FRIDAY NIGHT AT THE RABBIT HOUSE
My nine-year-old was dancing around with exaggerated movements, drawing the two fingered peace sign across her face, holding her nose and shimmying downward, all for my amusement, at least until I booted her out of the kitchen. She continued her performance in the living room.
I picked up the remote. We pay an absurd amount of money for cable, considering that Tgeek and I only watch TV for about an hour or two a week, and usually network channels everyone used to watch for free. But the kids like the cartoon channels on weekend mornings, and I like the digital music channels. One of them, anyway. Blues, natch.
“Want some music to dance to?” I asked Tigger.
I started flipping. She rejected blues, alas. Same with jazz. And classic rock. She got excited about a channel labeled “Rap (uncensored).”
“Nope,” I said.
“Why not, Mom?”
“Nasty lyrics.” I continued surfing.
The next channel she liked read “Metal (uncensored).” It sounded like rhythmic trash can lid banging punctuated with guttural grunts and screeches.
“I don’t think so…” I said.
“Nasty lyrics again.” Or so I guessed.
“But Mom, you can’t understand what they’re saying anyway. It all sounds like “ER GMP MRRRRRRG GRRRRRM.”
I had to admit this was true. So I let her dance to the Metal channel until she got tired of it and switched to Easy Listening just to watch me wince.
“Not that, Tigger, anything but that!”
She tried out the Alternative channel (too whiny). She checked out Show Tunes (too goofy). A channel called Soundscapes perplexed us both. It was kind of like holding a shell up to your ear. Christian Rock didn’t hold much appeal either.
The next winner was the “Urbana” channel, which turned out to be Spanish language rap. I allowed that even though Tig takes Spanish in school. I didn’t think she’d be able to translate. (Note: these channels are just music, no video.)
She’s tired out now and is working on her spelling homework with some kind of granola-ethnic didgeridoo or something playing. I’ll take it.