Wednesday, October 04, 2006
I'm Back!
Thursday, August 31, 2006
May be my last blog for a while
guy
Mad Villain says:
where dem pos tu?
Mad Villain says:
u*?
and then i says:
kat-fuckin-sina
Mad Villain says:
rofl
and then i says:
its not funny man
and then i says:
they get electricity for that side?
Mad Villain says:
i resemble globe trotter?
Mad Villain says:
man take am like that
Mad Villain says:
katsina should be ok
and then i says:
i no get choice
Mad Villain says:
tayo should know more
and then i says:
true
Mad Villain says:
shey he's close to there
and then i says:
at least i go dey see the guy
and then i says:
thats if i stay past orientation
Mad Villain says:
well who knows
Mad Villain says:
u fit jam your wife there
and then i says:
lol
and then i says:
for shaaria zone
and then i says:
i dont think so
Mad Villain says:
man u never know
Mad Villain says:
u fit becom sharia faithful sef
and then i says:
lmao
and then i says:
i doubt that
and then i says:
ure the first person to say its not so bad
and then i says:
everybody just dey look me like say i get obituary for head
Mad Villain says:
well e don tey for me
Mad Villain says:
maybe i need come back house
and then i says:
even ppl them post to kaduna dey laff me
Mad Villain says:
lol
and then i says:
it cant be that bad, abi?
and then i says:
i dont even want to blog about it
Mad Villain says:
u'll adapt
Mad Villain says:
u'll find peeps like u there
Mad Villain says:
just try and enjoy camp first sha
Mad Villain says:
though i doubt u'll be getting the babes at camp
and then i says:
lol
Mad Villain says:
babes always runs their shit
Mad Villain says:
and it always clicks for them
and then i says:
true dat
Mad Villain says:
katsina is way off their list
Mad Villain says:
so i forsee a fucked up camp for u
I'm too lazy to blog about getting posted to Katsina for youth service so i put up this MSN convo instead. (insert witty remarks here) (here) (and here) (yawn). Peace out. if i'm motivated i'll post something up before the 5th of september (departure day). if not its peace out. keep my blog warm. Don't do anything (too) interesting with your lifes. Don't miss me too much (no sarcasm there, for real). You know the addy, u know the number. Peace out (again).
This hot girl in my class got posted there too. ha, ha.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
...Or Love And The MySpace Generation
I should be working right now but i decided to share this and hopefully ya'll can digest this while i write my thesis on the above topic (that isn't the work i'm supposed to be doing) which you'll probably never get to read cause i probably won't finish it. Back to work.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
I've got 37 mins 13 seconds to write all the invisible stuff i want to... but to be honest i'd rather be doing something else but i'm stuck here now in a cybercafe because i won't be able to use the internet at home for a week.
Truth is i have no invisible stuff to write. And its rainining and i'm stuck here and my funny box is on strike. Quit looking for the joke. I'm doing a Dave Chapelle S.A move. And at the same time i have nothing serious to write about. Boredom.
"I just need time to walk it off"
"Write on!"
I should moan about PHCN destroying my life (or slowing it down at least). But I won't cause I'll get even more bored. Or I could write about the 'Gym Class Heroes' but thats personal shit. Yawn. Why write when i can read? I'm off to your blog. Boredom.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
I've got a midget in my pocket
too me to blog: I would be happy to see you if u really did exist and were not just a hypothetical prop set up to breathe life into this uninspiring blog i find myself writing tonight.
Jdhc: What???
tmbt: I didnt expect her to quote Kerouac or anything but a little wit wouldnt hurt
God: This is your creation not mine. Don't turn to me everytime you [Beep] up ur fantasies...
De Other Guy: It isnt his actually hes ripping delots voice convo thingy. Alas, that delot, hes one of mine...
God: I'm talking about her not this...this...
Jdhc: What???
tmtb: its a midget.
[Note to self: Never bring him here again - Ed.]
