Hammering the point home

As I pulled into my space in the parking lot of the East Oakland junior high school where I sometimes substitute teach, I had a casette tape of a song I had just recorded playing in my car stereo. I was a few minutes early, and it was a nice day, so I sat there for a minute while the song ended, and I got to thinking: “Man, this is some really good stuff. I’ve never heard another rapper who’s as good as I am!” It felt so good. I’m not always the religious type, but I know when to give it up for the big man upstairs, so I said “O, my Lord, thank you for blessing me with my poetical genius and my prodigious dancing talent.”

The song ended, so I popped the cassette out of the stereo, turned off the car, and headed into the school, trying to figure out how to turn this newfound confidence into a lesson for my students. I decided that I could make a lesson plan out of an analogy between dance and hard work in the business world, so when I got to the classroom I put the tape into a boombox and cranked it. “Everybody get out of your seats” I said. “To start, I want you to grab a fly girl and start dancing.”

The class responded better than I could have hoped, and I knew it was because the beat of my song was so infectious. Of course I had borrowed some of the music from Rick James, but the words were all mine and I knew that was what really made it great. “None of you are as good as I am at this,” I explained to the class, “but I think you can learn something from it nonetheless. It’s all about putting on a good show, but you also have to work hard. What do you think it’s going to take to write a song that burns up the charts in the 1990s?”

One of my students raised his hand and said something about “having the right connections” but I cut him off. “Connections are good,” I said, “but really you have to work hard, or you might as well quit. A wise man once said you have to ‘go with the funk’ and I think he was probably right, but just remember that if you decide to go into the music business you’ll have to compete with me, and I don’t think you can.”

“But someday you’ll stop recording, and the next generation will get its chance, right?” asked one of my students.

Looking around at the ineptitude of the dancing I was seeing, I smiled to myself and said “Why would I ever stop doing this? You guys just aren’t any good! Look at me, though—I’ve performed in a couple of different clubs in the Bay Area, and once when I was on vacation in Great Britain I was a big hit at a karaoke night in a London club! By all means, keep trying, but I’m performing at a level that realistically you’ll never be able to touch.”

And with that, I stopped the tape, dismissed the class, and grooved my way back out to my car, which had been overheating in the sun because I forgot to leave the windows open a little.

Freedom

A funny thing happened to me the other night.

I was at home, relaxing by the glow of a fire I'd lit in my living room fireplace. It's really a very cozy setup — stone hearth, solid mantle, lazyboy chair, bearskin rug, the works. I'll often make tea for myself in the evening (coffee makes me jittery), but since my sister had recently sent me a canister of Ghiradelli mix, I was drinking cocoa.

Somewhat unexpectedly, the doorbell rang, which was odd, given that not only was it pretty late (nine? ten?), but I was certainly not expecting company. Being polite and generally not the type to suspect the worst, I got up, and with a shrug, went to the door. The bell rang once more, that familiar "ding-dong," before I turned the knob. Well, imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find Clarisse, who, for those of you who don't know, is the best friend of my girlfriend Zelma.

"Clarisse! What a surprise to see you here at this hour! Is everything all right?" I asked.

"Oh, things are more than all right," she answered, stepping without invitation into my house. I was a bit taken aback by the whole ordeal as she put her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. Something was clearly up, as she was wearing a very tight little J. Crew number and was smiling slyly at me. Why would Clarisse be doing this, I asked myself as she all but pushed me back onto my chair. I mean, she knew that I was faithful to Zelma, and though Clarisse is a fine young lady, I'm not the kind of man who is just going to betray his girlfriend for a few moments of passion. Zelma would definitely NOT approve, I was sure.

But still, she pushed on, and tried to kiss me — a move I had to dodge quickly. I told her to calm down; I believe I said something to effect of "Chill!" or "Wait!" though in retrospect, I probably should have taken a harder stance. This is because as I was trying to fend Clarisse off of me, a terrible truth was revealed: Zelma herself burst in the door and caught us in what must have looked like a compromising position, even though any contact I had with Clarisse at this point was merely to push her off of me, as she was definitely growing more sexually aggressive with each moment. Zelma had set the whole thing up herself. My girlfriend didn't trust me. And though I was trying with all my might to maintain my fidelity to her, the disgusting sight of this all was nevertheless enough to make her question our entire relationship, as aloud she doubted her own role, shouting, "Girlfriend?"

Does this not all seem a bit ridiculous? She sets me up in such a way that even if I don't "take the bait," I've still failed in her eyes. The whole thing is just not cool at all. There's a lot I could say about it, but for now, in the interest of not typing something I'd later regret, I'll just leave it at "Hmmmmmm."