I think Nelly is the most misunderstood artist of the last 25 years. Yeah, he loves to party, yeah he likes having sex, but he's also a confused kid who is struggling with his new found fame and fortune just like the rest of us. In fact, he's written a cry for help that no one seems to have answered:

"Ride Wit Me"

If you wanna go and take a ride wit me
We three-wheelin in the fo' with the gold D's
Oh why do I live this way? (Hey, must be the money!)

If you wanna go and get high wit me
Smoke a L in the back of the Benz-y
Oh why must I feel this way? (Hey, must be the money!)

Poor Nelly. He doesn't want to be "3-wheelin' in the fo'" and he knows the "D's" don't have to be gold. And yet he does and they are. Why? Nelly doesn't want to be smoking an "L" in the back of his Benz(-y), and yet he does. But why? Why are all these people following him around in the "fo'" and smoking the "L's?" Why else? The only reason is his money (and fame).

In the club on the late night, feelin right
Lookin tryin to spot somethin real nice
Lookin for a little shorty hot and horny so that I can take home
She can be 18 wit an attitude
or 19 kinda snotty actin real rude
Boo, as long as you a thicky thicky thick girl you know that it's on
I peep something comin towards me up the dance floor
Sexy and real slow
Sayin she was peepin and I dig the last video
So when Nelly, can we go; how could I tell her no?
Her measurements were 36-25-34
Yellin I like the way you brush your hair
And I like those stylish clothes you wear
I like the way the light hit the ice and glare
And I can see you boo from way over there

Once again, we find Nelly out, forced in to the playa role. Yeah, he likes the sex, and he's not afraid to admit that. But he's searching for this attractive lady in the club to take home more because he wants to find her, but mostly because that is what the rich, new rapper on the scene is supposed to do. And even if he wasn't out looking, these women would find him. Nelly really has no options - he has no choice but to move into the role that has been created for him. His pain is so evident in these lyrics. And yet he delves deeper.

Face and body front and back, don't know how to act
Without no vouchers or boozers she's bringin nuttin back
You should feel the impact, shop on plastic
when the sky's the limit and them haters can't get past that
Watch me as I gas that, 4.6 Range
Watch the candy paint change, everytime I switch lanes
It feel strange now
Makin a livin off my brain, instead of 'caine now
I got the title from my momma put the whip in my own name now
Damn shit done changed now
Runnin credit checks with no shame now
I feel the fame now (come on), I can't complain now (no more)
Shit I'm the mayne now, in and out my own town
I'm gettin pages out of New Jersey, from Courtney B.
Tellin me about a party up in NYC
Can I make it? Damn right, I be on the next flight
Payin cash; first class - sittin next to Vanna White

He is saying so much there, it is really hard to take it all in. What is this man to do? He has good credit for the first time in his life, he owns a new Range Rover. And all this money is earned the right way - through his mind not selling drugs. He's "the mayne" and he knows it, and yet he still has to get used to this fame. But surely he knows how to enjoy it in the mean time.

And then finally we have the realization, an epiphany, if you will. Nelly learns from his experiences and comes to a few conclusions.
Check, check -- yo, I know somethin you don't know
And I got somethin to tell ya
You won't believe how many people, straight doubted the flow
Most said that I was a failure
But now the same motherfuckers askin me fo' dough
And I'm yellin, "I can't help ya"
"But Nelly can we get tickets to the next show?"
Hell no (what's witchu?!) you for real?!

All these people that are following him around now, taking advantage of his money and fame are the same people who doubted him when he was just getting started. So why should Nelly help them now that he proved them wrong? And that's just it - he doesn't have to and he won't! Sure, nobody's perfect - he's still going to make mistakes and he's still learning to deal with his fame and fortune, and he might still choose to bring the wrong people in to his posse from time to time. But finally Nelly realizes that he can say, "no." He doesn't have to smoke that "L" in the Benz with all these people if he doesn't want to. His "D's" don't have to be gold - they can be silver, titanium or plain chrome. All that matters really is that Nelly enjoys everything he has because Nelly has earned it.

[City Spud]
Hey yo, now that I'm a fly guy, and I fly high
Niggaz wanna know why, why I fly by
But yo it's all good, Range Rover all wood
Do me like you should - fuck me good, suck me good
We be no stud niggaz, wishin you was niggaz
Poppin like we drug dealers, sippin Crissy, bubb' mackin
Honey in the club, me in the Benz
Icy grip, tellin me to leave wit you and your friends
So if shorty wanna... knock, we knockin to this
And if shorty wanna... rock, we rockin to this
And if shorty wanna... pop, we poppin the Crist'
Shorty wanna see the ice, then I ice the wrist
City talk, Nelly listen; Nelly talk, city listen
When I fuck fly bitches; when I walk pay attention
See the ice and the glist'; niggaz starin or they diss
Honies lookin all they wish - come on boo, gimme kiss

So now that Nelly has finally reached this big conclusion that he is his own man, what does he want to do? Well, everything he was doing before, but this time on his own terms.

So deep, so passionate, and so personal. And yet this man has never gotten any 'spect for his lyrics. I think it's about time the world sees Nelly for more than just the current big rapper, but a masterful poet and lyricist as well.

Have You Seen These Shoes?

Seriously, have you seen these shoes anywhere? I bought them several years ago at a Nike factory outlet. Oh the memories - I still remember that historic day. I walked in to the store having successfuly found a great pair of cheap and unique shoes there just about a year ago. My hopes were high as I meandered my way towards my shoe size. "What will I find this year?" I eagerly thought. "What will I buy, at a reasonable price, to keep my feet cozy." Lost in thoughts of my cool, new kicks, I didn't notice the shoe box sitting in the middle of the aisle. My feet knocked into it and I stumbled, lost my balance and screamed liked a little girl as tumbled, face first into the floor. I looked back and finally saw the box that had just tripped me up. Angry at first, I yelled a few choice words at the box, and then suddenly it hit me: "This is it. These are my shoes. It's destiny." I am not one to believe in things like "destiny" and "fate," but when you accidentally trip over a box, you just can't question its meaning.

So I slid closer to the box, closed my eyes and took a deep breathe. I carefully took the lid off, faced down and opened up my eyes to see the shoes that were made specifically for me. "OH MY GOD! IT'S AN ELEPHANTS FOOT! SOMEONE CUT OFF A LITTLE ELEPHANT'S FOOT AND PUT IT IN THIS SHOE BOX. OH MY GOD THAT IS THE WOR...oh wait, nevermind. It's just gray shoes." And what a pair of gray shoes they were.

They fit like a glove, only a glove that you put on your feet and that has laces and doesn't have a hole for each finger. And as I walked around, I discovered that they had a surprising amount of cushion hidden away. Like walking on a cloud really, only a cloud that offers support to my feet while absorbing each step. It was as if these shoes had been manufactured by the finest tailor specifically for my feet, only the finest tailor was actually an underpaid and overworked child in Indonesia that is mass producing the shoes for the general public. Yes, absolute perfection.

I wore them proudly and comfortably well through the senior year of college and I continued to love them. Two friends hated them and thought these sneakers were the ugliest things they had ever seen. One called them "Astronaut Shoes" and the other called them "Elephant Shoes." None of my other friends seemed to care one way or another. And I wouldn't have changed my mind even if they did. All that mattered is that I knew these were the greatest shoes ever created and they made me happy.

But like any pair of shoes, their time had to come to an end. About a year ago the heel started to wear thin and I had to set these aside for another shoe. And as time went on, my memories started to fade. Shoes and sneakers came and went and life moved on. That was until Tuesday. Oh glorious Tuesday! On Tuesday, my mom pulled out the "ugly gray sneakers" for me to wear home. And as I slid the shoes on one more time, all the wonderful moments we spent together came rushing back into my head.

Right then, I decided I had to find a new pair of these shoes. I realized I would never be completely happy again unless a new pair of these kicks were re-introduced into my life.

So have you seen these shoes? Because I have not. Not since the day I bought them have these shoes ever reappeared. Maybe lightning only strikes once, maybe fate is a one hit wonder. Or maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, you have seen these shoes recently, or you will see these shoes someday. If you do, buy them for me (size 9.5; whatever color is available), whatever the cost (I will reimburse you). I will be indebted to you for the rest of my life (or until I pay you back for the cost of the shoes plus a little extra for your troubles. At that point we will be even) and I will once again feel like a whole person. These shoes will be my missing puzzle piece, my lost sock that is now found, the $20 bill that surprises you in your pocket. Please, help my wandering and lost soul find its way home -

help me find these shoes

DRINK TO END STROKE
Do you wish you could go back to the good old days of college when you partied all night? Do you also wish you could find that perfect charitable cause to support?

Well, now you can do BOTH!

On June 14th at 8:30pm, Mason Hall Fraternity invites you to Drink to End Stroke - a tribute to the gone but not forgotten frat party days with all proceeds benefiting Adam Gerard's Train to End Stroke efforts.

That's right, a frat party with a heart of gold. Kegs, beer pong, plastic cups, jello shots and more all in an effort to fight our nation's #3 killer.

Cover charge: $10 minimum donation at the door

Beer and frat party fun provided. BYOLIASB (Bring Your Own Liquor In A Soda Bottle)

Contact me for location information.