When I was a little girl, I took a variety of dance classes that ranged from tap and ballet when I was super young to gymnastics and jazz when I got older. I always thought I had a lot more skill than I actually did. But thank goodness I recognized that at an early age because, you see, now I KNOW how I look when I dance and I can take every sort of precautionary step to avoid having any one witness said embarrassment. However, all my efforts to keep my dancing prowess to myself shall not and will not limit my ability to sit back and observe those who unfortunately have not been warned of their inability to dazzle on the dance floor.
Now, there are a rare few people who can actually pull off public dancing. They fall into the following categories:
1. The "Who Cares" Dancer: I got to witness a WCD last week at Baker's Street. The gentleman (Jed was his name, I later found out) walked in and immediately set his body to the beat of the music. He did the typical confident, casual room promenade, pointing his fingers like a gun at the many people he recognized. I was immediately captivated by his suaveninity (made up word) and was even furtherly (another made up word) delighted when he got out on the dance floor. Friends, he was an acrobatic genius. His ability to grind up next to a chair has forever changed how I look at dining room sets, lawn furniture, and bar stools entirely. He was fabulous and I secretly hoped he would grab my hand and lead me into his world. But I'm pretty sure it was more fun from my angle.
2. The "Look at My Body" Dancer: Also known as the "I'm Gonna Dance With A Group Of Girls and Playfully Demonstrate What I Will Do With You Later" Dancer. These are some of the most entertaining people to watch because it usually takes about 4 1/2 drinks of alcohol to get to this point. Usually the LAMBDs are surprisingly skilled at placing themselves within viewing distance of every man in the room. Unfortunately, that might be the only thing they are skilled at. The level of alcohol in the LAMBDs system generally forces their eyes to roll back in their heads while the rest of their body parts perform some sort of tribal mating call which looks alarmingly similar to a vomiting kangaroo or an epileptic water moccasin. Soooo entertaining.
3. The "I'm So Drunk I'm Accidentally Dancing Really Well" Dancer. These dancers are almost always couple dancers. In some rare instances, when a certain level of intoxication is reached, a man and woman will magically collide on the dance floor and you all of a sudden feel like you are watching a Cirque Du Soleil performance. The alcohol forces their inhibitions to depart from their extremities and the result is quite magical. I got to see such a couple on Saturday night. I was watching another typical guy and girl drunken dance routine when all of a sudden he hoisted her in the air like a figure skater and then performed three to five fluid motions of twirling her around, dipping her toward the ground, and then magically bringing her to her feet again. It was terrifying slash awesome. For a moment, I thought he might drop her, so I started to get up from my chair in case CPR needed to be performed but in the end the only necessary response from myself was a heart-felt round of applause. I would soooo vote for them on So You Think You Can Dance.
And, for your viewing pleasure, here's a guy who can really groove. He reminds me a lot of Jed. Dear, sweet, suavalicious Jed. Enjoy!
Monday, September 10, 2007
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Cox Cares
I was walking to my car the other day when I noticed a Cox van parked among a row of vehicles. What I also noticed was that this Cox van had orange cones all around it. Which brought to mind that I don't think I've ever seen a Cox van parked somewhere without orange cones around it. I'm so amused and perplexed by this. I mean, do they pull them aside in Cox Communications Van Driving School to explain to them that they are not allowed to park anywhere under any circumstances without putting orange cones next to each of their tires? And what if someone forgot their cones at home? Then what? Do they have to put their old McDonald's trash next to each tire or would a simple note on the windshield be sufficient: "I regret to inform all of you who are walking within viewing distance of this sign that I have unfortunately left my safety cones at the warehouse and now have no form of protection for my vehicle. Please don't steal anything out of this van and/or allow your car to come within six inches of any Cox Communications tire...but if you have to, I understand because it's my fault for forgetting the cones."
And do they still put the fearsome cones of warning next to their tires when they are, say, out in the middle of nowhere? When they step out of their van and hear rattlesnakes and see dust flying around, noone within a 20 mile radius, are those cones still a necessary agent of protection for their vehicles? It seems a little exaggerated to me, Mr. or Mrs. Cox. In fact, it really makes me want to pick all of those cones up and stack them on the hood of the van. And, if I were a boy and had the appropriate equipment and maneuverability, I would probably pee on your wheels.
