Hippity Hop to the Hip Hop

No idea who these characters are

Names of certain current music artists provide us with a disturbing, maybe unsettling, view of our youth.  J-Master, Lil Dick, M&M, Lil N, and Doo Fuss, are just samples of the names these clods think are cool.

It seems as though face-painted hair-band rock and rollers, with their long hair, spandex britches, and boots with elevator soles and heels have given way to a form of entertainment called “hip hop.”

Hip Hop “artists” come from all races and can easily be identified by their baggy mismatched clothes, expensive sneakers, and ball caps which absolutely must be worn sideways.  In addition, another accessory is a scowl.

A scowl is a usually good indicator of hemorrhoids but, these musical stars wear this grimace like a badge of honor.  It seems as though you have to look unhappy if you are connected, in any way, with the Hip Hop genre.  These performers and their body guards and their main squeezes – actually the word these gentlemen use to more accurately refer to these gussied-up women rhymes with “witches” – all of whom sport frowns, too.

It is somewhat mysterious why all the glumness because these folks make lots of money.  Lots!  Evidenced by their gold jewelry, oversized timepieces, diamond earrings, and choice of expensive alcohol consumed in their music videos, money seems to be of little concern.

In the event you have never seen a Hip Hop music video, they all begin with the main rapper – lingo for poet who thinks he can sing – sitting on a brownstone step with his homies.  “Homies” are simple minded morons who are mesmerized by this rapper’s ability to put rhyming words together while bobbing his head as if he were searching for pigs feet in a vat of boiling water.

He eventually makes it big and winds up driving to the music venue in a Lamborghini or Bentley, depending on how many lackeys need to jump out of this portable party.  They purposefully strut inside with copious over-made up women, with all the entourage wearing glamorous fur coats and sun glasses.

With the microphone firmly wedged inside his mouth, the bobbing and weaving continues with peculiar effeminate hand gestures.  Eventually, the group heads to their crib, another slang term for where people live.  Posh and well appointed, these cribs all contain a nicely stocked bar replete with Waterford crystal, and an oversized hot tub.

Luckily, the entire group has their bathing suits on-hand and climb into the spa.  The body guards, unfortunately, forget theirs and must stand nearby wearing their black leather jackets along with their shades and frowns.  The busty women take to waving their arms above their heads until a rival of some sort bursts in with their blazing “nines.”  In this case, “nines” refers to 9mm handguns. 

Evidently, these rappers have a nefarious side, perhaps related to drugs or some sort of fashion faux pas, and a score needs to be settled, clearly with firepower and lots of it.  Which begs the question:  Why all the body guards?

It is a blessing that the rapper is unhurt.  It is also a blessing there are so many more busty women capable of waving their arms so that another music video can be made.

This is what is called a “teaching moment.”  Youngsters who gravitate to this type of entertainment should be chastised for laughing at the poodle skirts, saddle shoes, and bowling shirts of yore.

In no way should this be considered a slam against Hip Hop or its fans.  It should, however, serve as a roadmap for anyone older than thirty to one of today’s musical choices.  And you may now call me by my new name, Type A Positive.

Words

Every now and then we hear phrases that give us pause.  Some phrases have worked their way into everyday language.  Here are some that are just plain dumb.

Be careful.  These two innocuous words are ones I often use.  I say it out of concern for my loved ones and after spewing them, is apologize.  People do not cast caution to the wind in my absence.  Climbing a ladder, my friends and family members don’t think, “No one offered any cautionary words so, it’s off to the top rung that is labeled ‘Not a Step’. “

I ran out of time.  This phrase can be heard by people who have poor time-management skills.  Since we all have 24-hours in a day, we all have the same opportunities to accomplish things within those parameters.

If only I had known.  Used primarily as a vehicle to provide an excuse for some sort of shortcoming, this saying is a true gem.  “If only I had known,” I would’ve picked the winning lottery numbers; I would’ve used the correct test answers; or I could’ve taken a cab home.

I found them in the last place I looked.  That’s good.  If you had, indeed, found something missing – keys, wallet, teeth – it would be pointless to continue looking.  So, this statement is truer and more accurate than most, unless you have memory problems.