Now to the blog :
I got my first midget today. While the rest of u would wonder if i have acquired myself a slave (a little person sex slave - knowing how filthy your minds are) or a hard on (thus ending speculation about my involvement in the 2 minute man conspiracy) those of you involved in more journalistic pursuits would know what i'm talking about. A midget is that little tape recorder thingy that journalist shove into peoples faces and women in soap operas usually have lying in their hand bags when lazy screenwriters are in desperate need of a plot twist ("But you said you loved me Antonio...*sob* *sniff*... I've got it all on tape"). Its like the word 'unionized', a chemist (like I am sometimes) would read it as 'un-ionized' while a lay man or woman (like you are because this is my blog) would read 'union-ized'. If you didnt know this, don't be hard on yourself it doesnt mean youre stupid (you have all those pictures of clothes you thought were cool 10 years ago to do that) it just means i'm not.
(Where was I?)
On monday I'll be conducting my first ever interview, taking my first (2nd or 3rd actually) step into the murky waters of music journalism. Here before you sits...types...is...was...whatever the next Nick Hornby (Lester bangs at least) or at least someone who once interviewed a DJ and decided he'd rather do something else with his life next monday. I don't know anything about interviewing folk but i'm guessing the trick is to make the interviewee say interesting stuff... I have the whole of 2mrw/2day to think of how to bait Jimmy Jatt claim he was once a prisoner of war in Vietnam living on a slice of bread and 10 sticks of cigarette for most of the last decade... thats a bit too much... well, i could make him say he writes volumes of 'haiku' in his spare time if he mentions 'fufu'.
(Instead of writing some clever stuff and sticking a link in it i would like to take this timeout to plug the website giving me the opportunity to do this and a lot of other good stuff coming soon. soundsofnigeria.com - thats the future there.)
Back to the midget. I've decided to name it mini-me. if any 'little person' reads this and thinks i'm poking fun at the vertically challenged... I'ld like them to know that a lot of my best friends are midgets. Hit me! (Insert James Brown Hit here!).
In other news:
I was almost a victim of the 'one chance' scam this week. If you don't know what that means... I wish i could trade places with you. I'm mad tired and i need to go crash so i cant tell that story today. but at least u know i'm in one piece as i type this so u can guess how it ended.
In other other news:
The rains been "$%^#@*&$ $%^& - i know i shouldnt speak about mother nature that way.
Stuff I've said into my midget today:
"Cough...Cancer sticks and karma flavoured water..."
"...A bouquet of cigarette butts in a bottle top ashtray... oh! I like that...Is ash-tray one word or two?... cough "
Thats cutting-edge journalism for you there.
jdhc: Whats a midget?
Monday, July 24, 2006
Rain and stuff
Earlier today, she asked me if I had any movie she could watch, I gave her 'Hideous Kinky' (nice movie) as she was leaving with it I remember that there were sex scenes in it... I'm scared for her (when I remember to be)... Shes 15 (same age as the movies rating BTW)... Shes on Hi5 now (I've sworn to leave a I'll break-your-neck-if-you're-a-pervert-trying-to-mack-my-sister-online testimonial death threat on her page before i quit Hi5 forever) and its no longer beyonce or ashantis pic, its her own... The closest my parents ever came to educating me on sex was just a year ago. I almost broke down in angry tears and my mum couldn't understand why. I thought my reasons were obvious: I'm (was) 22! What were you waiting for this is at least 6 years too late... I'm scared cause we have the same parents (did I mention that they were old).
Its 2:05 a.m I'm praying it rains. I love the rain. From what I've seen of the rest of the world (not much but enough) the rain is best in Lagos (if your roof isn't leaking). Its soothing. I'm feeling down (fucked would be a better word). I miss my brother. I should stop blogging and mail him now but I won't because... just because. Its hard to explain but we only tell each other we love each other when we're drunk. He has been away for over a year now so I drink less now and I only say the word 'love' when I sing along to some song (BTW Corrine Bailey Rae is dope and it has nothing to do with her last name).
