Ricky the Rapper
I’ve heard people claim they were country when country wasn’t cool (sort of like boasting you wear double-knit). In a similar (but better) vein, my husband knew hop was hip, before any brother ever hip-hopped.
Ricky the Rapper regularly busts the rhymes.
I’m not just Robin, I’m the “Girl with Allure,” and when I fell on my bottom, I bruised my “hiney-pahniney.”
This summer, when I dreamt I was an adopted child of mixed race, he composed – on the fly – the little “I’m a Mulatto” ditty I still can’t erase from my mind. Without revealing all the lyrics, let me just say “I like Gelato.”
Everything is fodder for the Rhyming Machine in his brain, with the dog perhaps bearing the brunt of it.
She’s not just the dog, she’s the Dog-Wadog, the Hound From the Pound, Bryn the Pin and Bryn-Tin-Tin.
She’d be the Killa from
The flan hit the fan, though, with the feeding “toy” we give Bryn, which Richard variously calls the Hong Kong Bong Dong Gong Song. It’s really a “Kong,” but that never achieved mind share with Ricky. What stuck, nay lodged and sunk tap roots, was “Bong.”
Richard never tried drugs, so he’s not having a Summer of Love flashback. It’s just that “Bong” resonates for him, echoes even, and so that’s what he calls it. Which is fine, charming even, until I caught it too. And so there I am, in the dog park, surrounded by dozens of playful canines, chatting with a Dog Trainer. He was interviewing me about the Hound from the Pound, how we were training her, etc.
“How much do you feed her,” he asked.
“Oh, about three Bongs a day,” was my casual reply.
Even in
We finally saw An Inconvenient Truth Monday night, and I hope indeed it does not become a terribly uncomfortable reality. I’m helping facilitate a screening and conversation about the movie this Sunday at church.
As Episcopals in
As my husband is pressin’
Thus endeth the lesson.
posted by Woman In Love @ 7:17 AM
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