A Dutch magazine claims to have used highly offensive terminology to refer to Rihanna in an affectionate manner. Oh really? Lots of people are offended and rightfully so. The two words, the “N-word” and “bitch,” share similarities when it comes to their evolution. Both are derogatory terms and both refer to very specific demographic groups. The “N word” has roots as old as our nation, while the root’s of the derogatory term “bitch” are even older.
The Beach Boy’s “Let’s Me Go Home,” Clapton’s “Blind Faith,” Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads,” and countless other ballads sing about going home. These rock songs keenly capture the sense of longing through their message, while many other Gospel songs on the same topic refer entirely to death. I think anytime I feel like I am in a rut or even just having a bad day I get this sense of wanting to go back in time, to revert to a place that gives me more comfort than the the world, the environment I call my home today.
Some of the places we long for aren’t places. Some of them are times, and some of them never even existed. Will a spurned child ever have a mother who loves them? Probably not, but they still hope for one, and spend their whole lives wondering why she hated them; why they were never good enough. They will spend their whole life trying to find the gift of unconditional love; a package that never arrived. They bumble, and tumble and fail and fall until one day, if they are lucky, they might realize that the unconditional love they seek must come from within and can’t be gotten from another person. Not exactly what they wanted. It doesn’t replace the love they missed out on from their mother. No one ever gets over something like that.
It’s funny how memory works and how it doesn’t. How we remember things the way we want to remember them rather than how they really were. The new Britney Spears dance song, “Till the World Ends” is an intense pop club anthem that brings up many vivid memories from my past. Just hearing it takes me back to the days of finagling myself into clubs that were for 21 and older when I wasn’t. When I listen to this song, I can see the low lighting, and flashing strobe lights of the club. I can almost feel the vibrations of the speakers against my body as I picture myself back in time, dancing in stilettos in a glittering sea of people. It was a whimsical time full of fashion, fun, and fabulosity- wait, am I thinking of my life or the entire premise of the TV series Sex in the City?
Rewind. Most of what I described was true, the sore feet the next morning from the stilettos, the nerves wondering if the bouncer would let me in, the sweaty gyrating crowds. It was fun, those nights were late and full of alcohol and chain smoking, smokey eyed make up and the sparkliest earrings money could buy. The mornings were full of hang overs mainly, and then the inevitable memory recall. Who knew trying to think of the previous night’s events in chronological order could be so challenging? Then there were the inevitable conversations with friends about the night, the “I said what?”s, and the mocking of anyone who was exuberantly creepy or offensive.