say "Jump Around" HAS to be playing on my iPod when I pull into work every morning. And that's just sad. I never even liked these songs when they came out. Is it possible that I'm getting dumber as I age? That it takes less and less to make me feel alive? Am I reliving some part of my youth I think I may have missed? All I know is that it's a slippery slope ending with a fatal crash into Vanilla Ice. A wobbly-headed infant couldn't even drown in the shallows of my intellect these days.

So, I leave you with the thoughts that run on an unending loop in my head all day long.

1. "I'll serve your ass like John MacEnroe/If your girl steps up, I'm smacking the ho"


2. "I got to get my props/Cops/Come and try to snatch my crops/These pigs wanna blow my house down/Head underground/To the next town/They get mad/When they come to raid my pad/And I'm out in the nine deuce Cad'"

Peace out.


Gorilla Bananas said...

I would guess the stupid part of your brain is not getting the exercise it needs. Hence your craving to listen to that doggerel. It must be similar to the food cravings pregnant women have.

Ana said...

I agree completely. But how does one exercise the stupid part of one's brain without actually being stupid? Food for thought, Mr. Gorilla Bananas.

kate said...

OH MY GOD! We've been listening to "Jump Around" non-stop over here! It's Lizzie's FAVORITE song! We'll have to jump around together sometime!

Gadjo Dilo said...

There must be a nice version of these songs. Are there girl artistes who rap about how tiresomely misogynistic these fellows are?

(You're mentioning of Metaphysical Poets just gave me an orgasm. Thanks. Luckily I was still at home and not in the office.)

Ana said...

kate: We should have a kid dance off! (Lizzie gets free extra points for not being able to walk yet and mine are so uncoordinated, I bet she wins...)

Gadjo: I don't hold out much hope for the female rappers -- but if I could find some girls who rap about the Metaphysical poets, we could both enjoy our orgasms, no?

Beverly Hamilton Wenham said...

I can see what Mr. Gadjo means. I was right there with him. Women were either old Grannies or Ho's. And why was there always some vapid fly girl dancing in the background wearing little more then a bored expression on her face. Was this all woman had achieved since the feminist movement began?
Then I heard the word.
And the word was Salt N Pepper...

"Ummm, you're packed and you're stacked 'specially in the back
Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that (thanks, Mom)
Can I get some fries with that shake-shake boobie?
If looks could kill you would be an uzi
You're a shotgun - bang! What's up with that thang?
I wanna know how does it hang?
Straight up, wait up, hold up, Mr. Lover
Like Prince said you're a sexy mutha-fucker

Sounds pretty meta freakin physical to me, girlfriend!

Ana said...

Or at least EXTREMELY physical... LOVE IT! Thank you for opening a new window. I'm off to find a man 'ho.

EmmaK said...

WHHHAAAT? You've never fancied a man with a very small brain who happened to be ripped? The way it goes is this: we are essentially animals in clothes and women are attracted to fit looking guys with lobotomies like Vanilla Ice etc. Fantasize all you like just don't mount one of these neanderthals - I've done it and these types tend to be all mouth and no trousers ;)

Borah said...

thanks a lot, now I'm humming jump around, and I don't think I can get it out of my head without listening to it...

it's contagious!

womaninblack71 said...

Pack it up, pack it in, let me begin: I came to win, battle me that's a sin. I won't tear the sack up, punk you'd better back up...
Sorry, I came over all white-boy rap. Which for a womaninblack is undignified.
Like a lemon to a lime - a lime to a lemon, I sip the def ale with all the fly women...
There I go again. I think I need to channel Bette Midler.