If not for the music life would be fucked (I am but life isn't). I've been down - I don't mess with the word 'Depression' because I know what it looks like. If you've had very close family hospitalized over that shit you'll realize that theres a time to stop being self-indulgent and step out from from under your imaginary dark cloud. The real ones aren't musical or poetic if they were at all it'll be on some AZ and Nas "Lifes a bitch and then you die/ thats we get high/ cause you never know when you're gonna go!" tip... Reality bitch slaps
2:24 a.m What was I saying again? I'm down but It can all change in a second so I'm not really bothered. All it'll take is some rain (its been raining all week but wheres that shit when you need it?) a phonecall, Elec-fucking-tricity!!! Anything. And if it doesnt rain etc. I'll be good until 2mrw/2day because of the music. Thank you for the music (all 14hrs and 2 gigs of it - you know who you are). Aight this is where I put the safety on and recommend a new soundtrack to my blog (Its on repeat now). Go to this page and download the track called runaways you can also read along to it here. I like sage Francis hes like rain - good words are almost as soothing as good weather.
2:41 a.m Almost forgot to thank senior Delot for reminding me to spill my guts. Is this how much time blogging consumes? Well what else is there to do here, besides downloading mp3s from Obi's playlist. my MSN isn't signing in...crap...I can't sleep in this heat...drat...I've got places to go 2mrw/ 2day...rain...the old man is sleeping... :)
Sunday, July 09, 2006
More musical advice
More practical than 'introspective'. To quote the poet himself: "Read a book MUTHERF**KER!"
Check his myspace :)
and...
Just found this site: Nigerian photography at its finest "Depth of fields"
Monday, July 03, 2006
Wear Sunscreen?
Yeah, I don't know when to take my leave.
On the real, I relate to the whole song minus the sunscreen bit. Its funny how i understand what he means by the power and beauty of youth and some would argue that i'm still too young to fully grasp it.
"Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't." This a deep one considering that 22 was last year and subconciously I'd set a deadline for my search for the meaning of life (mine - not life in general - the cosmos can suck my appendix).
My grandma asked me a deep question the other day. Its one of those questions I wish people asked me more often because its one of those things i can't be bothered to think about unless someone asks. She was staring at a Brand Nubian flyer thing that I've got on my wardrobe door when she said it. At first I thought she was losing her eyesight or something. I love Sadat X and all but those dudes are not the best looking men in show business. So when she asks "Who are you?". I'm on the devensive babbling about how I'm not in the picture, and how its not a picture and how i don't know any of those (strange looking) men personally. Then she repeats the question and I realize what she's really asking is what all this means to me, Baby pictures, 'tell an american to vote.com' postcards. I couldn't answer it so i let my mouth take control and it got me out of that one. All I could do personally was make wise-ass remarks about how i'd know the answer to the question if she'd been asking it at least once a year for the past 23. I'm still stomped by the question and I don't think I can answer it now (maybe on my death bed i will, but then it'd be "Who were you?").
Who am I? Am I what I believe in (stand for), what I do, what I want to do, what I've done, What I say, How many times a day I pray, what type of music I listen to (or make), What I look like, Or is that "show me your friends" BS not really BS, Am I my shoe size, my star sign, the school i went to, the type of job i want, the life I want to live, NaS, Or the weird guy in the blue pyjamas those okcupid ppl claim I am, My IQ? ... I believe in straight foward answers so saying i'm the sum total of all of this doesn't fly with me. Unlike a lot of people I dont have that one word that describes me. I notice this everywhere but the blog world is a perfect example to find people who can tell you who they are (or think they can...same difference) in one word and that word would fit into one of those categories without a second thot. Do people really think of themselves in those same terms which the want everyone else to identify them with. If thats the case judging by the name of my blog I'm a pretentious fuck... there a couple ppl out there who would agree with that statement, but i'd rather argue that its what i was the day I named the blog. Where am I going with this again? No where...enjoy the song. I'm off to ponder.
Friday, June 23, 2006
I was really bored and thought of writing you this poem about being a jerk.
I had just gotten better at pretending I dreamt of you
The night before or the day after
I would have to force myself to send for you
Imagine.
I even learnt how to hold your name
on the tip of my twisted tongue,
But only just long enough to convince myself
That it still sounded the same
(Tell me, Was I wrong?)
But now,
I'm a much better liar (and BSer) than you left me
Bold enough to paint this illusion
with invisible brush strokes
a prog-art pantomime called 'The intrusion
Of a stolen, not lost soul!'
For you I subtitled it 'The day you left me'
You left me?
Or was it the other way round?