The overuse of cone protetion by the Cox Communications Company vans reminds me a lot of this:
And do they still put the fearsome cones of warning next to their tires when they are, say, out in the middle of nowhere? When they step out of their van and hear rattlesnakes and see dust flying around, noone within a 20 mile radius, are those cones still a necessary agent of protection for their vehicles? It seems a little exaggerated to me, Mr. or Mrs. Cox. In fact, it really makes me want to pick all of those cones up and stack them on the hood of the van. And, if I were a boy and had the appropriate equipment and maneuverability, I would probably pee on your wheels.
The overuse of cone protetion by the Cox Communications Company vans reminds me a lot of this:
Monday, September 3, 2007
The Bob Oblaw Law Blog...
"This is what the Lord says: 'When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my gracious promise to bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.'" Jeremiah 29:10-14
Well, thaaaaaank goodness. I love this reminder. Love it so much I wanna walk down the aisle in a white wedding dress toward it. Love it so much I wanna go off to war and write a love letter to it. It's good. Very very good.
Life is very interesting for me right now. I've been hesitant to write about personal, emotional things because I don't like taking myself too seriously and I also have a really strong desire to keep things light and simple. But there is nothing simple about my world. There never has been. And, frankly, I'm pretty thrilled at the fact that God made me so intricate.
So, here's what's been going on: For the past few months, I've felt like a sheep wandering back to her shepherd. But, I wasn't just a sheep playing down by the river a few feet away from the rest of the flock. I was off off on another hill, facing a different master. Through a series of different circumstances, I've managed to turn around and wander back over to where I was supposed to be. I know I'm heading in the right direction, but I'll be darned if the journey isn't about to do me in.
The seasons of our lives, I'm learning, are so interesting and emotional and tragic and beautiful. We hang onto a dream so fiercely, make it our god, and then have to suffer the pain of shame and loss and regret because it turns out it wasn't what we were supposed to be serving. People and ideas and virtues float out of our lives like balloons and we are forced to stand there in gravity, trying to hold onto the last little bit of it, crying like children because we can't go with it, finally coming to terms with the separation and praying that it gets to where it needs to be without imploding under the weight of the atmosphere. As we suffer the trauma of the loss, our daddy grabs our hand and, as he lifts us up onto his shoulders, we pass quickly by his face and see the knowing smile there and in our confusion we somehow manage to believe that it will be okay. More than okay. We can finally look at the sky and see things other than the balloons we lost.
It's a tiresome journey, this returning. As I wander back alone, I'm forced into intimacy. I see flowers along my pathway and name them patience, and faith, and hope, and truth. These are the things I'm being schooled in right now. It's an uncomfortable lesson sometimes, but it's building a virtue in me that is so strong even my self-doubt can't penetrate it. Growing and maturing in the Lord is humbling and vulnerable and there's a reason why tears are salty. So that through our pain and brokenness we can still taste Him. He tastes goooood.
And here's a picture of Tickle because, well, she's the one who lays beside me on a pillow when I cry and looks at me like I have 22 heads.
Well, thaaaaaank goodness. I love this reminder. Love it so much I wanna walk down the aisle in a white wedding dress toward it. Love it so much I wanna go off to war and write a love letter to it. It's good. Very very good.
Life is very interesting for me right now. I've been hesitant to write about personal, emotional things because I don't like taking myself too seriously and I also have a really strong desire to keep things light and simple. But there is nothing simple about my world. There never has been. And, frankly, I'm pretty thrilled at the fact that God made me so intricate.
So, here's what's been going on: For the past few months, I've felt like a sheep wandering back to her shepherd. But, I wasn't just a sheep playing down by the river a few feet away from the rest of the flock. I was off off on another hill, facing a different master. Through a series of different circumstances, I've managed to turn around and wander back over to where I was supposed to be. I know I'm heading in the right direction, but I'll be darned if the journey isn't about to do me in.
