Wednesday, October 14, 2009


It seems the girls have inherited my beatboxing tick (or "beat-dead-horse-boxing", if you prefer).* And when the three of us get going simultaneously (but not quite synchronously), sputtering and clicking beats of our own amateurish devising, let me tell you, Sarah just absolutely loves it. (Especially in the car. Sarah just loves family beatboxing in a small confined space.)


  1. Anonymous2:11 AM

    what in tge world is beat dead horse boxing?

  2. Mandy7:18 AM

    This sounds a lot like my life.
    You are Hilarious.

  3. "Beat-dead-horse-boxing": an overly complicated joke that's probably only funny to me. You see, I had this post, "My Name Is Slim D and I Beat Dead Horses", enumerating my various verbal ticks and similar irksome impulses which I repeat way longer than I should, and it occurred to me that bad beatboxing is another symptom of my beat-dead-horse-itis, and of course, they both have the word "beat" in them (plus there's a resonance between "beat" and "boxing"), so in a sort of verbally compulsive way, I decided to mix them up and make myself laugh. Simple, see?

    Mandy, maybe you can start an organization: MABB (Mothers Against Bad Beatboxing). Back in the day, moms just had to endure bad beatboxing by their teens. Now it's multi-generational.

    Louise's summer arts camp offered a beatboxing class. That's great, but I can't quite wrap my head around it: beatboxing as something to be done in class as opposed to while dawdling between classes. (I clearly remember 8th grade in Connecticut when the halls of my middle school sounded like the Fat Boys were auditioning a new member.)