You could reverse time and freeze frames
But be cautious not to unmute the sound
So we can both pretend the words we mouth
Are not in vain.
Ah!
I impress myself with this self sacrifice
You could call me a jerk (but never a heart-breaker.
Don't compare me to a man on a rampage,
For I have much better aim).
See, I only let you burn the bridges
'cause one of us had to
No understudy could earn such reviews
It may be news to you
But with the years of training I've had
I'm better suited for playing the victim
So.
I hope you find this and file it
Somewhere between akward silences,
The neighbours childrens shoe sizes,
And other peoples favourite songs
The end.
Or in your own words, "It's over"
(And the best part of it for me was writing this poem)
I really am a jerk.
(And I'll feel much better if someone else knew it)
Here's to wishing I'll get a second chance to prove it.
Monday, June 19, 2006
It starts with a 'B' or a 'Narf!'
Narf! I hate blogging about blogging! And... I'm scared of site meters, especially those ones with the world map where the red dots grow, I cant help but notice when the largest ones seems to hover over lagos. That scares the me out of me like "Did I do that all by my little self? Am I a cyber-stalker? Even though I know I'm not the only blogger in Lagos why do I feel so guilty?". Liberate yourself - take down the site meters burn the maps! be free! Its the inbuilt counter on your profile that really matters! If you won't do it for yourself at least do it for me! And If google are really paying you for those ads spread the love!
God I'm hungry! I may just be on the verge of an eating-disorder. Considering the fact that I'm a sack of bones and hair everyone would probably be happy for me just before the obesity sets in. This desire to stuff my face was caused by Christian Bale's potrayal of really skinny ('cause he hadn't slept in a year...hmmm?) dude Trevor Reznik in The Machinist (A film I'm currently obsesed with and I've watched at least 5 times since last friday - I wonder how i make the time?)... Wait lemme find a picture, as they say they're worth a million (or is that a thousand) words and i have no plans of writing that much tonite - I've promised myself i'll be in bed by 2 a.m. What? Oh yeah the picture:
There's this one line in the movie that makes me want to eat everything in sight: "If you were any thinner you wouldn't exist". I'm still hungry. I won't spoil this film for anyone who hasn't seen it (but I'll spoil X3 - Cyclops dies so does prof. X and I shed a tear for the rape of the Marvel universe and the insulting compression of Stan Lee's genius. Sorry...too late for a spoiler warning, shey. sorry again.) I'll just say its the best thing I've seen since 'Lost in Translation'...But I'll just like to know why I never heard of this film when everytime Renee Zwhatshernameagain has to put on the pounds for Bridget Jones the news is everywhere!
Narf! I hate Khaki! I always have, ever since Ijanikin (Please click on strange ass word to your left- your other left-to read a classic post by Mr. Delot about my Alma Mata-the strange word- it brought a flood of memories and reminded me why plastic buckets were so sacred. I'll like to thank Delot and have a moment of silence for my lost innocence...) and now I face the prospects of having to wear it again (and I'm not talking about some fancy stuff from GAP here). I had to got to the other school I went to (the university of lagos is not my Alma Mata! I just 'went' there for a couple years to get 'ejewcated'), to fill my NYSC form. If you've never heard of it NYSC stands for the National (or is it Nigerian) Youth Service Corp (I think) and it involves spending a year in another state doing Godknowswhat service for the coutry (I won't go into how I don't feel the country is worth serving 'cos I hear patriotic Nigerian bloggers calling for my head already), getting paid a salary that laughs at itself soon as you cash it and wearing khaki. I hear its the last port of call for people that 'didnt get none' in uni, I was no don juan myself but i'll pass on all that out of state action to get on with my life in ways in which I see fit. But alas, the life i just claimed isnt actually mine since my parents plc. own a 99.75% (I'll explain the math someday) stake in it...
Narf!...too be continued...not! Look at the time. I've got people to see 2mrw/2day peace!
Friday, June 02, 2006
A -Z Meme
Accent – Raw Nigerian - flexible for public speaking (But theres this british voice in my head with a "Honey, we're having Dinner with the Cholomondeleys!" accent... Get out of my head!!! and take ur ghenien (sic) friend with you!!!)