The seasons of our lives, I'm learning, are so interesting and emotional and tragic and beautiful. We hang onto a dream so fiercely, make it our god, and then have to suffer the pain of shame and loss and regret because it turns out it wasn't what we were supposed to be serving. People and ideas and virtues float out of our lives like balloons and we are forced to stand there in gravity, trying to hold onto the last little bit of it, crying like children because we can't go with it, finally coming to terms with the separation and praying that it gets to where it needs to be without imploding under the weight of the atmosphere. As we suffer the trauma of the loss, our daddy grabs our hand and, as he lifts us up onto his shoulders, we pass quickly by his face and see the knowing smile there and in our confusion we somehow manage to believe that it will be okay. More than okay. We can finally look at the sky and see things other than the balloons we lost.
It's a tiresome journey, this returning. As I wander back alone, I'm forced into intimacy. I see flowers along my pathway and name them patience, and faith, and hope, and truth. These are the things I'm being schooled in right now. It's an uncomfortable lesson sometimes, but it's building a virtue in me that is so strong even my self-doubt can't penetrate it. Growing and maturing in the Lord is humbling and vulnerable and there's a reason why tears are salty. So that through our pain and brokenness we can still taste Him. He tastes goooood.
And here's a picture of Tickle because, well, she's the one who lays beside me on a pillow when I cry and looks at me like I have 22 heads.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Why I Love My Daddy
Yesterday in line at Pei Wei Asian Bistro of Love and Deliciousness
Katy: So, Dad, how's grandpa doing? You talked to him lately?
Mark: He's doing okay. I just love my dad.
Katy: I know you do.
Mark: You know, I was actually lying in bed the other night praying about him and asking God for ways that I can bless my dad and spend more time with him. Something where we don't just sit around and talk but where we can both actually get out of the house and do something. Then, it came to me. God gave me the perfect solution: Mall Walking.
Katy: So, Dad, how's grandpa doing? You talked to him lately?
Mark: He's doing okay. I just love my dad.
Katy: I know you do.
Mark: You know, I was actually lying in bed the other night praying about him and asking God for ways that I can bless my dad and spend more time with him. Something where we don't just sit around and talk but where we can both actually get out of the house and do something. Then, it came to me. God gave me the perfect solution: Mall Walking.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
One Of The Funniest Things I've Ever Read
I wish I could provide you all with an original writing, but all my creative energy has been re-routed to papers on Shakespeare and The Bible and Methods of Research. I'm hoping my creativity will not be permanently put on hold this semester, but who the hominy knows?
Meanwhile, here's a sample from the McSweeney's website that I found to be absolutely hysterical. I have a link to McSweeney's over there to the right called "My Favorite Website" (see! see it right over there! right there!) Okay, enjoy:
FUNNY LETTERS FROM SUMMER CAMP AND THEIR NOT-SO-FUNNY RESPONSES.
BY MIKE SACKS
- - - -
Dear Mummy and Daddy:
Camp is fun and I'm eating a lot of candy!!! Kevin today caught a frog and it climbed into his shirt!
Todd
Dear Todd:
Mummy and I are getting a divorce. Will give you specifics when you come home. Tell Kevin's frog we say hi!
Mummy and Daddy
- - - -
Dad and Mom:
Yesterday I went swimming for six hours and when I got out of the water I was all wrinkly!!! Zach my bunkmate threw up after eating a whole pizza. Before lights out yesterday we all sang "101 Bottles of Beer." I fell asleep before it was done!
Chris
Dear Chris:
It's funny you should mention "throwing up" and "beer," sweetheart. Mommy won't be visiting this weekend. Do you like this special hospital stationery? Don't get too wrinkly now or you'll turn into a prune!
Daddy
- - - -
Dear Mom:
Yesterday wait two days ago I got into the best adventure in my entire life! We started off running to the springs where we ran around and around and ate lunch. And then I climbed a tree and then I killed a bug with my shoe and then we went back and had dinner. I won the skit contest. It was the best day of my entire life! I will never ever ever ever ever forget it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kim
Return to sender; no forwarding address.
- - - -
Dear Mom n Dad!
4got to send U a letter bee-4. R U having as much fun as eye am having? Wink.
Katy
P.S. Do U get it?
Katy:
UR brother is dead. He 4got to put on his motorcycle helm8. C U very soon, K8y!
Mom and Dad
P.S. Of course we get it. Why wouldn't we? The joke was obvious, really.
