Patton Lee Beaugus | November 28, 2010 2:45pmChristmas Rapping
Molly's email must have been good news because sighed a big sigh, which drew my attention once more to her lung capacity, which was quite adequate. While I do believe more than a handful is a waste, I have big hands. Hey, I know I’m a dirty old pervert. But I believe having dirty thoughts, especially those not expressed, are one of the perks of a certain age. She looked at me like the malleable sucker I am and asked if she could download a sound file, which might take a little while.
“Take all the time you want.”
I was lucky. It was an aif file rather than an mp3. Watching someone download an aif file isn't exactly riveting. For the first time, I wished Rudy's had a slower internet connection. I took a sip of beer and watched her instead.
Before you came over, I thought I saw you checking your iPhone. Doesn't it get email?
It's not an iPhone. It's a little bit more specialized.
"Really? What's it do?
"It's a inter-dimension time and space locator with multi-target acquisitional GPS."
I laughed. She smiled. She had a nice smile.
"Is your download important," I asked just to make conversation,
“Only to me. And to the group. I recorded a rap for a new Christmas carol, and I haven’t heard it mixed.”
“You’re a rapper?” I asked.
“I'm still going to grad school, but I guess I am now, a singer-rapper, too. I sing with the BuddaBings PartyMob.”
“Oh,” sez I, in my most non-committal manner, “I don’t know too much about gangsta rap groups.”
“We’re more gangster than rap.”
The download was almost complete when I accidentally hit the power key with my elbow as I reached for my beer. OMG, we had to restart my Mac.
"Gosh, I'm sorry."
She just smiled at my blatant dishonesty, as if she approved of it.
I stuck out my paw. “My name is Paddy.”
“Molly.” No last name. What? Do you think New York women give their last names to strangers as strange as me in dive bars in Hell’s Kitchen?
I glanced at my Mac’s screen. Still rebooting. Cool.
“What are you studying?” a lame opening I used to use ineffectively back in the last millennium.
“Theoretical physics."
My eyebrows made a question mark.
"M-theory is really wild, don't you think? All the dimensions and possibilities.”
Okay, this was not a conversational gambit I could field. I wondered if it were true, or she used it as a conversation stopper.
“Can I hear your song when it downloads?”
She turned a color red that went neither with her hair, her bra, the stripes on her thigh-high stockings or her mini. She nodded, not quite gulping as she did so. The last shy New Yorker.
We sat in a comfortable silence as her file downloaded again. As I glanced up, I noticed the guys at the bar were giving me dirty looks. Eat your hearts out, barflies!
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This text will be replaced by the flash music player.
We made our move on the holiday groove Yeah, Buddabings now own Christmas! Say you want a tree? You gotta go thru me. You want to hit the mall? Yeah, we stole it all. So we make it clear, if you like reindeer, You gotta buy them horny flydeer here. Christmas anything, Stocking, card or bling Budda, budda, budda, budda, budda bing bing |
“Good performance.” And I really thought so. Of course, I would have said something like that, even if I didn’t believe it, being the kind of guy I am, which we’ve solidly established multiple times in this and earlier blogs.
“Thanks,” she responded shyly. "We're going to make a real music video when we finish the album." I was afraid she was about to get up and leave me with those parts of my body not pressing up against her, pressing up against the booth table.
“If that’s the rap break, is there more to the song?”
She didn't seem to be in hurry to leave me. “Yeah, it’s a whole long song called Chuggalugga Christmas. It’s the main song on our album, ‘It’s The Most Wonderful Time For A Beer’.”
Did I hear right? For a beer? WTF, I thought.
‘What was it you said in the rap? BuddaBings now own Christmas?”
“We don’t yet, but we will… when we’ve finished the job on Santa.”
“Santa? Is this like a play?” Hell’s Kitchen butts up against Broadway and Off-Broadway, and a lot of off-off-Broadway, and places where performance artists perform what they think of as art, so a person like me runs into a lot of wacky actor-types.
“Well, she grinned, "you could say that while it isn’t a play, we’re making our play.”
Suddenly, I felt a bit of cold. I looked up to see a very tall, very nasty looking dude staring down at us. He removed his long coat to reveal he was dressed in what could only be described as a blue zoot suit.
