An old cliché, White Men Can’t Rap, recently came back to me. Apart from the spewing of expletives and the trying to be the modern day Eminem, which am reliably told is next to impossible, I don’t see how a white man would want to be a rapper.
An old cliché, White Men Can’t Rap, recently came back to me. Apart from the spewing of expletives and the trying to be the modern day Eminem, which am reliably told is next to impossible, I don’t see how a white man would want to be a rapper.
Except, of course if about two decades ago, you used to be a fan of a white motor-mouth man called Snow and you used to be like wow, can a man speak any faster?
I guess you have got no idea what am talking about, so baby, if you want to get in touch with your inner self get in touch with your Muziq, first!
By the time you are through, you might get to know that white men can’t dance and by that you should watch what they call Rock. Fine, It really rocks but seriously, there is something we call coordination on the dance floor. And people, jumping up and down, everywhere and anywhere is apparently called dancing by the Rock Music definition.
OK, Michael Jackson used to rock though he does not do Rock and so can everybody from Latina, Shakira and all the companeros from down south of America. But are Latinas white or black? Who cares, as long as we all love Salsa except those who are too embarrassed to try, not a crime however.
So as part of the getting to know yourself better, you might want to try out dancing, at least in front of your bathroom mirror, especially if you are very talented in stepping on people’s toes at every party. It is not a crime. I do too!
Anyway, in the movie White Men Can’t Jump, people get to jump, not on the dance floor but on the basketball court in many styles. Now we know that white men can jump – ask the Rwanda national basketball team and the rest of the people who got beat at the petit Stade the other day.
That’s just how it is. White or black, red blood, grey matter upstairs, life and death, we all live on this thing they call planet earth, so you better get used to it.
In this our world, you can be a slum dog millionaire, or the most famous black musician who tried to become white, lost his nose and vibe in the process and ended up pink.
The important thing is not the color you end up with but in the stuff that one can accomplish, even with the greatest obstacles ahead. But instead of slaving and toiling your way through life trying to accomplish the big goals, why not just enjoy your way up.
Find a sport (watching soccer is not on the list), try singing in the bathroom, find time to stare at everything without any particular purpose and risk passing for a mad man, try concocting a poem, listen to jazz, Luciano Pavarotti , or even kwaito and if you really meant it, soul, for no other reason than to just listen.
And if you are really completely out of ideas, imagine you have landed on the moon; you have won a Grammy or an Olympic gold medal for swimming. Forget about life’s trifles just once. Try something new. It just might work. I wish you a make-believe Sunday.