The thing is, I do have more feminism stuff I could post, but I just need to take a break. And I promise to actually answer the question "Who is this Budd Grebb?" soon. But I've been waiting for a week to thank R. Kelly. I need to get to it.
Dear R. Kelly,
Last weekend I watched the first 8 (Yes, 8! So Epic!) chapters of your "urban opera," Trapped in the Closet on VH1. You are a genius. When I first heard the Disney anthem "I Believe I Can Fly," I knew you could capture the inner turmoil of the average person unlike any other, but now, having seen your masterpiece, I am convinced. The world may not be ready for your genius.
First of all, to hinge the entire plot on a cell phone that you forgot to put on vibrate when you - literally - hid in the closet of your hoochie hookup who was married to the preacher who was also having an affair - a GAY affair? Brilliant! The juxtoposition of good and evil when the preacher man, the GAY preacher man goes crazy on you? Dante had nothing on the struggle of the soul that you don't have too, my man.
My other favorite part, and I mean, there are so many, is your wife's ex-con brother, Twon, who accidentally gets shot when your wife's lover, who is also the cop who gave you a speeding ticket on the way home. Twon is a GANGSTA! He gets shot and then gets right back in the game. What a statement on the warrior attitude of men! I say GIMME SOME OF THAT!!!!
And then you take it inter-racial in chapter 8! Inter-racial! But even the inter-racial couple can't be faithful.
Look, I've always felt that your best work was "Ignition: The Remix." Let me just post some lyrical clips from that so that the non-believers can see your true poetic gift:
No I'm not tryin to be rude,
But hey pretty girl I'm feelin you
The way you do the things you do
Remind me of my Lexus coup
Thats why im all up in yo grill
Tryina get you to a hotel
You must be a football coach
The way you got me playin the field
So baby gimme that toot toot
Lemme give you that beep beep
Runnin her hands through my 'fro
Bouncin on 24's
While they say on the radio...
It's the remix to ignition
Hot and fresh out the kitchen
Mama rollin that body
got every man in here wishin
Sippin on coke and rum
I'm like so what I'm drunk
It's the freakin weekend baby
I'm about to have me some fun
Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce
Bounce Bounce Bounce
Now it's like murder she wrote
Once I get you out them clothes
Privacy is on the door
Still they can hear you screamin more
Girl I'm feelin what you feelin
No more hopin and wishin
I'm bout to take my key and
Stick it in the ignition
<snip>
Crystall poppin in the stretch Navigator
We got food every where
As if the party was catered
We got fellas to my left
Hunnies on my right
We bring em both together we got junkin all night
Then after the show its the (after party)
And after the party its the (hotel lobby)
And round about 4 you gotta (clear the lobby)
Then head take it to the room and freak somebody
<snip>
Girl we off in this jeep
Foggin windows up
Blastin the radio
In the back of my truck
Bouncin up and down
Stroke it round and round
To the remix
We just thuggin it out...
OhMyGOD. Can you imagine how brilliant it would be if you could find a way to conclude your urban opera with this as the aria finish? Because "Ignition: The Remix" is flat out brilliant. The way the girl you desire does the things she does reminds you of your Lexus Coup? I don't even know what that means but it must be brilliant.
You have food everywhere as if the party was catered? But if there were food everywhere, wasn't the party catered? I don't know! It's beyond me! I am unworthy of your genius! I LOVE YOU. You can do whatever you want to me...oh...wait...you're into...nevermind.
Some people will argue that Bruce Springsteen or Bob Dylan or Bon Jovi are the poets of our generation. Okay, maybe that Bon Jovi one is just me and Ashleigh, but whatever. It's not a competition any more. It's you, R, it's you. After being exposed to your art, I no longer feel trapped in the closet of my own inhibitions. Thank you, R. Kelly. |