Meanwhile, here's a sample from the McSweeney's website that I found to be absolutely hysterical. I have a link to McSweeney's over there to the right called "My Favorite Website" (see! see it right over there! right there!) Okay, enjoy:
FUNNY LETTERS FROM SUMMER CAMP AND THEIR NOT-SO-FUNNY RESPONSES.
BY MIKE SACKS
- - - -
Dear Mummy and Daddy:
Camp is fun and I'm eating a lot of candy!!! Kevin today caught a frog and it climbed into his shirt!
Todd
Dear Todd:
Mummy and I are getting a divorce. Will give you specifics when you come home. Tell Kevin's frog we say hi!
Mummy and Daddy
- - - -
Dad and Mom:
Yesterday I went swimming for six hours and when I got out of the water I was all wrinkly!!! Zach my bunkmate threw up after eating a whole pizza. Before lights out yesterday we all sang "101 Bottles of Beer." I fell asleep before it was done!
Chris
Dear Chris:
It's funny you should mention "throwing up" and "beer," sweetheart. Mommy won't be visiting this weekend. Do you like this special hospital stationery? Don't get too wrinkly now or you'll turn into a prune!
Daddy
- - - -
Dear Mom:
Yesterday wait two days ago I got into the best adventure in my entire life! We started off running to the springs where we ran around and around and ate lunch. And then I climbed a tree and then I killed a bug with my shoe and then we went back and had dinner. I won the skit contest. It was the best day of my entire life! I will never ever ever ever ever forget it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kim
Return to sender; no forwarding address.
- - - -
Dear Mom n Dad!
4got to send U a letter bee-4. R U having as much fun as eye am having? Wink.
Katy
P.S. Do U get it?
Katy:
UR brother is dead. He 4got to put on his motorcycle helm8. C U very soon, K8y!
Mom and Dad
P.S. Of course we get it. Why wouldn't we? The joke was obvious, really.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Where's Bob Dylan When You Need Him?
I don't know if any of you have turned on a radio lately. If you have, then I'm writing this to you. I'm rallying the troops to fight against the horrific noise that has been accumulated into a powder puff of cultural indignity which has left me bewildered and disoriented after each painful blow to my central nervous system.
For the record, I don't intend to focus my writings on the things of this world that disgust me or cause a general disenchantment with society that is so profound I often find myself wandering off to a vacant corner three times a day so I can rock back and forth while holding myself, occasionally bursting into hysterical sobs.
But this is a situation I can no longer ignore. This cultural travesty affects the reputation of music as a whole and therefore must not be taken lightly lest the spirit of rocker legends gone by rise collectively from their graves and threaten to take back all that is good and true from the lyrics and melodies and songs and souls they provided. I'm not willing to let that happen.
So allow me, please, to raise the red flags of warning and cry 'Traitor!' to the following "songs" that I have recently had the not-so pleasurable experience of listening to on the radio. Wha-oh-oh-oh on the radio.
Candy Kisses. As the song starts to play, we are romantically whisked away to a world of lullabies and fairy tales with its clever use of the triangle chime. You know the triangle chime...that instrument you always wanted to play in 4th grade music class because, hello, it looked like a triangle and all you had to do was hit it with a metal bar occasionally or, if you were really daring, you could run the metal bar all around the inside of the triangle at a rapid pace so as to illustrate your extensive musical talent. Okay, so that's the image this song sets up for us in the beginning. Eventually, the singer commences the lyrics and we recognize immediately that she's going to sound like every other nasally 18-year-old female singer on a rocket ride through the pop charts. Great. But the part of the song that has me the most confused is the demon-possessed stalker/serial killer guy who is intermittently singing about these wonderful candy kisses. It begs the question...are these kisses really full of candy? Or are they kisses of death bestowed upon an unsuspecting victim who just happens to enjoy singing about touching someone else's lips with their own and it reminding them of a Starburst Fruit Chew? It's hard to tell based upon the Satanic quality of this gentleman's voice. Triangle chime + nasally 18-year-old musical stereotype should not, in my opinion, equal the Angel of Death quality this song possesses. Picture with me, if you will, Jack Nicholson's character from The Departed singing "I've got your candy kisses on my mind" while tucking your child into bed. Awk-ward.