Booze – A stout man, Beer no spirits...ever/ (unless ure driving and its ur car/ and u wont mind the smell of my puke...happily ever after) / Tusker, beautiful tusker, whenever i dream of kenya
Chore I hate – Hate is a very strong word
Dogs/Cats – cats
Essential electronics – PC/Laptop and mobile phone (to tell the time and play this silly game) and a walkman (cassette- 'cause i'm old school like that')
Favourite Perfume – Gucci Rush(smells like the hybrid of weed and a brand new car)
Gold/Silver – White Gold (aha!)
Hometown – Lagos
Insomnia – No not the 'I' word!
Job Title – Human
Kids – Like what?
Living arrangements – on the couch mostly
Most admired trait – In others- selflessness. In self- whatever it is that keeps me sane
Number of sexual partners – Real or virtual?
Overnight hospital stays – One.
Phobia – Agrizoophobia, Dromophobia (kind of), Iatrophobia, Myxophobia (no, i didnt spend 20 mins checking this up on The Phobia list)
Quote – 'That shit is pointless like diversity without equality' - Immortal Technique (On quoting smart dead ppl...not!)
Religion – Islam (and it doesnt mean I Self Lord And Master!)
Siblings – Big bro, baby sis - did someone just say middle child syndrome?
Time I usually awake – Lmao! 'Usually' me? 'usually' ha ha ha!
Unusual talent – Produce tears at will by yawning/ yawning at will. (now can i join the x-men?)
Vegetable I refuse to eat – Yet to meet a worthy foe
Worst habit – Sleep deprivation
X-rays – 2 i think.
Yummy foods I make – i make/té the ideal eba (no kokos, no dry bits, not too hard, not too soft - ideal), Bubbulees (i.e rice cooked in a bucket with a boiling ring - a long forgotten boarding house art - requires laundry room, blankets and junior boys as teacher/prefect scouts), do cocktails count? I do this egg thing with milk and...yummy is a relative word, u know!
Zodiac sign – Capricorn
I'm tagging everyone (yes everyone tori) on my favourites list. Why tag in 3s?
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
So the news and the other news
this post was supposed to be called 'the good news and the bad news' until i realized that everything i had to say was a shade of grey and not black and white per se. But if there was good news its that were finally getting some radio play on Raypower 100.5 on Dr. Gees shows (shout out to him- hes played us thrice since saturday without payola) so if u want me to blow and get my own reebok trainers contract, maybe even date beyonce when i retire call them to play it...dreams. We? LMN-3 with our single "lovin' it" (we wrote it b4 the little brother song) and my man Deck featuring yours trully with his single "Origin". My phones been ringing of the hook since then but its mostly flashing, so i guess we still ain't shit. the fucked up thing is that i'm not hyped about it and its like i'm letting my peeps down cause i'm usually the one thats hyped about stuff.
You can check out the joints on www.soundclick.com/illalliance (shout out to c0dec for keeping the link alive) just click on music (boring bio- i wrote it, i know). the songs are there somewhere but those are rough mixes i'll hook u guys up with the real stuff soon. i'm on 2nd verses on both songs(i.e I ride shotgun in a street car named desire- Lovin' it. You can cry me a river, I'll build a bridge over it- Origin). You can check out our other shit if u promise not to laugh. Peace.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
One of Hiphops Faces
Slug of Atmosphere, with production partner Ant, crafted one of the best hiphop (not rap) albums of 2005 ("You can't imagine how much fun we're having").note: this is not a lame excuse for a blog post...not really...Who reads the bloody small-print? Idon't!
The 3rd verse from "little man" is the verse that put slug on my top10 list:
Dear Sean, What's goin' on? Not much to sayI know its still not a blog!
Just checking in with you, trying to see what's wrong today
I know there's gotta be something kicking your bruises
How's the love? How's the music? How's the self-abusiveness?
