As you are reading this, I am probably standing at the south end of a northbound cow made entirely of butter, surrounded by a bunch of teenagers made of….teenagers, using my new hella rap skills to bridge the generational gap.
That’s how I picture it, anyway.
I volunteered to chaperone my son’s 7th grade trip to the state fair. Super excited! Driving myself because there is not enough tequila and/or Febreze in the world to get me on that bus. But once I get there, I hope to have an emotional bonding experience with my teen while viewing some livestock carved from a pasteurized processed dairy product.
Is it just me, or does a butter sculpture seem disrespectful to cows? Like REMEMBER ALL THAT MILK WE TOOK FROM YOU? WELL WE CHURNED IT INTO BUTTER AND THEN CARVED IT INTO A YOU-SHAPE AND NOW WE ARE PRETTY MUCH MOCKING YOU IN EFFIGY BEFORE WE THROW IT AWAY. HA HA.
As you can imagine, immediately after reading the words on the permission slip, “Please understand that you will be responsible for a group of students for the duration of the trip, including lunch.” I had some questions, starting with:
- Who signed up to “chaperone” and immediately sprinted from the bus toward the Fried Food and Beer Garden and was not seen again until the ride home?
- Of those people who knew what “chaperone” meant, who thought they got a lunch break from their own children?
- How can I make this experience memorable for my child, and by “memorable” I mean
- Is there a butter sculpture? Can I use that toward my objective in #3?
- What happens to all that butter after the fair?
- Is there an app that can help me learn to be a better rapper?
The first two are “rhetorical,” which means “Not me, probably.” The answer to #4 is “Yes! Duh.” and the answer to the sub-question does not, as I had hoped, involve a giant mashed potato and/or garlic bread party. They compost it, because it’s not edible.
I think that, as a mother, my coolness lies in my uncoolness. Much like I think that the dryer is shrinking all of my jeans and that it’s ok to say things like “I would hit that like it sassed me,” about men half my age.
As such, you can imagine how excited I was to learn that there is an app that can help me to be a better rapper. It’s called “AutoRap” by Smule, and here is one of it’s confidence-inspiring videos:
“Finally!” I thought, “There is a way to communicate with my son and his friends in a way they will respect and not be at all horrified by.”
*claps hands excitedly*
There are a couple of things that are noteworthy about this. The first is that this app has been around since 2012 or so. The second is that when I tried to download it, I learned that I apparently already have it.
That is the first time that my old-lady forgetfulness has collided with my flagrant lack of maturity.
But I digress.
The first thing I did, of course was to record a track to something called “turkey burgers” because it was free. (In the industry, we call that “laying down some sick beats.”) It was called “Get Off My Lawn, and I deleted it. I was gonna share it, I was, but I decided to take a lesson from Alfred Hitchcock and leave something to the imagination. Historically, that has not been my strong suit.
But how, you might be wondering, will I use this app to facilitate communication and understanding, and establish an important rapport (see what I did there?) with the youths that I have been charged with on this educational excursion?
I’m just gonna rap at him everytime he gets lippy.
That was always the plan.
It’s like you don’t even know me.