Monday evening, at the TLA. Aaron LaCarte was spinning and Lily Allen had yet to (unenthusiastically) take the stage. Jill and I were commenting on what a mix the crowd was: teenyboppers, couples pushing 50, hipsters, unclassifiable folks there for love of music, and, well, what appeared to be a contingent of Main Line soccer moms to our right.
So, I'm happily bopping around, and 50 Cent comes on. No sooner do I hear "WHAT UP, BLOOD?/ WHAT UP, CUZ?/ WHAT UP, BLOOD?/ WHAT UP GAAAANGSTA?" come through the speakers, then I notice some commotion in the Soccer Mom Zone.
They were dancing. And it turns out they didn't come alone. Their daughters (who could not have been older than 14) were with them. Mortified, as their mothers shook it to Lord knows what beat in an attempt to make their offspring boogie on down with them.
Image via yale.edu.

Across the Ist-a-Verse


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