Ooh, that’s hot!  Knowing food was just removed from the oven – lasagna, for instance – should serve as a clue for everyone older than an infant that it should not be eaten right away.  Keeping food baking at 400 degrees for two-hours generally makes it hot.  It should come as no surprise that it needs time – somewhere in the neighborhood of 45-minutes – to sufficiently cool to avoid serious burns to your mouth.

Ooh, that’s cold!  Akin to “Ooh, that’s hot!” this phrase is heard more often during the winter.  Folks generally rush indoors and, while their eyeglasses are de-fogging, utter a weather report about the icy temperatures outside.  It should come as no surprise to most since we call that time of year “winter” which denotes generally cold conditions.  No one should be amazed.

Did you see this?  These words are often heard and said while reading either a newspaper or book.  The reader traditionally discovers something truly news-worthy and makes the announcement “Did you see this?”  Such an expression is redundant since the asker usually is the first viewing the newspaper, precluding the askee from responding with anything but a, “No.”

It’s raining outside.  Traditionally it does rain outside making this statement anticlimactic.  If the true news is supposed to be that rain is actually falling, your wet umbrella or damp clothes may be a hint.  If it’s raining inside, you need a roofer or plumber.

How do I look?  This one needs no response.  No matter what your answer is, it is wrong.  If you say they look nice, you are lying.  If you say awful, you need to be ready for a fight.

Are you serious?  Another example of crazy words can be found when these three are assembled together.  Most people don’t normally joke about your house being on fire.  Create your own crisis and try them by inserting them in the sentence, “I must tell you that______.”  Now follow with “Are you serious?”

How are you?  No one really wants to hear the true answer to this inquiry.  This is a casual greeting  between individuals with an anticipated reply of, “Fine.”  The person who tossed this line out does not want to hear about your sick aunt, dead dog, or unexpected case of dandruff.

Speed Kills.  This is my personal favorite.  If this statement were true, all NASCAR drivers would be dead.  They’re not.  ‘Nuff said.

This list is only the beginning of more to come.  Thanks for reading and come back next week for a new story.

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Under Water

The Commonwealth of Virginia uses as its slogan “Virginia is for Lovers.”  After watching hurricane Isaac make its way toward the United States, I figure Virginia’s slogan should be “We Listen to Civil Engineers.”

For hours on end, reporters dripping water and peppered with beach sand, from The Weather Channel, broadcast seemingly endless stories from various locations along the Gulf of Mexico about what they perceive to be the beginning of the end of sunny Florida.

But, as a bonus, this year is special because the Republican National Convention was scheduled to be held in Tampa, Florida.  Tampa is located mid-way up the west coast of Florida, and the only reason to hold anything there in August is the fact the snow birds are gone.  Otherwise, Florida in August can best be described as hot, humid, geriatric, and miserable during the summer months.  I know; I’ve been there.

Pictures from those weather reports show one bay after another, full of yachts and Red Cross workers, dotting the landscape awaiting the next significant weather report form the Hurricane Center.  In the background is a large building where this convention is to be held except for the delegates and speakers that cannot, or will not, attend due to the weather which may, or may not, be inclement.

Yes, originally anticipated to make shore – calculated with the help of scientific algorithms – near Tampa, many attendees have chosen to remain absent from the festivities.  This is not a slam against Republicans, who need to get their hands on a good almanac.  Rather, it is a slam against the people who thought it would be a brilliant idea to build this convention center on the water, at water level.

Woes of flooding this venue caused hand-wringing rarely seen before in history.  All of this angst could have been prevented if only the Tampa, Florida, planners has taken a page from the Virginia Book for Civil Engineers.

Actually, there may not even be a book with that title but, rules for building on The Eastern Shore come from somewhere.  And that somewhere now appears to be pretty valuable.

The Eastern Shore, like Florida, is a place you either love or hate.  The Shore, however, consists of a major road – Route 13 – surrounded by homes and farms and swampland.  Already pretty wet and pretty low-lying, this territory is prone to flooding under the best conditions.

Maps in the Accomack Planning Office are color-coded red to denote areas that are inclined to be affected by some high tides, nor’easters, and hurricanes.  For your information, most of those maps are entirely red.  Therefore, building anything new – other than an ark - in those areas require the living structure be elevated high enough off the ground to accommodate most kinds of water damage.  Period.  End of discussion.

But, it seems as though similar rules don’t apply to similar areas in Tampa.  If a hurricane flood surged eight-feet four years ago, so what?  No need to take any precautions in case another storm meanders through the general vicinity.

Just as with The Shore, I like Florida, although Florida doesn’t have nearly enough mosquitos.  And based upon Florida’s penchant for building at levels predisposed to flooding, their civil engineers would do themselves a favor by visiting Accomack County, Virginia.

I’m just sayin’.

Clothes Call

Although most of us bathe – and yes, I do know some that don’t – the cleansing process is not done.  Unless you reside in a nudist colony, you wear clothes that need to be cleaned, as well.

Your ability to wash your clothes should be commensurate with your job, hobby, exercise regimen, or dining habits.  Allow me to explain.

Lawn care, sanitation, janitorial, nursing, mechanic, military, fast food, and a variety of other jobs lend themselves to soiling ones clothes with mud, grass clippings, bodily fluids, and grease.  These stains are difficult to remove from clothing which often dictates the use of uniforms that are professionally laundered and maintained.

You may be saying, “What does this have to do with me?”

Plenty.

Many folks like to walk, to jog, to bicycle to their professional jobs or school for their personal physical well-being.  Admirable as it may sound, that exercise should be reserved for after-hours when these folks don’t have to sit in your office or one nearby, unless they have access to a shower upon arrival.  Yes, they may be healthier but, they are smellier, too.

But, before we get to the point of entering the work force, we grow as children.  Many kids play in dirt, with dirt, and eat dirt.  They enjoy games such as baseball, football, tag, hide-and-seek, and dodgeball, all of which is likely to soil them and their clothing.  That is not a news bulletin.

Still, 236 words into this story brings me to the crux of all this – getting clothes clean.

Doing laundry is analogous to riding a bike.  Since I was single for nearly four decades, I developed some real-life skills one cannot learn in school, one of which was cooking, the other was doing my own laundry.

It seems as though the cooking part helps introduce spattered grease to ones shirt hence, the invention of the kitchen apron.  The real danger comes from preparing edible food which then results in staining ones shirt, again, while eating.  In fact, this happens so often, I actually buy my shirts pre-stained.

All my cooking and laundry skills were brought to test when my sainted wife took a recent trip to visit family out of town.

A quick trip to Walmart let me secure some pre-wash stain removers and OxyClean to assist me clean my spotted t-shirts.  As usual, they came out clean and like new.

Now as pointless as this ramble seems, it is important for those post-high grade-12 off-to-schoolers who are heading out to be on their own for the first time in their lives.   It’s likely Mom didn’t devote a Saturday to showing her offspring how use the Whirlpool washer and dryer, sort colors, pre-spot stains, add detergent and bleach, effectively dry them with few wrinkles and shrinkage.

Being thrust into learning to care for those sweat-laced clothes, sour towels, stained shirts and slacks, and well-used bedding, can be intimidating to laundry rookies.  Although I haven’t checked, I’m almost certain you can learn these things from YouTube or even get an app on how to tidy-up your haberdashery and linens.

If you are thinking twice about this, please refer to paragraph six.  I don’t want to sit next to you.

Directory Assistance

It’s an annual event that has gone from exciting to problematic – getting new phone books.  For those readers that don’t know what a vinyl record is, you may not know what a phone book is, either.

Phone books inelegantly arrived on our doorsteps in two different versions, white pages and yellow pages.  Somehow, phone book fairies made their way through thick and thin to diligently get them to their new homes so that we could, er, call people.

In the movie, The Jerk, Steve Martin played a dim-witted farm boy who “finally made it,” because his name was now in the phone book.  I would check the new arrival to ensure my name was spelled correctly and the numbers were not transcribed.  But, why would most people need a phone book?

