baby daddy

Entries from January 2007

Don’t listen to the Black Eyed Peas

January 29, 2007 · 7 Comments

little dude, you’re going to listen to all sorts of music as you grow up. Your mom and I will make sure of that. Maybe it’s because the only music I recall listening to growing up was Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler (don’t get me wrong, that’s probably one of the greatests songs ever written, but I digress…) and some old Bill Cosby concerts on 8-tracks. I could probably recreate the entire comedy-concert Bill Cosby Himself, if you gave me a day or so to practice, and to find a working 8-track player.

Your mom is a big music fan, too, and I don’t think there was an awful lot of music in her house, either, so we’ve talked about the sorts of music we’re going to play for you.

I won’t get into what we’ll play, right now, because that’s all a surprise. Keep your pants on. What I did stop by to say was, simply, you may not listen to the Black Eyed Peas, because I fear that listening to their music will just make you dumber.

Let’s start with the fact that they were once a rapping/singing/dance group oh so many years ago, but as time went by they saw themselves surpassed by other groups and quick startups. They stayed out of the limelight, although it was obvious they wanted to get there.

So, a few years back, they added another person to their all-guy group — a woman named Fergie, who can sing like crazy. And that added a whole new element, because once you add a singer to any rap song, you’ve got a hit ready to go. You’ve got a model that easily replicable and with a model (people say Fergie’s very attractive) in your group, it should be easy to put the pieces together and add some sex appeal to your videos. I guess that doesn’t really make them dumb, or not worth listening to — they’re obviously very savvy businesspeople.

It’s the music, little dude. It’s the music that will make you dumber.

Let’s start with their big song from a few years back titled: Let’s get it started. Wow! What a great anthem for dull, lifeless parties. I can imagine that people all over the world have played this at the beginning of their parties, just to mark the beginning of a night of fun. I’ll bet they even played the song a little laters, after everybody’d shown up and had a few drinks in them. And I’ll bet the song came on again after everyone left, and whoever was awake at the time got up to turn it off.

There’s honestly nothing wrong with this song — until you find out there’s a different, earlier version. Yeah, the original version is actually called: Let’s get retarded. Seriously! And it’s easy to find because it’s on the album. The version everyone’s heard, and which you are very likely to hear in the future, came out after the album dropped. More marketing genius from the Peas — you bought the album for the song, only to realize you’d have to go back out and buy the single you actually wanted to hear. I shouldn’t really have to say anything about the inappropriateness of this song. It’s the fact that the word “retarded” gets thrown around about 9-thousand times during its short four minutes.

Sure, the BEPs could say they meant “retarded” as in “ka-razy!” or “Funked-up!” or something as silly, byt they didn’t. They went and changed the lyrics. Know what happened when I told my students at school that the word “stupid” was actually used in place of the word “cool?” They told me that was retarded.

The second song I don’t want you to listen to is: My Humps, which should be followed with a colon and the second half of the title : A Treatife Upon The Womanly fhape — the Topf af well af the Bottomf because it’s funny to see that old English where they made their Ss look like Fs.

Anyhow, some people say this song is an expression of anti-Sexism; it’s Fergie explaining, through lines like:

I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these ice-ys.
dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and then Donna
Caring, they be sharin’
All their money got me wearin’ fly
Brother I ain’t askin,
They say they love my ass in
Seven Jeans, True Religion,
I say no, but they keep givin’
So I keep on takin’
And no I ain’t TAKEN
We can keep on datin’
I keep on demonstrating.

that she’s not about to be made into some sort of arm candy. Later in the song, Fergie explains that she’s not going to be beholden to any man, but that she will let them buy her all sorts of nice things and get in fights over her, because, apparently, that means she is control of the fact that she’s used a s apiece of arm candy, void of any personality. I think that message is supposed to be there somewhere, but it’s difficult to find it behind all those commercials placed in the song. More marketing genius! I need to buy some new pants.

So how is this song going to make you dumber? It portrays men as idiots, willing to do anything for a woman, and it makes women stoop pretty low in order to get men to behave that way. It says nothing about the problems behind treating women simply as body parts (and even allows women to do it for the sake of attention and belongings).

And the third reason you should not listen to the Black Eyed Peas? The song Fergilicious. Why? It’s more of that treating of women as objects and men as morons thing that made the last song so popular. It has Fergie talking about how she makes the boys go “loco” with her body. She talks about how she works out, like, all the time in order to get that body. And all the guys do in the song is spell things for her.

That’s pretty low. You should never date a girl who’s only interested in keeping you attracted to her. You need a girl with bigger brains than “lumps.” And if you do succumb to your boyhood hormones and stupidly follow some chick around, for whatever reason, I don’t want you to refer to her (whether you’re with her or whether you’re lying about your exploits with your friends) as “delicious” or “tastey.”

And notice the spelling of that last word in the previous paragraph, little dude. That’s right, I said: “tastey.”

That’s how stupid the Black Eyed Peas’ music will make you. It will make you spell things incorrectly. Because part of the song requires Will.i.am, to spell out two words. He spells “D-to the-E-to the-L-I-C-I-O-U-S” just fine, but he stiumbles on “T-to the A-to the S-T-E-Y” and comes off looking like an idiot. Unless you’re a teenager. Then that’s how you spell it anyway, and this song simply enforces your awful spelling ability.

Their music is everywhere, and it’s part of our culture. They play it on the radio, during tv shows, in movies, at stores, in elevators…everywhere you go, you have the opportunity to hear these three songs by the same group, and each one of them is eating away at the thinking portions of your brains.

Imagine if you were in a room with all three songs playing at once — you’d come out incapacitated!

I never thought it would come to this, little dude. I never did. Never thought I’d warn you about any music — that I’d let you explore whatever you wanted to explore and hear the types of music you anted to hear, but I’ve got to put my foot down right now and say: You may not listen to the Black Eyed Peas. They’ll make you dumb.

Categories: letter · the future

Oh god, I’m going to ruin you

January 27, 2007 · Leave a Comment

So, little dude, you know I’m a teacher. You hear me talk about those kids all the time, and what’s sad is that you probably hear me say some pretty awful things — and there’s the likelihood that you already have a handful of sailor-quality phrases stashed away for the right time; I can only imagine what you might say as your first word.

But I want to talk about a time even further into the future — when you’re a school-aged kid. If you’re anything like I was, you’ll be a great student, but you’ll like to talk a lot. An afwul lot. You’ll never shut up, because you’ll want someone’s attention from every corner of the room. You’ll see a joke in everything and you’ll draw stupid stuff on paper oron your desk or on your arm to show off to others. To put it simply: You might be smart, but you’ll drive your teachers bonkers.

But I wouldn’t want you to be too quiet, either. Then people can’t read you, and you’ll get picked on by your teachers and your peers at the least expected moment.

And you shouldn’t be middle-of-the-road — then you’ll never be able to make a decision for yourself. You won’t have anwers for anybody, and that will let you fall behind.

When you get to school I’ll want you to be all three of these things, but it’s a difficult road to get to a point where they all meet. Maybe it’s something as simple as the word: Passionate.

I want you to be able to make choices and to seek out those things that interest you. It is your world (and you do have to spend quite a bit of time functioning inside of it under the authority of others), but you can still explore it as long as you understand your boundaries and undersetand when those boundaries can be escaped.

Maybe this is a bit rambling, but I see kids who absolutley fail at these things every day. The really smart kids who don’t really understand much about life because they’ve never seen anything beyond school — they drive me crazy. There’s the kids who know too much about life, and they often end up in trouble because most of their life is a fight — they drive me crazy with worry. Then there’s the kids who are middle of the road, and they’re more frightening than the other two, because they don’t know what they want out of life, and they don’t know how to explore those wishes that happen to pop up from time to time.

A desire/ A dream can be a frightening thing if you don’t have the right tools to explore it.

Let’s hope your mom and I don’t ruin you.

Categories: letter · the future

About the “little dude” stuff…

January 23, 2007 · 6 Comments

I should be a little more forthcoming, seein’ as how I’m your dad and all. You’ve actually got a name; you’ve got three of ‘em. You’ve got a full little name, that your mom and I think sounds wonderful.

The best part is, nobody laughs at it when we tell them you name — which is the first sign of a good name. As a teacher, when I have to read through the names on the first day of school, I see plenty of stupid names that kids have been given by their parents. What’s sad is that they’ve dealt with these names for 13 years by the time I get these kids, and some of them pre-empt me on that first day of school by saying: “My name isn’t Randall, it’s Jeff.” Name changes like that make sense, because who’d want to be called Randall in 8th grade? I certainly don’t want to have to call on Randall, so I go with Jeff, too. It’s easier on the both of us.

Sometimes it’s really awful and they say: “Y’know that mixture of consonants and numbers on your roll sheet, there?”

Yeah.

“That’s my name.”

Wow. I thought the printer got jammed or something.

You’ve got an honest name. A good name. But I’m saving that for myself and your mom, and that’s why I’m calling you “little dude” right now. (Besides: “little dude” is a pretty apt description of your name.)

Categories: letter · names

kicks and spasms

January 22, 2007 · Leave a Comment

Oh man, little dude!

You’re all over the place these days! I know, I know, all the books say we’re not supposed to even notice you’re around until the 24th week or so, but they’re wrong.

As a matter of fact (and I’ll probably talk to you soon about this), the books are usually wrong, and I wish your mother hadn’t gone out and bought, willy-nilly, everything she could find on the topic of pregnancy. But that’s your mother, little dude. That’s exactly how she’s going to be for the rest of your life — always worried about you, always concerned about your well being, always one step ahead of you.

You might not understand why she does this, and you may even find yourself upset with the fact that she knows your every action and every desire before you do, but that’s her job. She’s your mother.

Similarly, I think you’ll eventually notice that your father is aware of every thought you have and every silly thing you try becase your father was once a boy, too. he knows that your primary intent during your first eight yea…no, wait, 12 years here on this ear… no, that’s not right either. Your father knows what you’ll do during your first 25 years on this earth, and he’ll probably foresee every mistake you’ll make…and somewhere along the way you might even have a conversation with him about these things…but trust me, he’ll be speaking from experience. And like your mother, he’ll only present his concerns when he has your best interests at heart.

But we won’t get into the whole “whose best interests are these, anyway?” conversation, because you’re a mere 9 ounces large today. You’re a mere negative 19 weeks old. All you need to know in life, right now, is this: keep kicking. Keep breathing. Keep eating the food we shove down your umbilical cord every night.

If you weren’t a big fan of garlic before, you will be soon.

Seriously, though. I love it when you move around. I know it kills your mother, but I love seeing you move around. And secretly, your mother loves it, too.

Categories: letter

To my son…

January 18, 2007 · 17 Comments

Hey there, little dude!

Just found out a couple of days ago that you are, in fact, a little dude. You tried your damndest during the ultrasound to conceal your stuff, but eventually you squirmed enough so that we could see what the doctors have called (in medical terms, no less): your “wang.”

And that settles it, doesn’t it? You knew the entire family was circling around, asking your mom questions about morning sickness and specific pains and what she was eating…everything save those questions about the date and time you were conceived and the position of sexual congress we parents agreed upon to make you…and you decided for yourself the proper time to make things clear for the rest of us.

Before this first greeting gets a too long, let me just say to you: I knew you before you were you. I saw you when you were a slight 2 milimeter mass inside your mother. I knew you when you made her sick. I felt your kick before we knew you were a boy, and during that ultrasound a few days ago I saw you squirm about in your own space to decide what made up your surroundings. I saw you suck your thumb in an x-ray and I watched you drink the life around you. I saw you bat at the disturbances of your sleep, and I saw deep inside the makings of you — I saw your skin, I saw your vessels, I saw your skeleton, and I know that even now you’re intact.

You should know that your parents wish very little of you, and I think any of our desires can fall under the following:

  • May you be kind.
  • May you be understanding.
  • May you seek understanding.
  • May you continue to explore your surroundings.
  • May you be happy.

Enjoy.
See you around, little guy.

Categories: letter