Catherine had a doctor’s appointment several towns away today, which meant I spent a lot of time in the car with her, sitting in traffic as she jumped from radio station to radio station in search of a better song.
I try very hard not to be old. I aim to be open-minded, I really do.
But my musical background simply has not prepared me for the likes of Lil Wayne, Drake and Big Sean.
To be sure, mine is an eclectic musical foundation, a mix of the country-western records my mother used to stack on the Victrola, the top 40s hits that were the soundtrack of my youth, the classical and band music I learned to play, and the choral and show tunes I performed (well, at least until I was 18 and the doctors finally took my tonsils out, changing my singing voice in the process).
My only introduction to rap music was courtesy of that early Sugar Hill Gang song we used to skate to on Friday nights at the Playland Ice Casino. Well, everyone else skated. I mostly shuffled along, clinging tightly to the wall.
But I knew every word to “Rappers Delight“:
I said a hip hop,
The hippie to the hippie
The hip hip a hop, and you don’t stop, a rock it
To the bang bang boogie, say up jump the boogie…
Well, most of the words. I just looked the lyrics up on Google. Hmm.
Catherine, frankly, was not impressed — with me or the song.
Anyway, listening to the soundtrack of Catherine’s youth is entertaining, I suppose.I had no idea there were so many colorful terms for lady parts.
I just dropped her at a babysitting job and driving home I got to wondering what all those passersby thought earlier today about the petite, graying haired lady in the early-model maroon Ford Taurus listening to Big Sean.
I sure hope they noticed Catherine in the passenger seat.