Recently, Rocks Off's sister had a baby. That, of course, means that we were required to travel to the city where the child currently lives in, Corpus Christi, and comment on his specific attractiveness.
Now, this is hardly an inconvenience; we were amped to see King Roman, the teeny tiny half-white, half-Mexican baby that has apparently made us 100 percent expendable in the eyes of our own parents.
His proper name is Roman Maxwell, because his dad is a dork. The name lends itself to all sorts of neat-ish nicknames. We landed on King Roman. The baby is quite regal. He even has a scepter and shit.
When we pulled up to the house Sunday evening - we met at King Roman's grandparents' house - our father was outside drinking an adult beverage and listening to the radio, likely one of his favorite activities. We had the following exchange:
Us: What up, Parp?
Him: Nothing. Relaxing.
Us: Listening to Snoop, huh?
Us: I'm covering his show this weekend. He's coming to Houston. I'll tell him you said hello.
Him: ...You do that.
This is not atypical. Parp is a 47-year-old, 5' 7" Mexican man. He has a shaved head and a goatee. He has driven a city bus for about 25 years. He joined the Army when he was 17 after he was kicked out of high school after he got his eventual wife pregnant. He favors Budweiser and Dolby Digital Surround Sound and the San Antonio Spurs. And he loves Snoop.
He wholeheartedly believes that Snoop is the greatest rapper of all time, despite the fact that he's refused to actively listen to any other rapper ever.
"I don't know," says Parp when asked to explain why he feels compelled to listen to music made by a tall black man from America while the rest of the music he likes appears to be made by short white men from England. "I just do."
It doesn't bother you that he's deviated so far from the Doggystyle business model that was championed as a rap god?
"No. Why should it?"
Well, shouldn't those two things be related? It's just, ho---
"They're not. You think about this stuff too much. Roman's waiting for you. Go inside."
And this, we suspect, is an at least mostly accurate microcosm explaining why (or how) Snoop is still considered to be a transcendent figure regardless of the fact that he has not been transcendent musically since the early '90s.
Snoop has somehow mastered existing above the "You're Not Allowed To Do That, You're A Gangster Rapper" conundrum for nearly the entirety of his career. He's endorsed everything from Orbit Gum to coffee from 7-Eleven. He's been in movies and on TV shows and Girls Gone Wild DVDs. And everyone has generally accepted it with a "Ha! Look, It's Snoop" smirk.
It just doesn't matter. He's Snoop. He can do what he pleases, because he does everything without even a hint of irony, even when things are wildly ironic.
Tonight he will show up to House of Blues and rap "Murder Was The Case" and "Who Am I (What's My Name)?" and nobody will care about anything else other than that exact moment. There will be no thinking or cultural dissection or anything.
People will simply metaphorically roll down the street, smoke some indo and sip on some gin and juice. They will be laid back. And they will proclaim to have their mind on their money and their money on their mind.
Fuckin', Snoop. He's somehow overrated and underrated at the same time.
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