It's like 10,000 spoons

So I'm heading to work this morning, enjoying a massive iced coffee and walking down 42nd street - probably one of the busiest and most obnoxious streets in the country - when off in the distance I hear the faint thud of a ghetto blaster. Times Square's a pretty noisy area, especially during rush hour traffic. So, just close your eyes for a minute if you will and try to imagine just how loud this music must have been to drown out the rest of the urban cacauphony. Every step I walked and sip I took, the music got closer and closer. I could tell it was pretty high-quality sound system because there wasn't a hint of rattling trunks or overzealous treble.

Eventually, I sauntered up next to this Papaya Dog and I could feel the bass breathing hot air down the back of my neck like a silverback gorrilla. I knew the guilty vehicle was precisely to my left so I turned my lazy head, neck still stiff from my restless slumber, and for a second or two my gaze chilled out on a guy who looked remarkably similar to Baby (at left) from Big Tymers and Cash Money Records. He was iced out and had at least 15 tattoos that I could count in the hot second that I was looking in his direction. Baby-faced-killa was riding in a Corvette that looked like Xzibit and the boys over at West Coast Customs had their way with it. I seriously wouldn't have been shocked if he pressed a button in the dash and a full basketball court popped out of the trunk.

Anyways, wood-grain and candy paint aside, I still couldn't make out exactly what song was playing on the stereo because there was a jackhammer directly behind me. All I knew was that it was shaking my chest cavity. I'm not a gambling man, but if I was, given the information I had in front of me, I would probably put money on Young Joc, or Chamillionaire... maybe even some smooth jazz stylings of Coltraine, given that it was still pretty early in the morning. Let's just say that I wasn't exactly on the edge of my seat waiting to hear what was playing on the stereo, but as the walk signal turned on and I slowly shufffled away from the jackhammer and the music playing slowly became clearer and clearer. I was shocked at what came next.

The guy was blasting "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette, at 50,000 decibels!!!! And he was bobbing his head to the beat! I didn't even know Alanis Morissette songs even had a beat... or any bass in them whatsover for that matter. I literally laughed out loud. I laughed so hard I almost dropped my precious iced coffee. This was literally THE most ironic thing that has ever happened to me. It was like the irony nexus of the universe and the most ironic song in the history of the world was playing in the background to add insult to injury! For a second, I thought it might be a rap-remix and so I waited for a DJ Clue beat to come on, or for Method Man or Eminem to rap a verse or two in the middle of the song... it didn't happen. I pictured Alanis Morisette decked out in diamonds, rockin' a Kobe jersey and some Purple and Gold Air Force Ones and I laughed even harder.

After I finished doing the truffle shuffle at the thought of Alanis in gangsta' garb, I stopped to think about the power of pre-concieved notions. This guy had every right to rock out to some 90's woman-power ballads, whether it's in the privacy of his own home, or in the middle of one of the busiest places on the planet. Whether he's dressed like Dennis Rodman, or R. Lee Ermey should I really be expecting him to listen to one specific genre of music based on his attire and vehicle!? I guess the moral of my drawn-out tale is simple: be wary of stereotypes, or else reality will catch you off-guard and you'll come dangerously close to dropping your iced coffee.