When phone booths dotted the landscape – well before the advent of cell phones – phone books adorned these booths and provided important information needed to contact whomever you needed and could not remember, or knew, the number.  Phone booths were devices that were invented to provide stunt-minded teenagers a place into which to cram themselves, and afford a canvass for graffiti vandals.

Generally, people we call are friends or family whose numbers are familiar to us.  Should we need a number we can now simply turn toward the internet.  Friend and family numbers are usually written down in a personal book, or on pieces of paper that litter the refrigerator being suspended by magnets.  Thank goodness fridges are made of metal rather than cardboard or my kitchen floor would be covered like snow.  But, I digress.

The white pages contain personal numbers, numbers of government entities, and telephone information such as area codes and rates.  Yellow page books consist of businesses and now contain coupons for select vendors to gauge if people actually use the yellow pages to find businesses.

Its format is pretty simple.  Names are listed alphabetically, directory style, with the last name first.  Businesses are listed normally with the entire name of the business written out, and is further broken down into categories, for your convenience.  It is no coincidence that the yellow pages traditionally have ‘AAAAA Towing’ as its first listing. 

However, if you should want to find pizza establishments, you’ll be directed to search under ‘restaurants.’  If you need a new truck window you could check under ‘glass.’  You would then be directed to look under ‘auto parts.’  Once in ‘auto parts,’ you’ll be directed to look under ‘glass.’

Hunting for information in the yellow pages can be arduous, at best.  Unfortunately, only businesses that pay extra money to be listed are contained therein.  So, if you know the name of the business, simply look in the white pages book.

With the dawning of every living creature walking about with a cellular phone apparently glued to their ear – yes, Smokey the cat has one, too – fewer numbers appear in phone books.  It seems as though the listed phones are only land-line or hard-wired phones, which are quickly becoming obsolete.

This is where we need to store these reference books of remarkably thin pages of paper listing literally tens-of-thousands of name and number mentions, some with addresses.  These publications are quite impressive fetes to produce accurately.

But, just try to get rid of these paperback monstrosities and you will begin to despise them.  Most recycling centers refuse to take them, trash companies specifically mention not to place them in the trash, so the only recourse is to toss them into your neighbor’s yard.  I enjoy wrapping them in Christmas gift wrap – complete with ribbon and bows - and leaving them at the mall; thieves will eventually assist with my problem of disposal.

I can’t remember the last time I thumbed through the pages of a phone book as I now heavily rely on the internet for finding names and numbers.  And yes, my cell phone directory is chock full of names and numbers important to me.

So, if see an elegantly wrapped apparently orphaned gift on a bench at the mall, consider it yours.  It’s from me.

Hotter Than That

This past week or so has found me sweating.  No, it’s not because I’m looking over my back for the law, rather it is because the weather has been so hot.  The thermometer currently reads 107 degrees.  A pleasant 107, though.

Our old house was built in the 1800’s without the benefit of insulation, both heating and cooling this wooden tent is quite a challenge.  Two window air-conditioning units are gasping for a reprieve while Smokey the cat is ardently searching for a cool place to situate his fur coat.  It is so hot, the feral cats are lying-in-wait in the shade.

Every store on The Shore employs at least one amateur comedian who feels compelled to offer, “Is it hot enough for you?”

I feel equally compelled to retort with, “Yes, but it is not humid enough.”

Of course, the person doing the inquiring is seated in a well air-conditioned room with an ice cold beverage.

To add insult to injury, local radio and television stations give advisories during such sizzling times to avoid strenuous outdoor activities, drink plenty of fluids, and stay in air-conditioned surroundings.  Perhaps these listeners are seen as too stupid to do so without these inane warnings, akin to turkeys drowning by looking agape into the sky at rain.

Anyone with a brain will gladly stay indoors sans notices from the media and government.  But, there are those who must be outdoors to eke out a living.  Grass cutters - aka. Lawn mowers – do their business outdoors, as do roofers, house painters, and watermen.  Indoors, air conditioning folks climb about attics where the heat is unbearable to enormous levels.

