Tuesday, September 27, 2011


I love rap music. I know, so unrefined...

My favorite is Jay-Z. His voice is just...well let's just say I'd have gotten pregnant a lot sooner than Beyonce if I were in her situation.

But he's a small man (confirmed by one of my old roommates who saw him on our street), and so we'd have little children. Kind of like Kim Kardashian and her new gorilla basketballer husband. I emailed my mom some hilarious photo that really showed their height disparity and she replied, "I hope he knows his kids won't be able to play basketball, too...or at least, let's hope their genes mesh fortuitously." CLASSIC.

I digress.

Anyways, love this song. Not really sure what all the gangsta-speak is referencing but I went to a really intense power yoga class the other day (where I have NEVER seen so many handstand variations executed flawlessly in my life. Not even in the Olympics. God bless the gays.) and this song made the recoil from the 20 pushup order to my chataranga by the linebacker teacher (if there ever were a linebacker who, say, got a lotus flower tattoo and replaced a few steaks with green juice to lean out a bit) a little less shameful.

And did you know that Jay-Z's name refers to where the J and Z subway lines meet in Brooklyn? Yeah, only learned that about a month ago. I felt like I finally joined an exclusive club, only to find all my friends were hanging out without me. Betrayed.

Also funny? My sister who was on her Southeast Asian tour ran into B.o.B at this rooftop pool in Singapore when he was filming this video.

We all know it didn't happen if there are no pictures, right?


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