It’s Valentine’s Day! I’ve decided to give in to the spirit of love in the air. Despite popular opinion, there is not an icebox where my heart used to be. I’m a Libra, which means I’m ruled by Venus. How could I not love the L-word?
To celebrate Cupid’s day, I’m dusting off some of my favorite love songs. And by love songs, I mean hip-hop’s odes to L-O-V-E. This isn’t a “Top Ten” or “Best of” list. Just a slice of standout tracks that make me feel all warm and fuzzy.
It’s Friday! Hey! And I’m ready to swang…
Wait. I’m not Aaliyah and this ain’t 1994.
But it is Friday. My final work day of 2011. So I guess that’s enough to sing about.
I caused a bit of a stir with Wednesday’s post. The reaction was split between women who understood, men who thought it was beautifully written, and men who just didn’t fucking get it. Part of it stems from my writing posts here like an ongoing memoir, so people who read frequently understood exactly why I made my decision. The other part of it is that men and women don’t understand each other, at all. Coming from the woman who wrote this post, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Still, the post led to an interesting discourse with a group of young men, who after even my plainest explanations, didn’t get it. Gotta love the opposite sex.
I wrote this one around the time that the “Notorious” biopic came out when I was blogging on Freewebs. Thought today was the perfect opportunity to bring it out and reflect on one of hip-hop’s greats who was taken from us way too soon. You know how it goes: We’ll Always Love Big Poppa!
Christopher Wallace, May 21, 1973 - March 9, 1997
Dear Jay,
It was 1996 when I was introduced to your music. Was it an episode of Teen Summit or Video Soul? My memory fails me, but I do recall a performance of “Aint No N*gga” featuring Foxy Brown that I taped one Saturday morning. I was twelve years old, in the throws of puppy love with hip-hop and I idolized Fox. She was brown, brash and beautiful and while her content was over my head and far beyond my experience, I was drawn by the way she commanded songs and stages alike. It wasn’t until after I’d spent days rewinding that performance to learn her verse that I noticed the lanky guy on stage beside her in the Versace glasses. I wasn’t immediately impressed, I’ll admit, however you were an East Coast rapper and I was preoccupied with all things New York, so you were soon on my radar of rappers to whom I needed to pay attention.
Just a girl with a writing habit, using a blog to share my stories and passions. These are the tales, interests, and observations of the quiet nerd in the corner of the bookstore; the professional woman strutting down the street in slacks clutching her Blackberry; the dork in bed by 9pm on a Saturday night; and the B-girl in the middle of the dance floor getting down in her sensible shoes. Welcome to the world of The Skinny Black Girl.