A Bay Bay. This song is by a young man named Hurricane Chris. His name is appropriate considering the amount of destruction he has caused and how he has somehow managed to obliterate fifty years of quality music with one incomprehensible phrase. A Bay Bay. What does it even mean? I'm so perplexed by the level of horror that is this song. Let me just let you see for yourself:
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3] (I don't get that it's X3...four times...)
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Stink Wit It,Stink Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
When I Holler Ay Bay Bay
I Finna Get My Groove On
Its So Hot Up In Da Club
Dat I Ain't Got No Shoes On
Im Holdin' Up A Big Stack And Dem
Hundreds In A Rubba Band
Girl Don't Ask Me For No Cash
Cause Im Not Dat Other Man
Everybody Trippin' Cause Im Limpin'
When Im Walkin' And Im Pimpin' When Im Talkin'
I Don't Trick On Chick Dats Talkin'
Dem Boyz In Da Back Dey Be Rollin'up Dey Doughdy
Then Dey Blow It Till Dey Chokin'
Dats Wat Godly Came Out
When I See A Bad Chik Im Hollerin Out(Ay Bay Bay)
I Hope Yall Ain't Wit Ya Boyfriendz
Cause I Don't Care Wat Dey Say
And I Don't Care Wat He Say Or She Say
Im In Da Dj Booth Takin' Pictures Wit Da Dj
You Wanna Know What We Say
When Clubs Get Crunk (Wat)
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up [X2]
You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Sting Wit It,Sting Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Now If You Lookin' For Me Baby You Can Find Me
Bangin' In Da Chevy Candy Painted Swingin 9 Deep
Saint Card Creep Wit My People Right Behind Me
I Showed Dem My Chain Now
She Hollerin Wat U Buyin' Me
I Show My Mouth Piece
To Dem Freaks Now Da Hirin' Me
Oh You Got A Problem Well I Hope You
Tryin Me. Throw Them ....Park
Then I Reach Under My Sit
Hop Out With My Hand Under My Shirt
Dats Where Dey Hirin Me
Yellow Bone Chirpin' Me
She Trying To See Where Imma Be.
You Gonna Let Me Get Up In
Your Mouth Well Dats Where Imma Be
I Don't Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be. Straight To The Hotel
All Da Bad Chick Followin' Me
I Know You Like My Style, I Ain't Trippin
Im Just Tryin' To See, Girl Is You Drunk
Well Tell Me Why You Leanin' All On Me
And If You Thinkin' Imma Stink You Trippin
I Pull Up In An Expedition Wit Da Roof Lift
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay (2x)
Ay Bay Bay (3x)
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up
Im In Da Club Hot,Crunk,Sweatin, Burnin' Up
Im 'bout To Do The Crowd
Bumpin And Hollerin Wats Up
I Done Fell Out In Da Dance Floor
And Now Bring It Up
Js On Your Feet But You Cant Get These
You Wear Wats Unbrown White, And Yellow
Till You Breeze
Ill Go To Saint Louis Let My Chain Hang Low
Con Every Yellow Diamonds Mixed Wit Rozo
I Shy Real Bright In Da Light Because Im A Star
8 Shots Of Patrons Now Stannin'on Da Baw
Probably Get Drunk Wit A Scum And Put Da
Keys In Da Wrong Paw
Is this song even in English? I mean honestly. What is 'Keys in Da Wrong Paw?' And why don't he "Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be?" It is physically impossible for me to unfurrow my brow in this moment. Seriously??? This is what we've become? If someone were to actually come up to me and say "A Bay Bay" with the same emphasis and shrill inflection that Hurricane Chris uses, I might reasonably be compelled to commit an act of murder. And who could blame me? Sheesh.
Mercifully, there are some songs out there that are romantic and poetic and it's probably the praise I should be handing out rather than the criticism. I just wanted you all to be aware of what passes for "popular" these days. Bob Dylan once said "Him not busy bein born is busy dyin." Artists, of all people, should know all about reinvinting themselves in a new light, so why is it that we still have the same five songs being rewritten over and over and over, sucking all the passion out of a powerful lyric and leaving a life-changing melody writhing in the gutter?
For the record, I don't intend to focus my writings on the things of this world that disgust me or cause a general disenchantment with society that is so profound I often find myself wandering off to a vacant corner three times a day so I can rock back and forth while holding myself, occasionally bursting into hysterical sobs.
