And the chicken tastes like wood! But at least my house is still standing.
During this morning's radio show, Tony Bruno was talking about the singer Rihanna, who may or may not be eighteen years old (it was unclear; a caller said that the singer was "barely legal," but radio callers are about as trustworthy as bloggers when it comes to truthful information).
Anyway, Tony (who, if I recall correctly, is in the 45-55 year old range) noted that there is a huge difference between eighteen year old women and twenty-one year old women.
Personally, I'd draw the line around twenty-five, for reasons highlighted a few minutes later in the Bruno show, when Mark Willard was reporting on an incident with a ballroom dancer. Willard said that the dancer had returned from a hotel.
Except he didn't just say "hotel."
He said
hotel...motel...Holiday Inn
If you're scratching your head right now, then you've illustrated the point. Way back in the day, educated people had a common cultural background because of their study of the classics - ancient history, literature, languages such as Latin and Greek. Even in backwater cities in Missouri, young boys such as Harry S Truman had this cultural background.
Since there are many more educated people today, and since the classics have become devalued, there has emerged a common popular culture which serves as our point of reference. However, my view of the common popular culture is much different than the view of someone twenty or thirty years younger than me.
My blog is infested with this type of stuff, some of which only makes sense to someone who was a teenager in the 1970s. Actually, I misspoke, my blogs (in the plural) are infested with this stuff. Yesterday, I threw an allusion to a Stephen King novel into an Ontario Technoblog post. And, of course, this blog referred to an old Michael Jackson song and an old Jackson Browne song just yesterday.
So, chances are that if you see some bizarre reference, it's probably related to a cultural phenomenon from the last millennium. Well, in most cases; there are exceptions (heh).
As a postscript, here's the information on the ballroom dancing incident:
A national champion ballroom dancer says her partner was in "an intoxicated rage" and tried to kill her during a fight at their home.
Stephen Hevenor and Larinda McRaven have won more than 100 competitive dance titles together....
Police Lt. Joseph Morrissey said a recording of McRaven's call to police corroborated the police report.
She said she came home about 3:30 p.m. from a motel where she'd been spending the night because she was having relationship problems with Hevenor.
McRaven told police that Hevenor was drunk and accused her of cheating on him. He pulled her hair, choked her and poked her repeatedly, she said. He covered the left side of her face with a pillow, making it difficult for her to breathe.
She was able to get away and call police.
Police said Hevenor was swaying and smelled of alcohol when they arrived. He later told officers he had started drinking vodka at around noon Monday.
He told them he flew into a rage because of the alcohol and an earlier argument in which McRaven accused him of cheating. According to the police report, he acknowledged choking McRaven but said he did it because she was being aggressive and he was trying to keep her from kicking him in the groin.
And here's another postscript - a reference to the last time that I was talking about chicken and Holiday Inns:
Well, I have some questions about your association with Sugar Hill Records.
Shoot.
Have you ever eaten chicken at the record label?
Um, yeah.
Did it taste like wood?
Uh...no it didn't.
Did you ever stay in motels/hotels with Big Bank Hank?
Who's he?
Say what?
Say what?....
Oh. So you don't know the incredible Master Gee.
No.
And you've never met Wonder Mike.
Can't say that we have.
Johnny Cash?
He recorded a song by one of our former members.
Was it a rap song?
Not hardly.
Of course, that particular song is timely. If I were Annika, I'd call it my Wednesday poetry. But I'm not Annika, and it's Thursday. But here's the poetry:
Muddy Water
Mary grab the baby river's rising
Muddy water's taking back the land
Well this old house it won't take one more beating
Ain't no use to stay and make a stand.
The morning light showed water in the valley
Daddy's grave just went below the line
Things to save you just can't take them with you
The flood will swallow all we leave behind.
I won't be back to start all over
'Cause what I felt before is gone
Mary grab the baby river's rising
Muddy water's taking back our home.
Now the road is gone there's just one way to leave here.
I'll turn my back on what I've left below
Shifting land and broken farms around me
Muddy water's changing all I know.
It's hard to say just what I'm losing
Ain't never been so all alone
Mary grab the baby river's rising
Muddy water's taking back my home.
Well muddy water's taking back my home.
Well, since I'm quoting lyrics, let's turn to the much-alluded-to SugarHill Gang. Here are excerpts from the lyrics to "Rapper's Delight":
...[Big Bank Hank] check it out, i'm the c-a-s-an-the-o-v-a
and the rest is f-l-y
ya see i go by the code of the doctor of the mix
and these reasons i'll tell ya why
ya see i'm six foot one and i'm tons of fun
and i dress to a t
ya see i got more clothes than muhammad ali and i dress so viciously
i got bodyguards, i got two big cars
that definitely aint the wack
i got a lincoln continental and a sunroof cadillac
so after school, i take a dip in the pool
which really is on the wall
i got a color tv so i can see
the knicks play basketball
hear me talkin bout checkbooks, credit cards
more money than a sucker could ever spend
but i wouldnt give a sucker or a bum from the rucker
not a dime til i made it again
ya go hotel motel whatcha gonna do today (say what)
ya say im gonna get a fly girl gonna get some spankin
drive off in a def oj
everybody go, hotel motel holiday inn
say if your girl starts actin up, then you take her friend...
...[Wonder Mike] have you ever went over a friends house to eat
and the food just aint no good
i mean the macaroni's soggy the peas are mushed
and the chicken tastes like wood
so you try to play it off like you think you can
by sayin that youre full
and then your friend says momma he's just being polite
he aint finished uh uh that's bull
so your heart starts pumpin and you think of a lie
and you say that you already ate
and your friend says man there's plenty of food
so you pile some more on your plate
while the stinky foods steamin your mind starts to dreamin
of the moment that it's time to leave
and then you look at your plate and your chickens slowly rottin
into something that looks like cheese
oh so you say that's it i got to leave this place
i dont care what these people think
im just sittin here makin myself nauseous
with this ugly food that stinks
so you bust out the door while its still closed
still sick from the food you ate
and then you run to the store for quick relief
from a bottle of kaopectate
and then you call your friend two weeks later
to see how he has been
and he says i understand about the food
baby bubbah but we're still friends...
And this is just part of it.
Comments
I really wish people would stop saying how 'nauseous' they are, even in rap songs. There was a time when people understood the correct term would be 'I'm nauseated by...'. Sigh, the good old days.