(Oh, I guess you’ll wanna know who these moos are.)
M is for Mike.
As if it could stand for anything else.
A equals the lovely and talented Allison.
T If I have to tell you who T
is, you obviously haven’t been paying attention.
H The same thing goes for H.
I can hear you all now: Nice entry, Trash. Shuddup.
When things get
dull at the office, and you're looking for ways to kill time, sometimes there's
nothing better than taking a trendy saying, fad or action and imagine how it
would look when taken up by someone utterly inappropriate.
Remember when Al Gore did the macarena, for which we should all be grateful because it helped kill the infernal thing? Or when the teacher/chaperones hit the dance floor to "Safety Dance" during that sixth-grade party. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.
For example, what would George Will do when confronted by that Baha Men song at a sporting arena? Can you see him yelling, "Who let the dogs out"? Yeah, right. It might cause his lil' bow tie to get all crooked. But I'm guessing it wouldn't be long before he uttered "Who permitted the canines to depart the premises?" Hell, who wouldn't want to see him slam Eleanor Clift with that on The McLaughlin Group?
Or there's the current trend of athletes to talk about themselves in the third person. You know, the "Deion Sanders has to look out for Deion Sanders" school of public speaking? Wouldn't it be great to see our Presidential candidates do that -- like the GOP President-Elect Possibly: "Hey, G.W. Bush wants the will of the people done in Florida, but G.W. Bush doesn't want to drag this out to the Fourth of July. G.W. Bush wishes Al Gore would just go away."
My
friend David Blackwell, who will, I have no doubt, someday be a famous tenor
on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera, could bring the house down with his
rendering of an aria from La Boheme or Tosca. Only his truest
fans, however, ever heard his version of Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back", and
to this day when I think of it, I have to stand up and put my hand over my heart
in reverence.
The written word cannot do it justice,
but let it suffice to say, if you haven't heard a goateed, 250 pound man sing,
at the top of his lungs "I enjoy an ample buttocks, and am unable to tell
a lie. None of you, my fellow brothers gathered here today, should be able
to denyyyyyyyyyy," you simply cannot call yourself a music lover.
Somewhere in the darkest recesses
of my mind lies the dream that songs like the one mentioned above can live
on this way, for eternity. Remakes are big business. Who wouldn't want to
hear Celine Dion's cover of "Cop Killer?" And, is it just me, or would everyone
in America rock the house to the melodious tones of Pan flute virtuoso, Zamfir's
"Cold Slap the Bitch?" I can close my eyes and see the parental warning labels,
now.
Taking my lead from Mike (because
really, don't we all?), I can see how this would fit in nicely with the current
political crisis going on in these United States. If Al and Dub had released
their own singles for wide radio play near the end of the campaign, they might
have more heavily influenced those Floridian nursing home residents to punch
a little more vigorously through their ballots. Would we even be having this
discussion if the geezers had heard George's "Bust A Chad?"
"Your best friend Mary has a brother
Harry, in five days he's gonna die if he's not wary. You say you'll eat your
Jell-O tonight if you can, because come the next morning you'll see your son
Stan. If you want it, G.W.'s got it. If you want it, baby, G.W.'s got it.
Uh huh, uh huh, yeah."
C'mon, y'all, work with me. The
Shrub is standing on the ledge of rap stardom. A little hip-hop in his trip-hop
would have made the debates about a million times more interesting. He was
perilously close to busting out the third person, anyway. "G.W. Bush don't
know what you're talkin' about, Lehrer, you biznatch! G.W. don't play. You
can tell my worthy 'nopponent,' G.W.'s 'bout to move on up like the Jeffersons,
baby BAYbay."
Gore would, no doubt, roll his eyes
and signal to Lehrer to interrupt and repeat for the twentieth time, "In my
plan, every man, woman, child, dog and rat on the street would be given an
N.W.A. collection to play in the privacy of their homes. And what would they
play it on? A boom box."
I'm still giggling about the George Will/Eleanor Clift Wrassle Smackdown 2000... I bet that if we throw some pudding into that mix, we could make a killing from Pay-Per-View. Actually (PBS executives, take note), that would be a pretty good stunt for the next Pledge Drive.
My creativity is tapped, so there won't be any song parodies here. There is no way that I could competently follow, "A little hip-hop in his trip-hop."
During the past few years I've actually started to dig rap and hip-hop (yes, I'm aware of what a white-sounding sentence that is). Seriously, I have been known to get down to the Brand New Heavies, or to rave about what a great philanthropist Master P has been in New Orleans. In fact, I even have a preference between Cash Money, home to Juvenile (back that thang up!), and Master P's No Limit label. I'll refrain from sharing, though, as I don't want to be responsible for any unwarranted turf warfare.
Is it inappropriate for me to be a rap fan? I'll admit that I'm not completely clear on the difference between rap and hip-hop. Add that to the fact that I am about as white girl as you can be. I was a debutante. I'm in the Junior League. I have two dozen place settings of "every-day" dishes packed away in a hope chest. I've been a Southern Living subscriber for four years, although sometimes I feel like having those magazines in my apartment is the quasi-hip girl's equivalent of being caught with porn - "I read it for the recipes! I swear!"
One of the neat things about the Internet, though, is that the way that you perceive someone from their online persona may be completely different from the way they are in real life. Not in a pedophile way - more in a way that they may be more candid, funnier, and more confident than they actually are. I don't think that any members of the MATH Club are like that - we keep it real, yo. But in keeping with the political train of thought here, can you imagine if George W. Bush and AL Gore started posting on, say, Squishy?
W: Hi guyz, what's up? Can U believe what is happening in FL? It’s like more incredibuble that what I saw at Club La Vela in PC last spring break!
Sometimes
I have to wonder who all those people are behind their screen names. I mean,
you have John_Cusack, who obviously isn’t, but then you have ReallyMelissa over
on MBTV, who really is said girl from The
Real World season nine.
I guess until you meet them, it's impossible to know who’s
a brilliant bullshit artist and who’s keepin’ it real.
But some of the random personal info people bust out is beyond
me. Example: why is how much money you make relevant? It isn’t. You’re obviously
looking for oohs and aaahs. You’re not getting them here.
But I think the scary semi-stalkers, annoying-so-making-that-shit-up
uber posters and inciting trolls are a small price to pay for the power of
the medium.
Just getting to reach through nothingness and develop, or
cement, real relationships is mind blowing.
I mean, here I am getting shown up on my own journal by two
e-friends and a real life one who never ceases to surprise me with her secrets.
T listens to rap?
This is a girl who was reveling in the fine musical stylings
of Fine Young Cannibals while I was taping NKOTB posters to my ceiling.
How do people so different form friendships? How do people
so alike make each other crazy?
Trite, yet mysterious, ponderings by Hannah. Found only here.
Y’all, I’m still aching to know who allowed the canines to
depart the premises. . . .