But this is a situation I can no longer ignore. This cultural travesty affects the reputation of music as a whole and therefore must not be taken lightly lest the spirit of rocker legends gone by rise collectively from their graves and threaten to take back all that is good and true from the lyrics and melodies and songs and souls they provided. I'm not willing to let that happen.
So allow me, please, to raise the red flags of warning and cry 'Traitor!' to the following "songs" that I have recently had the not-so pleasurable experience of listening to on the radio. Wha-oh-oh-oh on the radio.
Candy Kisses. As the song starts to play, we are romantically whisked away to a world of lullabies and fairy tales with its clever use of the triangle chime. You know the triangle chime...that instrument you always wanted to play in 4th grade music class because, hello, it looked like a triangle and all you had to do was hit it with a metal bar occasionally or, if you were really daring, you could run the metal bar all around the inside of the triangle at a rapid pace so as to illustrate your extensive musical talent. Okay, so that's the image this song sets up for us in the beginning. Eventually, the singer commences the lyrics and we recognize immediately that she's going to sound like every other nasally 18-year-old female singer on a rocket ride through the pop charts. Great. But the part of the song that has me the most confused is the demon-possessed stalker/serial killer guy who is intermittently singing about these wonderful candy kisses. It begs the question...are these kisses really full of candy? Or are they kisses of death bestowed upon an unsuspecting victim who just happens to enjoy singing about touching someone else's lips with their own and it reminding them of a Starburst Fruit Chew? It's hard to tell based upon the Satanic quality of this gentleman's voice. Triangle chime + nasally 18-year-old musical stereotype should not, in my opinion, equal the Angel of Death quality this song possesses. Picture with me, if you will, Jack Nicholson's character from The Departed singing "I've got your candy kisses on my mind" while tucking your child into bed. Awk-ward.
A Bay Bay. This song is by a young man named Hurricane Chris. His name is appropriate considering the amount of destruction he has caused and how he has somehow managed to obliterate fifty years of quality music with one incomprehensible phrase. A Bay Bay. What does it even mean? I'm so perplexed by the level of horror that is this song. Let me just let you see for yourself:
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3] (I don't get that it's X3...four times...)
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Stink Wit It,Stink Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
When I Holler Ay Bay Bay
I Finna Get My Groove On
Its So Hot Up In Da Club
Dat I Ain't Got No Shoes On
Im Holdin' Up A Big Stack And Dem
Hundreds In A Rubba Band
Girl Don't Ask Me For No Cash
Cause Im Not Dat Other Man
Everybody Trippin' Cause Im Limpin'
When Im Walkin' And Im Pimpin' When Im Talkin'
I Don't Trick On Chick Dats Talkin'
Dem Boyz In Da Back Dey Be Rollin'up Dey Doughdy
Then Dey Blow It Till Dey Chokin'
Dats Wat Godly Came Out
When I See A Bad Chik Im Hollerin Out(Ay Bay Bay)
I Hope Yall Ain't Wit Ya Boyfriendz
Cause I Don't Care Wat Dey Say
And I Don't Care Wat He Say Or She Say
Im In Da Dj Booth Takin' Pictures Wit Da Dj
You Wanna Know What We Say
When Clubs Get Crunk (Wat)
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up [X2]
You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Sting Wit It,Sting Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Now If You Lookin' For Me Baby You Can Find Me
Bangin' In Da Chevy Candy Painted Swingin 9 Deep
Saint Card Creep Wit My People Right Behind Me
I Showed Dem My Chain Now
She Hollerin Wat U Buyin' Me
I Show My Mouth Piece
To Dem Freaks Now Da Hirin' Me
Oh You Got A Problem Well I Hope You
Tryin Me. Throw Them ....Park
Then I Reach Under My Sit
Hop Out With My Hand Under My Shirt
Dats Where Dey Hirin Me
Yellow Bone Chirpin' Me
She Trying To See Where Imma Be.
