200!!!

For Ingrid, who taught me how to be straight-up gansta.

OK. Let's be honest. I'm not gangsta. I'm not even a little bit gangster, with an "r". (There's a difference, trust me.) But I feel that if I were to be either of those two things, I would still owe a lot of my street cred to one Ingrid Michaelson, the baddest betch in all the land. 

Today is a fun day, because I officially hit 200 posts with this entry! Not only that, I'm still running of the high from last night's Ingrid Michaelson concert, which was - as one audience member yelled out - SPLENDID! Which prompted Ingrid to go into this old-timey voice and talk about splendid things... She's great with the witty banter. Anyway, at one point in the concert she talks about how a lot of her fans approach her and say the same thing: "OMG INGRID! You're songs are soooo cute! You're just sooo cute! Everything about you and your music is cute Cute CUTE!" She then said that these people clearly don't listen to the lyrics, because she's not cute, she's "dark and twisted." Which when you listen to her lyrics, it's a little true. So Ingrid sang us this fake song about her growing old by herself in the middle of nowhere with a dog and dying alone, and then rotting in the ground. All to the ukulele. That's gangsta.

The problem is I love the dark and twisty lyrics. I think they're genius. And when I listen to those songs loud enough for other people to hear, they think I'm listening to happy ukulele music. While that's partially true, I'm also listening to artistic genius (all artistic genius has to be a little dark and twisty). I think of it as prep work for when I'll be old and dying alone and rotting in the ground, outlived by my only companion - my incontinent dog. That's gangster.

To 200 posts! To Ingrid Michaelson! To gangsta rap and the thug life!


Ciao Bella!

Matteo "thug-nasty" Yazge