How "The Thong Song" changed our lives

In his epic poem, The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot writes, "April is the cruellest month, breeding/Lilacs out of dead land, mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain." When you really think about it, this is just a complicated way of saying "she had dumps like a truck ... truck ... truck."
Such is the genius of Dru Hill singer-gone-solo Sisqo, whose contribution not only to popular music but to the greater literary canon can't be overstated. In a year of Florida controversies, from the fate of Elian Gonzalez to the election of our next president, the cultural oligarchy assembled in Daytona Beach and Panama City never needed to question the state of their fabric flossed hind ends. "The Thong Song" took them to a place at once both raunchy and sublime, and in doing so, eased the pains of a troubled nation.
However, the impact of "The Thong Song" is bigger than the year 2000, larger even than the nation itself. Sisqo's verse invokes the epistemological uncertainty of our entire post-modern cultural milieu — "She had thighs like what ... what ... what?" At the same time, it cleverly hints at the era of improvident immediacy engendered by the information revolution — "Baby move your butt ... butt ... butt." Sisqo speaks our language: a language of longing, discovery and, just maybe, hope.
In the end, the "The Thong Song" taught us things about ourselves that we had not the courage to ask. We came into this wet T-shirt contest we call the year 2000 with a thirst — a dry cultural palate that Sisqo saturated like so many cotton halter-tops. But we emerged with more than just some free Jell-O shooters and a budding case of shingles; we emerged with an enlightened sense of ourselves. "I think I'll sing it again ..."