You Gonna Let Me Get Up In
Your Mouth Well Dats Where Imma Be
I Don't Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be. Straight To The Hotel
All Da Bad Chick Followin' Me
I Know You Like My Style, I Ain't Trippin
Im Just Tryin' To See, Girl Is You Drunk
Well Tell Me Why You Leanin' All On Me
And If You Thinkin' Imma Stink You Trippin
I Pull Up In An Expedition Wit Da Roof Lift
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay (2x)
Ay Bay Bay (3x)
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up
Im In Da Club Hot,Crunk,Sweatin, Burnin' Up
Im 'bout To Do The Crowd
Bumpin And Hollerin Wats Up
I Done Fell Out In Da Dance Floor
And Now Bring It Up
Js On Your Feet But You Cant Get These
You Wear Wats Unbrown White, And Yellow
Till You Breeze
Ill Go To Saint Louis Let My Chain Hang Low
Con Every Yellow Diamonds Mixed Wit Rozo
I Shy Real Bright In Da Light Because Im A Star
8 Shots Of Patrons Now Stannin'on Da Baw
Probably Get Drunk Wit A Scum And Put Da
Keys In Da Wrong Paw
Is this song even in English? I mean honestly. What is 'Keys in Da Wrong Paw?' And why don't he "Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be?" It is physically impossible for me to unfurrow my brow in this moment. Seriously??? This is what we've become? If someone were to actually come up to me and say "A Bay Bay" with the same emphasis and shrill inflection that Hurricane Chris uses, I might reasonably be compelled to commit an act of murder. And who could blame me? Sheesh.
Mercifully, there are some songs out there that are romantic and poetic and it's probably the praise I should be handing out rather than the criticism. I just wanted you all to be aware of what passes for "popular" these days. Bob Dylan once said "Him not busy bein born is busy dyin." Artists, of all people, should know all about reinvinting themselves in a new light, so why is it that we still have the same five songs being rewritten over and over and over, sucking all the passion out of a powerful lyric and leaving a life-changing melody writhing in the gutter?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Firtht Day of Thkool
I started school last night! For those of you who don't know, I recently decided to pursue my Master's Degree in English Literature at the University of Central Oklahoma. (Man, that was a lot of capitalized words.) My first class was last night. Shakespeare. Aye forsooth.
I've never denied the fact that I'm a super nerd. But sometimes I completely amaze myself at the level of nerdiness that I exude. For instance, my class last night started at 7:30, but I left my house at 6 so I could get to school early enough for an entire NFL football game to take place before my class, should such an instance need to occur. Also, if that wasn't nerdy enough, I actually stopped at the public library on my way to school to pick up some books to read while I waited around for Room 219 of the Liberal Arts building to become vacant. Thank goodness I left the pocket protector and suspenders at home. Sheesh.
So, I sat outside my class and read for a good lengthy time. When I was finally allowed to enter the room I set up my note-taking perch on the back corner desk. Since there was still about 20 minutes to class time, I took out my sharpened pencils, my clean notebook, and my text book, and set them all in the top left corner of my desk, the home of every diligent student's classroom necessities, then proceeded to read some more.
When the professor finally arrived, I was thrilled to see he was the embodiment of every delightfully quirky Lit professor I've ever had. Complete with a "Whoa" (a white man's afro). Aaaaaand, to make the situation so much more wonderful, he brought the whole class Diet Coke and baklava. Now, I have no clue what either of these food items has to do with Shakespeare. I mean clearly grapes, bread, goblets of wine, and spiced meat from an Igloo cooler would have been more applicable sustenance, but I don't usually turn down free food or drinks, so I happily consumed the Diet Coke he offered.
And as people were slowly filtering into the classroom, he kept calling them by name and welcoming them to the wonderful abyss of Shakespearean goodness. I was so impressed that he knew so many of the students and I was also slightly jealous that he didn't know who I was...until he frantically turned toward me, pointed, and shouted "Are you the famous Tracy Hastings???!!" I didn't know what to say! I was so tempted to say "Yes! Yes I AM the famous Tracy Hastings! Please, remind me again what I'm famous for and if you are in the habit of giving As to this famous young woman!" But, my sheer panic led me only to the boring truth and I nervously shook my head no. He didn't seem too disappointed so I felt confident that Tracy may not have been the best person's identity to adopt at that particular moment. However, if he would have said "Are you the famous Angelina Jolie?!?!" clearly I would have indulged him.