Got a lot to lose, it's breakin' your shoulders
So you let your paranoia place your bets for you
Too many cigarettes, messin' up your voice
Too many arguments, tryin' to test your poise
The only women that love you are fans and family
Mom has no choice, but fans leave you randomly
No heavy rotation in any location
You're not ready to face that you have no steady vocation
Plus you're gettin' old, your raps are exhausted
Stop it, everybody knows that you've lost it
Singin' for these kids you don't know
When you should be at home with your own,
instead you're on your telephone
Fightin' with your girl like it's you against the world
Another drunk hotel bedroom corner,
curled up like a naked fetus
Come and save him Jesus
Place him back in time before the Reaganomics and Adidas
Sometimes you're not impressed with the work you've done
And love isn't love if you didn't hurt someone
Your son says, "Hi dad."
Your dad says, "Whats up?"
And me, I wanna thank you, but I won't,
I'll just say, "Good luck."
-Slug (aka Sean Daley)
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
SLEEP CYCLES, NIGERIAN POLITICS AND MR. STEVIE KING [Is that all?– Ed.]
To imagine that the title “insomniac” once sounded pleasing to my ears. Maybe it had something to do with the genius [mostly mentally unstable – Ed.] types, usually associated with this honourable affliction, sipping coffee, up all night - creating a classic, hammering away at their typewriter/keyboard…Or maybe it was just because Sherlock Holmes was one and I always thought he was the ish. But the problem is that, this isn’t insomnia, it’s just me sleeping at the wrong time of the day. Elementary my Dear Watson!
If I need a good example of an insomniac, I don’t have to look any further than this very house. My old earth [mother! – Ed.] is a prime example. She is the only being, human or extra-terrestrial, I know, that can function for 24 hours with only 2 hours of sleep.
To be honest she is one of the reasons I’ve found myself in this particular condition. How? Lets just say while she’s awake (during those hours most women her age have now forgotten exist) I’m her secretary. [Male secretaries, like female bus conductors (in
After enduring this nocturnal behaviour for as long as I could (2 weeks and a few days – but who’s counting?), I decided to put a stop to it. On Thursday night/Friday morning (days tend to blur into each other these days…yawn!) I formulated a plan to stay awake all through the day. This involves a dosage of as much caffeine as is humanly consumable (without being fatal) and an appointment with the only person capable of keeping me awake for the stipulated time (without asking for money).
A couple buses and one dangerous bike ride later I’m the home/cybercafé of my man Anu (alias Chucky webmaster of www.gbedu.com). We hadn’t seen each other in a minute so obviously we had a lot to discuss (fact: women gossip – men discuss). We ran the gamut of our usual convos. Starting with our disenchantment with the music industry and ending with the (usual) joke of how we’re the only people we went to secondary school with that are still in the country. The latter part of this discussion seemed a lot funnier two years ago – I wonder why? My realization at the time (of our current discussion) was that
I’m not sure if he shared this opinion with me (I’m not sure of too many of Fridays events – given my coffee induced zombie-ish state). But one thing we both agreed on with the “joy of finding a friend amongst a sea of strange faces” is that we’re both strongly anti-anti-third term! Don’t get me wrong this doesn’t mean that were not anti-third term, we most definitely are. It’s just that we both realize how myopic the average Nigerian can be on simple (political) matters of enemies and friends. In plainer words: the enemy of your enemy is not always your friend. Try this on for size, culled from Monday’s Punch newspaper:
THIRD TERM: POLL BACKS ATIKU’S OPPOSITION
85% of Nigerians against third term agenda, support(s) Atiku.
(Punch opinion poll, Tuesday April 18, pg. 7)
“Blah, Blah, Blah…and more propaganda”
Signed
THE NEW NATIONAL DEMOCRATIC COALITION
Now this was an advert paid for by the NDDC (?) that quotes an article from the same newspaper in which it appears. You may or may not have a problem with that. My problem here is with the choice of words and the ingenious use of that comma in the second line. And these raise a lot of questions for me. Firstly, when did the opposition of OBJ’s third term bid become the property of Atiku? Because the keyword (or key phrase) here isn’t Opposition, its Atiku’s Opposition. On to the comma, I think it’s actually a beautiful thing because it makes it possible for you to interpret the information from the (rather dubious) poll in 2 different ways:
Are 85% of Nigerians against the third term agenda? “Believable”. And do they all support Atiku? “Hmmm?” Or is this master of punctuation manipulation actually saying that 85% of the Nigerians who are against the “Third term agenda” [approximately 84.99% of
I for one am above the much ado about nothingness of this message and see it for what it really is, subliminal programming. My ideal country is a utopia and we all know politicians would never chose that over a democracy (And let God take their jobs away? I don’t think so).
