A Dream Deferred

When I was little, I aspired to be a Melody Maker. You probably don't know what a Melody Maker is. In fact, I used to tell people I wanted to be a Wailer because it was more recognizable. But I really wanted to be a Melody Maker.

I spent countless hours in my bedroom practicing to be a Melody Maker. Then, one day, I realized that, despite all my hard work, I'd never be a Melody Maker for two key reasons: 1) I'm not part of the extensive Marley family and 2) I am also not black. It was a sad realization.


I discovered last night at the Fitz and the Tantrums show that this desire hasn't really faded. I spent most of the night desperately envious of this chick:

I kept thinking to myself, "Why don't I play the tamborine?!" and "Why am I not black?!" Then again, a lot of people say I have a black girl's ass. But that means nothing to me unless I have the dance moves and vocals to back it up. 


Oh well, I guess I'm not destined to be a black back-up singer. At least I got that lucrative English degree.