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April 22, 2003
Jump Jump
My nine year old son is memorizing rap lyrics. My daughters are dancing to it.
They are early risers since they go to bed at 9. We are all of us up at 6:30 with nowhere to go until 8. In this time a fair amount of playing goes on, witness this missive. But what is that bumping in the living room? It's the bounce of Spongebob sneakers (the kind with zippers but no laces) on the hardwood. It is the beat of Will Smith, no check that, a Will Smith clone on a Disneyfied rap cd. Boom Boom Shake Shake the Room.
I tried to play the original MC Hammer. I showed them a picture of the real Kris Kross. I hoped they would understand the difference between the real Vanilla Ice and the fake one they were listening to. I wished they hated the operatic falsetto of the woman trying to sing 'Sweat' as much as I did. Something tells me this is about as hopeless as hopelessness gets.
My children cannot dance. At least they do pretty decent cartwheels.
So they are not destined to be as soul deprived as Marcus Mabry. This kind of bubblegum karaoke hiphop will inevitably lead to a kind of social courage that can only do them good. I hope.
Sign me, the miggety miggety mack daddy's daddy, because I'm naughty by nature, not cause I hate ya. How do I know, because my kids said HO!
Posted by mbowen at April 22, 2003 07:53 AM
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