My Taste Is Better Than Yours

2002. The year you could watch MTV Base for two hours and the Neptunes would have produced every single track you saw (I know you can’t see a song, but they didn’t produce the videos and… although I suppose if you had synaesthesia you could possibly be said to… never mind, you know what I mean). It was also my last summer of underage dancing in terrible clubs to all the hits from 2000-02 while wearing undoubtedly hideous clothes. I remember Fabolous and Gravel Pit and Big Pimpin’ and Ginuwine and Nappy Roots and Nelly and B2K and I could go on ad infinitum because I pretty much love all hip-hop and r’n'b except for emo rappers, Eminem and Asher Roth.

I think I danced particularly badly but joyfully to this.

“Ass is fat, frame is little, tattoo in your chest with his name in the middle.” I will still be able to quote that line when I am in an old person’s home. And I will, frequently and loudly at anyone that happens to walk past me.

2002 was also the year that I met Tim Westwood when I lost my hat on the street and he called me ‘little lady’. That was a crap story, I’m sorry.