2007-02-08
call me ice ice crazy
OK I am going to admit something to you...
But you have to promise not to laugh.
Fuck it. You're going to laugh. You know how I know that?[and no this time it isn't because I am a psychic friend] I know that because even though I am talking about something that relates strictly to me and it is something I should be proud of I laugh too. And man, when I laugh I laugh loud and hard.
Ready for it? This admittance might change your life. Or, you know, make you leave this diary site for good ne'er to return to me. Whichever it is, please let me know. Feedback is always a plus even when it's a negative. You can quote me on that...
I have learned the art of beatboxing.
Now, this does not relate whatsoever to that new show in MTV or VH1 or whatever it is about white rappers. Now, I am not saying I am going to marry a rich washed-up pop star and push out a bunch of kids in order to get her money and a hip-hop deal.[oh poor britney spears...is that your lack-of-dignity showing or is that just your vag?]
I have just learned that when under the influence of certain mind altering substances, I am a damn fine beatboxer. Nevermind the fact that I am the most transparently-skinned female in a tri-county area.[if not the whole damn state, midwest, or country]Nevermind that the kind of music that beatboxing requires is definitely sub-par my own musical tastes.
Friday, I went to a party held by music majors with my friend Kevbo who is[surprise]a music major himself. Apparently the party was designed to have our Japanese foriegn student friend Takahiro experience his first taste of alcohol. It quickly escalated into an all out jam session.
Believe it or not, I am not that confident in my ability to make sounds with my mouth. In fact, the only thing my mouth is good for is yelling out obscenities in traffic and speaking philosophical nonsense with a group of pretentious fucks. So in the beginning I was, at the very least, apprehensive about joining in. These were music majors for your mom's sake! I would look horrid next to them with their hours and hours in a studio doing nothing more than making said sounds with their vocal cords and their natural mouthpieces. Music consumes their souls, all day everyday. What do I do all day? Speak French like a pompous asshole, learn about Abstract Expressionism, and discuss works of literary genius like The Bluest Eye.
But after a few hits off a pipe and a little Jagermeister, I was set. I could sing the backup lines like a backup track in a techno song. For a few hours I was a motherfacking beatbox machine. I watched as slowly six music major men[eheh say that five times fast i dare you]started basing their jam around my backup vocals and beats.
So there. That's what I did this weekend. And to follow up on that happy euphoric feeling, I decided to create a rap in the shower of my dorm hall Tuesday. I did most of it aloud. I received applause. Minimal applause mind you from anonymous source, but applause nonetheless.
My mind now is seriously considering giving beatboxing lessons for a little money under the table.
Anyone seeking more information should leave me a note.
Quote of the day:"Jesus loves us! I just found a dime on the dresser!"[Me]--apparently Jesus forgot to come back and put the rest of the fee on the dresser...uh he always stiffs us.