Eventually, everyone got settled in and the professor began discussing the expectations of the course and I felt my pulse race with excitement as every paper assignment was mentioned and every due date handed out. La la la la. Then, he handed out our first assignment: Read Julius Caesar by Wednesday. Great Caesar's ghost! Is he serious! Reading a Shakespeare play involves so much more than two days. My heart was beating even faster at the challenge. I wanted to stand on my chair and shout "Friends! Countrymen! Lend me your ears! I WILL have this entire play read by Thursday...O pardon me thou bleeding piece of earth!" And I'm halfway tempted to wear a toga to class, but I'm not ready for them to see how completely zealous I am about getting an A just yet. I must pace myself.
Toward the end of class, we watched some of the 1944 version of Julius Caesar which stars Marlon Brando as Marc Antony. Not a bad person to see in a toga, that's for sure. And as we watched the famous murder scene when Caesar looks at his betrayer and friend and stammers "et tu, Brute?" I couldn't help but think of the other day when I gave Tickle a bath and she gave me the same look that Caesar gave Brutus and I swear if she could have talked she would have said the exact same thing..."Et tu, Katy?"
I've never denied the fact that I'm a super nerd. But sometimes I completely amaze myself at the level of nerdiness that I exude. For instance, my class last night started at 7:30, but I left my house at 6 so I could get to school early enough for an entire NFL football game to take place before my class, should such an instance need to occur. Also, if that wasn't nerdy enough, I actually stopped at the public library on my way to school to pick up some books to read while I waited around for Room 219 of the Liberal Arts building to become vacant. Thank goodness I left the pocket protector and suspenders at home. Sheesh.
So, I sat outside my class and read for a good lengthy time. When I was finally allowed to enter the room I set up my note-taking perch on the back corner desk. Since there was still about 20 minutes to class time, I took out my sharpened pencils, my clean notebook, and my text book, and set them all in the top left corner of my desk, the home of every diligent student's classroom necessities, then proceeded to read some more.
When the professor finally arrived, I was thrilled to see he was the embodiment of every delightfully quirky Lit professor I've ever had. Complete with a "Whoa" (a white man's afro). Aaaaaand, to make the situation so much more wonderful, he brought the whole class Diet Coke and baklava. Now, I have no clue what either of these food items has to do with Shakespeare. I mean clearly grapes, bread, goblets of wine, and spiced meat from an Igloo cooler would have been more applicable sustenance, but I don't usually turn down free food or drinks, so I happily consumed the Diet Coke he offered.
And as people were slowly filtering into the classroom, he kept calling them by name and welcoming them to the wonderful abyss of Shakespearean goodness. I was so impressed that he knew so many of the students and I was also slightly jealous that he didn't know who I was...until he frantically turned toward me, pointed, and shouted "Are you the famous Tracy Hastings???!!" I didn't know what to say! I was so tempted to say "Yes! Yes I AM the famous Tracy Hastings! Please, remind me again what I'm famous for and if you are in the habit of giving As to this famous young woman!" But, my sheer panic led me only to the boring truth and I nervously shook my head no. He didn't seem too disappointed so I felt confident that Tracy may not have been the best person's identity to adopt at that particular moment. However, if he would have said "Are you the famous Angelina Jolie?!?!" clearly I would have indulged him.
Eventually, everyone got settled in and the professor began discussing the expectations of the course and I felt my pulse race with excitement as every paper assignment was mentioned and every due date handed out. La la la la. Then, he handed out our first assignment: Read Julius Caesar by Wednesday. Great Caesar's ghost! Is he serious! Reading a Shakespeare play involves so much more than two days. My heart was beating even faster at the challenge. I wanted to stand on my chair and shout "Friends! Countrymen! Lend me your ears! I WILL have this entire play read by Thursday...O pardon me thou bleeding piece of earth!" And I'm halfway tempted to wear a toga to class, but I'm not ready for them to see how completely zealous I am about getting an A just yet. I must pace myself.
Toward the end of class, we watched some of the 1944 version of Julius Caesar which stars Marlon Brando as Marc Antony. Not a bad person to see in a toga, that's for sure. And as we watched the famous murder scene when Caesar looks at his betrayer and friend and stammers "et tu, Brute?" I couldn't help but think of the other day when I gave Tickle a bath and she gave me the same look that Caesar gave Brutus and I swear if she could have talked she would have said the exact same thing..."Et tu, Katy?"
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