“Do you know anything about this ‘rap’ music?” The old man stopped me in the middle of a certain massive department-type retail outlet, which will remain nameless save for its bullseye oriented logo and quirky marketing campaigns. The question jerked me out of my discussion concerning the love Elton John gets on the block…lets just say Piano Boy holds it down in the hood, yo. Thugs be bumpin “Candle In Da Wind” like its goin outta style. But back to my story — I assume the elderly gentleman just stopped the first Negro he saw, because I didn’t look obviously like some wild-eyed young hiphopper. My age, 26; appearance, balding; and attire, polo shirt, sweater, dress pants, black shoes, scarf and tasteful jacket; pegged me as a middle aged guy, and decidedly removed from the streets. Though of course, I keep it mad real, son. Gully like every day, dunny. Word is bond. Santagati is for da kids. I think I need a job just wandering around the music department of Target (oops, I mean, or some reasonable facsimile thereof) explaining hip hop and other African American music genres to older European Americans who are buying African American music for their European American children and grandchildren. Color me the liaison between the races…the thin yellow line between shakin yo ass and shaking your buttocks. There’s a career. Santagati’s House of Doin’ the Damn Thing. Since 1976.