Even Smokey the cat is panting from the excessive heat, most likely because of his furry coat.  And he is indoors reeling with sympathy pains.

Then there are those who feel compelled to drive to the beach and swelter in the hot sun without the benefit of a beach umbrella.  These sun gods and goddesses claim that a dip in the ocean cools them off.  I don’t see how a romp in 90 degree water is refreshing.

This year is no exception to the warm water bringing in the jellyfish and their prey, sharks.

Even golfers are refraining from visiting the links on such hot days, and I believe the mosquitos are slowing down, too.

Standing in line at the Chincoteague Carnival for an oyster fritter caused me to sweat from merely waiting motionless, although everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves.  Rambunctious kids running around like idiots provided the only cooling wind.

Shade has become a premium in which to cool down, if only by five degrees, or so.

The good news is that succulent watermelons are in season, giving one time to subtly chew them with little effort and receive tasty benefits of hydration and a reason to sit.

Eventually this torrid weather will break and cooler temperatures will prevail, at which time I will pen another story about how cold it is and warmer days are needed.  Until then, I’ll write and complain about today.

Olympic Fever

Not Michael Phelps

Every four years we are deluged by the Olympics.  This year, the summer Olympics are being held in London  and things there are going well for nearly every country except Uzbekistan who, as of this writing, has one bronze medal.

Most folks are into the Olympics, even if they don’t watch other sports such as football, baseball, or other decisive, competitive sports.  I believe this is because people can cheer for their home country which builds nationality, or a as Leftists call it, jingoism.

Patriotism is a good thing.  Feeling part of a winning team, thought, or lifestyle, can be satisfying and can enrapt the viewers while encouraging a sense of belonging.

There are several Eastern Shore area participants in this 2012 Olympics, two of whom are sailors.  Another local participant could be a gymnast but, I’m not sure.  There’s probably a runner in this mix, too.

Running, jumping, swimming, and even basketball, are all sports events that test one’s mettle.  Finishing first requires great skill which comes with practice, coaching, training, and determination, coupled with individual proficiency culminating in a win by finishing first, second, or third, thereby winning a medal.

But, there are those events that are subjective such as diving, balancing on that wooden beam thing, apoplexic tumbling, and that stuff women do with a stick and ribbon.  Judges watch such events and give their best guess as to who the winner is.  What I feel is good, they do not.  Some of these athletes appear to have just arrived from that television show, “You Call That Dancing?”  In no way does doing summersaults to music on a mat reflect a real sport any more than bass fishing does.  Sure, it requires talent and skill, but…

And dressage events seem to require more talent from the horse than the rider, unless the roles are reversed.  Badminton and beach volleyball?  Really?  Where does someone in land-locked countries learn to play beach volleyball?  Golfing is making its debut in 2016.  I’m waiting for beer drinking to be introduced.  Can fruit carving be next?

Gold medals for first, silver for second, and bronze for third place adorn the winners.  It must suck to be fourth.  Still, second place is merely the first loser.

Michael Phelps, the golden boy of the pool, has won a record number of gold medals.  In fact, he has so much gold around his neck, he resembles Mr. T.  Forget his scandal a few years back with that bong in his mouth.  He’s America’s hero. 

Another irritant is the woman who is appearing in her fourth Olympics.  Some quick ciphering makes her roughly 40-years old.  I would think that a country with 350,000,000 people could find another participant who is at least as good to compete in their first event instead of wheeling this woman out on a gurney.

People train from early youth with special coaches in first-rate facilities, for hours on end, year after year.  They are fit, both mentally and physically, and should be the absolute best a country has to offer.  I wish the Americans well and hope the best-of-the-best win their events.  And, so does the federal government.

It seems as though each medal winner gets money from the government.  Gold, silver, and bronze medal recipients get $25,000, $15,000, and $10,000, respectively.  They also get tax bills for the medals themselves, upward of $5,000 each.  That’s a nice way of saying “thanks” from Uncle Sam.

So, I’m not sure what irritates me more:  The fact that “amateur” competitors receive a stipend from the government, or that the powers-that-be tax these athletes who encourage patriotism.