THE FORMATIVE YEARS: 2000'S HIP-HOP
Cadillacs on 22s, I ain’t did nothing in my life but stay true
[sigh]….. high school.
High school seems so far away it feels ancient. I mean, it has been nearly 12 years since I graduated but feels so much further back than that. When I reflect on memories from those days it now feels like I am watching an old film. Almost as if I never lived that life but am watching as an audience member. Maybe that makes no sense. OR, maybe these are early symptoms of alzheimer’s. Either way, the person I am today is pretty drastically different than who I was then. (Praise Odin I no longer dress as if sponsored by American Eagle and put cute blonde highlights in my hair).
Like most events, memories and relationships in my life, there is one main vehicle that acts as curator in my head: music. Shuffling, organizing and deciphering where I was, how I felt and who I was in that moment with. There are certain songs and genres that store delicate emotions, hardships, past loves and all the rest of the gooey stuff. This, however, is absolutely not one of those genres.
The playlist I crafted and attached below is the soundtrack to the majority of my high school shenanigans. These include times where I thought I was really dang cool or practiced being tough in the bathroom mirror at home. This was the music I played while driving around in my first car (my parent’s old Chevy Lumina), the songs that blared in the high school weight room (where we maxed out on bench every single goddamn day) and those that reverberated off the bleachers at school dances. I’m probably being a little harsh on little sixteen-year-old me, I wasn’t an idiot all the time. This music was also the soundtrack to thousands of belly laughs and clowning around with friends, post-football game victory celebrations and more inside jokes you can shake a stick at. Also, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say 2000’s hip-hop is a great contender for what sparked my love for poetry and writing.
This was also the music I was sometimes able to trick my mom into buying for me. The Parental Advisory sticker prohibited me from buying it on my own so I had be sneaky. The plan, usually carried out at ALCO or Pamida, consisted of me setting the CD in my mom’s cart and handing her money right as she got to the checkout counter. This would eliminate time for her to inspect the CD. I’d then deploy the “I’ve got to go to the bathroom” line and then hide out in there until I figured enough time had passed for her to have payed. This worked about 50% of the time.
Enough of the then, more of the now. Pop on some headphones, crank up the bass and clear a space where nothing will end up broken as you jump, juke and do the rap-music-video-hands thing to this collection of dirty south nostalgia. Stay crunk my friends.
And remember, 281-330-8004 hit Mike Jones up on low cuz Mike Jones about to blow.