On music, and feeling old

[Take note: This post has almost nothing to do with bikes.]

As is mentioned in the post below, the music at the alleycat afterparty was wicked loud. Your humble correspondent, who once considered himself a rather serious enthusiast of the loud music (and has still been known to crank up the Buju Banton when driving), was driven from the back yard to the front, to quietly nurse my beer alone. How did this make me feel? Old.

Then, yesterday, to add insult to injury, this: I was at a coffee shop in Middletown doing some work (that is the life of the itinerant public interest lawyer - laptops and coffeeshops) and there were some snotty teenagers there being loud and snotty, and doing some really awful, no-good, very bad beatboxing. Then, apropos of nothing, one of them announced that Biz Markie "has no flow whatsoever," which hit me kind of the way it hits people in their sixties to hear the young bucks saying curse words all the time - it's not that the oldsters are prudes, it's just that you don't say that stuff! It is just not done! Also, seriously, Biz Markie's flow is not bad, his lyrics are hilarious (um, hello? "Pickin' Boogers" is brilliant), and he is a fucking pioneer, do you hear me? A pioneer! Don't listen to "Just a Friend" a few times and then try to talk to me about who has flow, with your lackluster beatbox that sounds like anemic cats drinking soy milk while halfheartedly clawing bubble wrap! Have you heard "Make the Music with your Mouth, Biz"? Biz Markie makes sounds in that joint that your two-bit, coffee-drinking ass can't even think about.

Hearing that kid dis the Diabolical made me feel really really old.

Then this morning, to really seal the deal, I heard on the radio that today is Chuck D.'s birthday. He is 48! Damn.

Anyway, happy Chuck D.'s birthday, everyone. Here's a present:



I need to go ride my bike a whole lot so I feel less old.