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Mar. 30, 2005 I take you to the candy shop/ I'll let you lick the lollypop / Go 'head girl, don't you stop / Keep going 'til you hit the spot Whoa! I'll take you to the candy shop / Boy one taste of what I got / I'll have you spending all you got / Keep going 'til you hit the spot Whoa! Those are some of the lyrics to 50 Cent and Olivia’s song, “Candy Shop”. Perhaps the last word to each stanza should be “woe!” for nowadays, this is what passes for a love song. How sad and deeply demented. This song sounds more like an ad for prostitution. Perhaps I’m turning into my dad and I’m a little too “old school” for my own good. Or maybe it’s the fact that I remember the 70’s, when love songs were actually about love—both the physical and emotional aspects. In my hey day romance meant having to initiate a conversation (“bust a rap”) and at least let the young lady know you cared about her. (Sometimes this meant only providing the illusion, but today’s “rappers” don’t even do that.) In my youth, there was a certain song that belonged to a couple. But not anymore, because today romance is as dead as the career of Tito Jackson. Young people have become so desensitized to audio- visual sexual content that now it’s all they see. They don’t understand that there is an emotional foundation—or at least should be—for anything being passed off as romance. But today it’s about booty calls and instant gratification. Sexual intercourse among youth is as casual as a handshake. “Rapping” now means using corny lines like, “You must have washed your clothes with Windex, because I see me in your pants.” If that doesn’t work, then it’s on to the next lady and the same, or an equally inane approach is made. I think that in the 70’s we had to present ourselves as gentlemen. We had to meet suspicious fathers and worrisome mothers. Both worried about their daughters going out with young men who “knew how to carry themselves.” This meant being well-groomed, respectful to a girl and her parents and knowing how to address people as Mr. And Mrs. Today, young men strut around like their in the midst of a seizure, with their pants falling off their cheeks, wearing shirts the size of circus- tents and ending every sentence with “know what I’m saying?” Hell no, and I’m unsure as to whether I even want to. I wonder how and why young girls settle for this. Is there a dearth of self-esteem that I don’t know about? Or has time simply passed me by? I suspect it might be a combination of the two. Needless to say, tonight I’m taking my special lady to the candy shop—to buy her a box of peanut clusters. And don’t think I’m not going to help her eat them. ------------ About the author: Timothy Stelly is the 45-year old author of "Tempest In The Stone" and the upcoming, "The Malice of Cain". He resides in Pittsburg, California with his three youngest children Dante, Kimberly and Lawrence. I have a new website: stellbread0.tripod.com Email: stellbread@sbcglobal.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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