The scourge of Hip-hop

Now don't get me wrong, I love Mary J. and OutKast and all sorts of bands. When I mention that I actually enjoy the same sorts of music as what some people term "normal" teenagers their eyes bug out. I listen to Eminem, Nelly, Missy Elliot, Destiny's Child, and the like. I'm also a big fan of Train, Puddle of mud, Matchbox 20, Eve 6, Eagle-eye Cherry, ect. Not to mention my obsession with Country dudes and the Classics of Southern Rock. I also chill out to Garbage, and some times I go for Tool, Korn, and Godsmack along with the odd assortment of 93x music when I feel "in the mood." For me however, when the mood to rock comes upon me, NO ONE beats out the legends: The Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Doors, the Dave Clark five, Jimi Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Johnny Cash, and especially, the Rolling Stones. Yesterday, I motivated my self enough to open the door, dress, and start cleaning. (and yes, it was in that exact order.) To do this, I put the Stones in the DVD player and cranked it to a moderate if-Tosh-was-farther-down-the-hall-she-would-approve level. ( I will admit that the volume fluctuated when I got to Get off of my Cloud because that's my fave Stones tune. ) However, halfway through Ruby Tuesday, the girls next door crank up their radio and start in with the double bass. Alright, my music is a bit too loud. I can handle that. I turn it down a few notches. They wail theirs higher. Fustrated to no end, after twenty minutes of whomping hip-hop beats drowning out the superior rhythm and vocals of Mick, Keith, and the boys, I pull out the most annoying CD I own (and love). I crank the TV up to top volume capacity and press play to Mister-Livin'-La-Vida-Loca himself. After about ten seconds of that I turn it down and insert vintage Backstreet Boys at normal levels and sing at the top of my caterwaling lungs. Did I mention I was and possibly still am to a certain degree a full supporter of boy bands? Oh, and my Chieftains CD should be in at the library by the end of the week?