Excerpts from This Morning's Alphabits: A Tasty Thought

It’s Friday. DJ Jazzy Jeff’s Return of the Magnificent paints my audio background as I reflect on my “to-do list” at work. Then, suddenly, the question that has plagued so many for two-and-a-half decades slowly surfaces to the ever-quivering frontal lobe of my consciousness: “What would you do for a Klondike bar?” Well, aside from arranging a duel to the death between the Klondike and the eerily similar looking Coca-Cola polar bears to air on an Adult Swim pay-per-view channel, I would change the face of music on the radio and on television.

Yes. For the chocolate-coated cube of ice cream, I would remove money, drugs, guns, Patrón and b*tches from every so-called artist’s equation and see what remains. Would there be the clever metaphors and intelligent wordplay that I so cherish by such Chicago MCs such as Ill Gordon, Strilla da God and Dat Biz and their producer affiliates 8th Letter, AP and Magic? Or would that simply be the residue of the melted sweetness on the fingertips of hip-hop lovers savored by slowly sucking the only remnants of what was once so refreshing and satisfying, realizing the finality of the experience? Is there more to come?

To those that are unfamiliar with the chocolate residue left behind by a Klondike bar, at first glance it would seem as though someone such as myself had had an unfortunate bowel malfunction and need to be cleansed (enter the Charmin grizzly bear as the surprise duel announcer to wipe away the sh*t with super absorbency and softness). Not so. In fact, I’m hungry again. In fact, I’m hot again. My internal temperature rises every time I turn on the radio and become subject to another T-Pain synthesized rap-ballad thingy. Thermometers in my mind spit mercury when I go to a club and force myself to ignore the words of the “hottest” songs about leaning, rocking, snapping etc. because the beat is tolerable. I need to be cooled down with the down-to-earth satire and wit of Phonte, or the superb lyricism of Elzhi.

I wish to make no reference to the “Cool Cuz I’m Hot” song that gets major airplay and has a remix with Twista. I’m hot cuz I’m tired. If I had the talent, I’d do it single-handedly. I’d just simply create the music I hunger for. But alas, I am worthy only of listening and screaming, “Heeeeeeeeeeecky naaaaaaaaaaaw!!” when I hear a dope metaphor that I didn’t pick up on until after the fourth time I heard the track. In the meantime, you are subject to pass by my car parked in front of my home on the South Side of Chicago on your way to the 79th street Red Line platform. If you cupped your hands around your eyes and peered inside the passenger side window, you’d undoubtedly see an overflowing Jewel bag of foil wrappers and chocolate fingerprints covering the gear shift and radio/CD buttons and glove compartment where some of my CDs are kept. Go Bears. Ha. Two puns for the price of one.

Be good.