My Tea's Gone Cold...

Every few weeks I put my iPod on shuffle and listen to every song in my library one by one. I find it's a good reminder of how much good music there is out there, and it's always amazing how many different emotions and memories a song can elicit on the listener.

In any case, I was listening to music and Eminem's Stan comes on. I was reminded of just how incredible this song is. Em always comes with a boatload of rhymes, which is why he is one of the top rappers in the game (top ten in order: Tupac, Biggie, Eminem, Jay-Z, Andre3000, Jadakiss, Cee-Lo, Ludacris, Scarface, Big Pun). But in this particular song, the emotion in which he tells his tale, is so incredibly unique for music these days. Back in the day, the old R&B singers used to make you feel their heartbreak or joy. The kind of raw emotion Lenny Williams sang with on Cause I love You. You don't get that with today's washed-out, auto-tuned, club friendly pop music.

Not to mention the fact Eminen creates an actual narrative, complete with character background and development. We can actually relate in some part with both Stan and Em in this song. One craving love and attention, and somebody that just understands him. The other, a victim of envy and celebrity who just wants to be left alone and not feel responsible for other people's lives. Those both seam like parts of the human condition to me, ones to which we are all afflicted.

I think this song is Eminem's crowning achievement. It's one of the best story rhymes ever (behind Biggie's Niggas Bleed). It's a great example of why rap music should considered great literature, the poetry of a generation which should be taught and studied in schools and Universities.

I encourage you to give it another listen if this small post hasn't inspired you to do so already...

Son of A Bitch, He Beat Me...

It's been so damn cold outside lately...

I went outside in the garage to grab a soda tonight. I went into the fridge and noticed that about 4 cans of pop had exploded in the bottom drawer, leaving an Icee like, sticky mess. I. being the good son, decided to clean the drawer out for my dad. I knew he'd come home and bitch about having to clean it, so I beat him to it. Besides, this buys me a week or so of getting out of household shit like
"Dayve, can you take out the garbage?"
"I can't, I'm in the middle of something. Besides, remember a few days ago when I cleaned out the fridge so you didn't have to?"

or
"You're Mom needs you to help her with the groceries, get up and go help her."
"I can't, my wrist hurts from scrubbing out the soda from the drawer. I'm on some pretty heavy painkillers over here."

So I'm cleaning out the drawer, and it's fucking awful. I'm in the freezing cold garage with a hot rag, scraping the sides of this goddamn refrigerator for 10 minutes. I can barely feel my nose and my ears, and I'm getting more annoyed and cold by the second.

My dad comes home and opens up the garage door, and sees me swearing to myself...

"What are you doing?
"Cleaning this damn fridge. Soda blew up all over the place. It's like the fucking killing fields for Pepsi in here."
"Oh. Can you move for a sec?"

I get up. My dad takes the drawer and removes it from the bottom of the fridge. He takes it in the house to the laundry room and turns on the hot water and washes it out in two minutes. All the while laughing at me.

And I just sit there with a stupid look on my face.

Fuck.