Translations

            I’ve had the Outkast song Hey Ya stuck in my head for the last week. (It’s the “Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture” song.) It’s very adhesive earworm material even though it pisses me off. If you’re unfamiliar with the plot, Hey Ya is a tender paean to young love in which a young man recounts to the object of his affections all the reasons she owes him sex in spite of the fact that he doesn’t give a shit about her as a human being. The poignant chorus of the song reads as follows:

            Don’ wanna meetcho Daddy (Ohh Oh)

            Jus’ wantchu in my Caddy (Hey Yaaaa)

            Don’ wanna meetcho Mama (Ohh Oh)

            Jus’ want to make you cum-a (Hey Yaaaa)

What person possessed of a healthy self-esteem wouldn’t respond with alacrity to such sweet-talk? The real clincher, though, comes next:

            I’m (Ohh Oh) I’m

            (Ohh Oh, Hey Yaaaa)

            I’m . . . jus’ bein’ honest (Ohh Oh)

            I’m . . . jus’ bein’ honest (Hey Yaaaa)

Outkast’s hero has found the Relationship Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Card! Everybody knows that you can say anything you like, as long as it’s followed by the phrase “I’m just being honest;” under the guise of honest communication, the speaker can give themselves permission to forgo both basic kindness and good manners. “I’m just being honest” is not to be confused with its cousin, “I’m saying this for your own good;” the former assumes that a conversation (however rudimentary) is in progress, while the latter means “even I know that this is cruel, but I want to say it so badly and I need to think of myself as a good person even though there is no evidence to support such a conclusion.”

            There are phrases that are self-antonymous, and if you find yourself on the receiving end of one of these you’d be well-advised to translate it accordingly:

            I’m no prude, but = Frankly, I find bare feet shocking, and

            I’m not old-fashioned, but = If I had my way, You People would know your place, and

            Of course I’m no expert, but = In my own mind, I’m the Chuck Norris of this subject, and

Then there is good old-fashioned understatement:

            This house is a real fixer-upper! = Everything, including the lawn, is covered in chipped lead paint, and the “Brand-New Conversation Pit” is a recent sinkhole.

            Oh, him/her/them? He’s/she’s/they’re all right – That individual is so gorgeous that I would gladly walk barefoot through a darkened room scattered with LEGOs to pick up their discarded Kleenex.

            Some assembly required = You will need to get a particle accelerator, because this fucker has been dismantled down to its quarks.

            That’s it for today. Join us next time, when I’ll be breaking down Childish Gambino’s Redbone vis-à-vis 19^th century Marxist archetypes. (Or maybe telling butt jokes.)