No Diggity

It's late. I've consumed my monthly recreation budget in beer during happy hour with the co-workers. At a coffee house downtown, open until 11pm, I fight the inner battle between listening to Ingrid Michaelson via Pandora and a local artist mutilating the song "Sundown" upstairs. Sipping apple juice ($1.89+my change as a tip) I try to finally unwind from my third week of being a middle school teacher.

Tearing Down The Walls

If I didn't love Abba, poetry, the Lilith Fair, and sucking at sports so much I'd probably be one of those people you see who are in the midst of a race crisis. Baggy pants, rap jargon, trucker cap cocked to the side, and either a left-and-back repetitive head twitch or the periodic urge to interject "know what I'm sayin'" and thumb my nose in daily conversation. Sadly, as demonstrated by my middle name and the fact that I'm blogging and drinking apple juice, I'm pathetically white. Do I envy the racially-gifted such as my former roommate Mr. Mikail Gonzales Hamilton? Yes.

While I admit that I have very little to offer, I would hope that if we ever get to the point where we're picking teams again, I'll get picked up by a race with a bit better sense of rhythm. And while we're talking about it, I have to admit that no song has ever made me forget my white-itude like Blackstreet's "No Diggity."

The heavy blues piano, the ever-flowing verse-alternating rap, the persistent chain gang "hum," and the gospel-worthy chorus make this one of my favorite songs of all time.

On a less racially awkward note my car is on its way to be repaired at last. After taking Gretchen, philogygenous little auto that she is, into the shop yesterday I found out that she may be totaled, which would make my day. I hate that car. If I could get a settlement which could pay off what I owe on her I would jump for joy.

Either way she goes in Monday and I get an insurance-provided rental car for a week. Good times.

Today's question: If you could choose one song to represent "Fall" what would it be? I'm trying to put together an ultimate mix, which will provide titles and themes for posts in the month of October. Let me know.

P.S. You can have my ghetto handshake and "brutha hug" when you pry it from my cold, clammy, white hands.

At least Kermit can identify with my skin color woes: