Rockin' the "N" Word

Last week while driving to the cottage, I was on iPod compromise with the boy, meaning, I pick something from his iPod that I can stomach. Unfortunately, that leaves me with only two choices – Green Day and K’naan.  On that fine day, K’naan won out and so we cranked it up and rapped on down the highway. I'll have you know, I’m down with K’naan and I even know all the words to “I Come Prepared”. It has a filthy beat that hooks me in every time and before long, I get all gangsta yo, holding my imaginary gun sideways, pointing it at cars going in the opposite direction.

There are two “N” bombs in the song, and because the boy was in the car, I just left a pause where they would normally be sung. Kid’s in the back playing a video game, probably won’t even notice. Two problems here.

1.)    Never underestimate the ability of a ten year old boy to process 5 to 7 media applications at once.

2.)    Apparently the pause and ignore strategy only serves to highlight the word, because as soon as the song was over, it came up.

“Dad…isn’t n_ _ _ er a bad word?”

Oh lord, here we go. Maybe I can distract him and we’ll have the sex talk instead.

“Yes it’s a bad word. And if you want to refer to it, you should say the “N” word.”

“So why is it bad?”

 “Hmmm. Well way way back when African Americans were slaves in the US, white people used to refer to black people using that term. After that, it sort of stuck around and was used in a very hateful way by some white people. It’s a very insulting term and you should never use it.

“So why does K’naan say it? He’s from Africa you know. He’s African Canadian”

“Well son…it’s complicated. I think black people use it as a way of reclaiming the word.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know really. Hey, you want to know where babies come from?”

“Dad, c’mon…I already know that.”

“Okay… well, some black people feel it’s okay to use the “N” word to each other in a friendly way. Between black people, it would be like saying “buddy”, which kind of takes the sting out of the word.”

“Maybe they’re trying to make it into a good word?”

“No. Not exactly. Like I said it’s very complicated. You see, there is a bunch of white kids going around saying it now, but they think it’s okay because they don’t really know the history. In my books they’re still using a racist term and that’s not okay. Do you get it?”

“Sort of.”

“Well just don’t say it.”

And with that, we concluded round one of the “N” word life lessons. Talk about mixed messages for kids these days. When I was growing up, it was very cut and dry. If you said the “N” word, you were a giant racist. Run DMC weren’t dropping it fifty times in every song and you certainly didn’t see Theo Huxtable calling out his buddy coackroach with a “Whats up my n_ _ _a?”  I know kids have to sort these things out for themselves, but it ain’t easy in a time where hip hop culture is dominating the teens, tweens and beyond.

K’naan is pretty tame and let’s face it, radio friendly. I can hardly wait until he discovers the Wu Tang Clan.

Your homework, if you choose to accept it, is a radio friendly version of “I come Prepared.”

Prison Meeting

Sonny: Okay listen up guys…I’m calling this meeting of Cell Block Six to order.

Alright…first up I’d like to welcome back Mad Dog Morris, after his nearly successful release to the halfway house.

Mad Dog Morris:  Yeah…I had a hard time integrating back into society.

Sonny: You were only gone for 24 hours and you committed 17 parole violations.

Mad Dog Morris: I set fire to a photo hut too, but they didn’t pin that one on me.

Sonny: Well, better luck next time. Moving on, we say goodbye to Slick Jimmy who will be released tomorrow on condition that he stays away from retirement homes and the liquor store.

Slick Jimmy: Thanks Sonny, I’ve learned my lesson.

Sonny: Finally, we say goodbye to Johnny “The Snitch” Santicono, who unfortunately had that barbell fall on his throat last Thursday, may he rest in peace.

For this weeks door prize, Sergei and his crew have generously donated a jar of potato liquor and 10 cigarettes, so I’d like to call up Sergei to draw a name.

Sergei: We brew fresh in mop bucket. (Sergei pulls a name from the hat)

Winner is…Bam Bam.

Bam Bam: Wow…hey thanks guys. Sergei, no hard feelings about that incident in the yard last week?

Sergei: You stabbed Igor in thigh. Igor is very upset still, but I will talk with him.

Bam Bam: ‘preciate that comrade.

Sonny: Okay ladies let’s not get all mushy here. Okay, next we have the old trading post. (Pulls out list)

Lets see…Igor is requesting a shank, “suitable for stabbing in leg area”.

Sergei is looking for empty jars and is willing to trade 2 pounds of fertilizer and a homemade detonator.

Sergei: Jars must have lids.

Sonny: You heard the man. Lastly, Jodi is looking for some “strong cord, preferably piano wire”, and he’s willing to trade up to twenty five cigarettes for it.

Jodi: It’s actually J-Rock. Call me J-Rock.

Sonny: We’ve gone over this before Jodi. You can’t make up your own nickname. You have to wait until someone else starts calling you something other than Jodi.

Jodi: Dude…Sammy the Strangler has been calling me J-Rock for like, two weeks.

Sonny: (looks at Sammy) Did Jodi tell you he would get you piano wire if you would call him J-Rock?

Sammy: No, no...I ah…I just thought he’s a cool guy and I know he likes rocks so, you know…J-Rock.

Sonny: Whatever you say Sammy.

Right…last on the agenda is the suggestion box. I just want everyone to know that the suggestion box is a not a joke and it takes me a lot of time to go through all the notes each week. It is supposed to serve as a means of communication between prisoners and the warden, so when I get suggestions such as, “need fancier silverware in the dining room”, it’s not really helping anyone.

Sammy the Strangler: I was serious about that one. I hate using a spork.

Sonny: Well maybe if you hadn’t tried to shank Igor with your butter knife last year, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Igor: Why everyone always try to stab Igor?

Sonny: (pulls another suggestion from the box) Oh this one is good, I wonder who wrote it, “I think we should start calling Jodi, J-Rock, because he rocks hard. Hard as metal.”

Jodi: What? It was probably Sammy that wrote that.

Sonny: And what about this one? It just says, “Give me back my finger.”

That is not a constructive suggestion and P.S., Stumpy I know that was you.

Stumpy: I know one of you’se bastards picked it up off the wood shop floor that day.

Sonny: Look Stumpy, we’ve all lost a finger or two in the wood shop, but you’ve got to let it go. Okay, is there anything else? Mad Dog?

Mad Dog Morris: Yeah, well I was just wondering if I’m still on the schedule for bringing a door prize or did you take my name off when I was released.

Sonny: We knew you’d be back buddy.

Mad Dog Morris: (teary) Ah you guys…

Redneck Wedding

-Dwayne Jr. the weddin’ is next week. Did you speak to your groomsmen yet?

- Baby I told you I took care of it.

-Dwayne Budweiser Earnhart Morris Junior, this is going to be a classy affair so you tell them boys they ain’t wearin’ flip flops or no work boots to my wedding. I want you to take ‘em on up to the Walmart and pick out some matching sneakers.

-You know I will Shania Destiny.

-Make sure they’re white. They got some of them Velcro ones on sale for $9.99.

-You think of everything baby-cakes.

-And make sure Earl gets that thing taken care of on his foot. The best man ain’t supposed to be limpin’ around like quasimodo. It wouldn’t kill him to leave the cane at home neither.

-I’ll talk to him baby but he’s pretty wobbly without it, and ‘sides that, he’s gonna have a few beers before the ceremony.

-Just make sure he don’t fall down in the middle of the talking part. Now listen…I want all black track pants, no holes in ‘em and no logos. That ain’t classy.

- I got it covered baby. We’re each getting a new pair when we go pick up the tuxedo t-shirts.

-Good. Did you order the mechanical bull yet?

- I thought you was takin’ care of that sugar pumpkin.

-Dwayne! When would I have time to do that? I was on the phone with the KFC half the day yesterday tryin’ to get the meal organized.

-I’m real sorry honeybunny, I’ll get right on it. How’d it go with the dinner anyways?

-We got 40 buckets of chicken comin’, 30 buckets of tater salad, and enough buns, fries and gravy for everyone, and…since Harmony-Marie is the manager at the KFC and she’s a bridesmaid, she’s gonna get them to deep fry up everything right before they deliver it, so it’s real fresh.

-That’s real smart sweetie. You’re the best.

- My cousin Jimmy is picking up a bunch of them 12 litre boxes of wine from the Costco, so I just need you to get the beer.

- I’m on it baby. Earl is gonna bring all the leftover kegs from the demolition derby last week. He said most of them is near full and hardly flat at all.

-Well that sounds about right. I guess you can git to your bachelor party now.

-Thanks sugarplum. I jest kinda wish you hadn’t hired Merla Jean for the stripper.

-Dwayne Jr. you should be thankful you’re getting a stripper at all.

-But baby…she’s my cousin.

-She’s my cousin too and I ain’t whinin’ about it. It was the only ways I knew you’d keep yer grubby paws off’n her.

-Depends how drunk I get.

-What did you say Dwayne Junior?

-Nuthin’ honeybuch.

-I thought so. Now git on outta here afore I change my mind.

That Night in Atherley

Some things should be mandatory for all Ontario residents, no matter if you were born on this soil or not. Certain rites of passage that have to be experienced before one can declare oneself a true Canadian.

I’m not painting a picture of a Molson Canadian commercial here, with buff dudes jumping off the end of a dock in Lake Muskoka or Olympic quality bikini babes playing beach volleyball at Grand Bend. I’m talking about a few experiences that end up deeply woven into the fabric of the soul. Ones that offer a bit more grit and may, on occasion, force you to set down your Pinot Noir, pick up a large plastic cup of watery draft and wade into the trenches so to speak.

Case in point…when I was seventeen years old, I walked straight into a dank strip bar to see David Wilcox play. The legendary Atherley Arms otherwise known as “The First”, had the lowest ceilings, the filthiest urinals and rumour had it, the best burgers this side of Peterborough. (I never had the guts to actually eat there, but I have heard tell of those who survived the experience.) It was the first real bar I had ever been in, and at 8 pm the strippers were still in attendance at the far end of the bar, mingling with the bikers and various other ne’r do wells.  Those of us non-regulars who had snuck in crowded around the stage and tried not to make eye contact with the characters playing pool, most of whom looked like they had been there since the previous Tuesday. I guess “snuck in” isn’t really the right term because in those days if you flashed even the crudest of homemade ID at the bouncer, you could pretty much walk in uncontested. For backup, I had an expired driver’s license that said I was 22, just in case.

Once the show started however, all the stars aligned as they sometimes do in these situations and the event transformed itself into an experience. There is something to be said for being able to stand three feet in front of the entertainment, squished in amongst all your buddies, singing along and not caring if someone spills beer on your foot. Despite the lack of air conditioning, a non-existent light show, and having to share the space with strippers and coke dealers, it couldn’t have been better. For a few hours on a Saturday night, all was right with the world. Whether or not you are a fan of David Wilcox, you can say you’ve at least done your civic duty if you’ve seen him play in a hot sweaty bar, somewhere in Ontario. I’ve seen many concerts where tickets have been on the wrong side of $100, so for 10 bucks, this was money well spent.

That’s the beauty of these joints scattered around the region. It could be the Albion in Guelph, the Doctors Hotel in Belleville or any other number of local watering holes that all come with their own quirks, but you pair that atmosphere with the right band and suddenly, you’re part of Ontario’s rock and roll history.

Other legendary Ontario venues such as the Kee in Bala, or the Dardenella in Wasaga Beach should be experienced at least once. Even seeing out of towners Sam Roberts or Blue Rodeo at the Kee on a hot July night still qualifies as a true Ontario experience. In the olden days, it would have been Teenage Head or maybe Kim Mitchell at the Dard. If you are real old school you may have been to the Pav in Orillia, watching Max Webster or Coney Hatch. The list of bands that have graced the stages of many of these out of the way venues is unimaginable. From back in the day when the Tragically Hip were practically the house band at Alfies in Kingston, to 54-40, The New Pornographers, The Constantines, and Zeus.

I’ve also seen my fair share of less than stellar performances in some dives across the land. If you head into a bar for a beverage, and there happens to be a Cinderella cover band going at it…well you can imagine. At least they’re out there, givin ‘er, as we say.

So heres to all the hair metal cover bands, punk rock outfits, jam bands and Indie treasures that make their living in the hideaways of Ontario.

Heres to The Embassy Hotel and Call the Office in London, Clancy’s Hotel in Peterborough, the defunct Clifton in Barrie and many many more great venues.

And hey…if you’re seventeen. David Wilcox is playing at the Kee on June 30^th.

Maybe you can sneak in and catch him while he’s still got the chops. Trust me…it’ll be $33.35 well spent.

Here is your homework if you choose to accept it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbTS7jS4UHw&feature=relmfu

One Week

Is there such a thing as too much of a good thing? I mean, if you really like Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and boldly proclaim that if you could only have one food for the rest of your life, it would be tubs of Cherry Garcia ice cream, would you change your tune after a week?

Lately I have been thinking about committing to certain endeavours for the span of a week, mostly in hopes of bettering myself. You know, eating only fruits and veggies for a week, or not peeing in the shower. (Don’t get all high and mighty; it all goes to the same drain). Anyway, then I thought about what it would be like to do something for a week, even if it wasn’t for the betterment of myself or mankind. You know, just benign stuff like wearing turtlenecks for a week, or listening only to Dexy’s Midnight Runners. It would be an experiment in willpower, like that time I declared I would chew each bite 32 times like the article in Men’s Health said I should. I was only able to sustain that for three bites, then I got bored of counting, but you get the point.

Then there is a further level of renegade journalism, a la Supersize Me. Remember the guy who only ate McDonalds for 30 days and nearly died? That’s hardcore commitment in the name of science – if indeed that was his motivation. I’m not really proposing that I take on anything that drastic. I’m looking at more middle of the road, less life threatening type shenanigans.

So far my list of one week challenges includes:

• Don’t drive my car
• Eat no meat
• Go barefoot
• No breakfast scotch

I’m not sure if I can pull off the barefoot trick at work, so that one will have to wait for summer. As for giving up the car, I’m going to try some method acting to get into character by pretending I have a DUI charge. That will really feel authentic if I throw in the no breakfast scotch rule in the same week. Okay, really I only have breakfast scotch on Christmas morning, and I’m not prepared to give that up.

Maybe I should throw a gluttonous hedonistic challenge in there as well. How about staying in bed for a week, living on whatever takeout food I can convince the delivery guy to bring right into the bedroom? No…that would only lead to a level of grossness normally reserved for those in Turkish prison camps or first year college students.

So where to start? These things require some planning and some procrastination and I suppose even some moxy to take that first step. I’ve got a million excuses as to why I couldn’t possibly give up the car for a week, and how am I supposed to eat a Dominos meat lovers pizza when it’s chock full of meat? These are the obstacles I must overcome if I am to be successful in my quest for enlightenment, and I think I’m ready. I mean…how hard can it be to take on a watered down challenge, where I set my own ground rules and am monitored by no one?  I’ll take the bull by the horns and rassle that sum bitch to the ground.

It's not like I’m giving up my Christmas breakfast scotch or anything rash like that.