Monday, February 7, 2011

Missed Fergie Ferg

There is a little something you may not know about me yet, even some of you readers who think you know me pretty well by now.  Here it is:  I love hip hop music, and even rap.  Always have.  Now go ahead and gasp or put two fingers in front of your judgmentally pursed lips.  Someday I'll further defend myself.  Even Oprah Winfrey (famously opposed since the early 90s) has come around to see it as a legitimate art form.  Maybe I should read Jay-Z's manifesto, Decoded.  Maybe you should.  According to Amazon, "it is an intensely personal homage to hip-hop, as written by a man who so clearly adores the art form; it is a rare glimpse of the unexpectedly deep meanings behind the most recognizable rap lyrics of the last decade."  See that?  Hip hop is deep.

Back in the day, even songs with the nastiest and, let's face it, offensive lyrics made me laugh or "go hmmmm." (get it, C&C Music Factory fans?) and usually dance my white booty off no matter where I may have been.  Some faves were Eazy-E, Notorious B.I.G, and Salt 'n' Peppa (go girlz!).  But I have no creds to back up this affinity.  I won't pretend that I can or ever could relate to the content personally.  I won't even try to throw down hip hop lingo here.  All the street slang that I know these days is what I pick up from watching So You Think You Can Dance, which by the way is a GREAT show.   Can music be buuuck or just dancing?  I don't know.  I bet no one says buck anymore anyway, not even krumpers.

Oh how I digress.  That little speech about hip hop is more than the necessary context for my story about last night.  It was half time in the Superbowl.  I was watching and semi-pretending to care about the outcome of the game for the benefit of hubby (an avid Steelers fan) and the kids too, who already know what to do with a Terrible Towel.  The truth is, I watch the Superbowl for the commercials and the half-time show, like lotsa chicks I  know.  For me it's mostly the commercials, except this year.  This year I was really, really looking forward to seeing the Black Eyed Peas perform at half time.  I love them. I work out to them and never get tired of hearing the song "I Gotta Feeling" or even the silly Boom Boom song. 

The kids also love the Black Eyed Peas.  Last season we let them watch So You Think You Can Dance and they remember a great routine to the Boom Boom song.  I wish I had video of the three kids watching the routine while trying to mimic the dancer's moves.  Can you picture a blur of random limb extensions, head stands, and leaps into the air (more karate style than hip hop), with an occasional hip shake?  Priceless.

But back to last night.  Since it was a school night Tiger Mama (yes, that's still me for now) ruled that they had to go to bed and miss the halftime show.  Being perky at school was deemed more important than watching the Boom Boom song performed live.  So, shortly before the half, after some complaining and desperate attempts at negotiation, they dutifully marched upstairs to bed and hubby promised to DVR the show.  I thought to myself that I might make it back downstairs in time to see Fergie Ferg and the other peas, but it didn't happen.

Johnny really wanted to read to me.  How could I say "no" to that?  He's just now really coming into his own as a reader and discovering the fun of reading with fluency and it is just so darn exciting to watch.  So we snuggled in his bed and he read me a book about bats.  Seven pages in, I had totally forgotten that I was missing the halftime show.  Whatev, Fergie Ferg.  I don't need you.  My first grader's reading me a bedtime story.  Then, toward the end of the bat book, after an unsettling picture of a bat eating a katydid headfirst, my sweet considerate Johnny paused and said, "Im sorry, Mommy."  I turned to look him in the eye and said with genuine curiosity, "For what?" (does he think I can't stomach the savagery of bats?)  And Johnny said, "I think yer missin' the black eye peas, mommy."

"So what," I said.  "This is better."  And it was.

4 comments:

  1. Now throw your hands in the air
    And wave 'em like you just don't care
    And if you like fish and grits and all that pimp *expletive deleted*
    Then everybody say O-Yea-yer

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  2. Hey, Anonymous, you're cooler than a polar bear's toenails!

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  3. I gave Nikki decoded for Christmas...not before I read most of it...it is awesome!

    ReplyDelete
  4. I ordered the sample for my Kindle and it's on deck when I finish the Pat Tilman story.

    ReplyDelete