[At this point the writer notices how far he has deviated from his original story and finds it hard to return to it. This is mostly due to whatever it is that afflicts writers – don’t ask me! Such thought is beneath me. I am, after all, “The Editor”. I also suspect his 10-20 minute pause here makes him reflect on the possibility that no one reading would ever get this far – Ed.]
Politics aside, our next major topic of discussion was blogging. His initial attitude towards the whole issue after giving me the to the dark side you have turned young Anikin look was: “Why I go dey wan’ read, ‘today I woke up…I’m depressed…Life is hard… I don’t like my boss’?” (You should hear his frustrated young female impersonation – Oscar worthy!). I think I changed his mind by showing him a few of my favourite blogs, making sure I stayed clear of the numerous blogs that would have fit his description. I also got to see my own blog in internet explorer. A shocking site [I’m sure he means “sight” – Ed.]…must remember to add to be viewed in Firefox somewhere.
As if stimulating conversation (why does that sound wrong?), free food and internet access weren’t enough, I also got invaluable information on how to fix my P.C. Apparently those beeping sounds aren’t polyphonic versions of the last trumpet. They are actually the only way this little white box can say compatibility error (i.e. pull out ram, tap, stick back in – voila – working computer.) I even got a free web cam but sadly lost the installation disc (nodding off in a bus) on my way back home, prematurely ending my career as a…
Yes I did make it home in one piece and after feeding my blog addiction I went to bed around 2 a.m (reasonable time for me). I had one of those epic dreams, which go on for so long you realize that you’re actually dreaming (and decide to take advantage of that ish J). I woke up at 5 o’clock in the afternoon (minus a couple moments of clarity between the more important parts of my dream) on Saturday.
In search of something to blame I took my anger out on the internet and promised myself I would stay off it for a while. If not to get some sleep at least it would be to prove to myself that I’m not addicted. But as evidenced by my perfect score in the 8th grade science quiz, I failed myself in that regard and was back to my old ways in record time.
So on Sunday I made up my mind [Again – Ed] not to touch any computers and went in search of a good boring book. I picked up Yes Minister: The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister by the RT. Hon. James Hacker MP – Volume 2. Edited by Jonathan Lynn and Anthony Jay [This is most likely where he picked up the idea of involving me in his writing, even though you score him a zero for execution you must at least acknowledge his attempts at emulating the masters. This would probably add up to a nice well rounded negative scaore in total – Ed.] I should have settled for Has-Jes of those dirty green encyclopaedias because to my surprise this book was mad funny (strange considering how boring the T.V show was – although looking back, when it was on NTA I was at the right age to be bored). Once again it was morning.
It was a small victory, of sorts; since I managed to stay blog free for a whole day! – proving my I wasn’t an addict to start with. So now I’m back to *sniff* reading *sniff* blogs again. Thanks to a PDF book forwarded by fellow blogger Jonah Dienyi my sleep condition has worsened and progressed to what I call pseudo-insomnia. Mr. Stephen “Stevie to my good friends” King’s On writing has thought me a lot of things (including the fact that I can read 278 pages off a screen).
Things Stevie thought me about writing that I wasn’t thought in school:
- writers aren’t made they are formed.
- Writing is more craft than art. Knowledge which I most definitely lacked. I had always fancied my self more artist than crafts man. [This is the literary equivalent of a carpenter that can chisel his name in the most elegant script, on the leg of a table, but can’t make one (a table) to save his life – Ed.]
- Don’t Lie(?)
- -Stop watching the devils box! In Stephen’s own words (ignoring how many of his books have been converted to suit this demonic medium):
“…it’s time for you to question how serious you really are about becoming a writer. You must be prepared to do some serious turning inward toward the life of the imagination, and that means, I’m afraid, that Geraldo, Keith Obermann, and Jay Leno must go.
Once weaned from the ephemeral craving for TV…”
- “Omit needless words” (maybe I’m still learning this bit)
So that’s it I just finished my 1000+ words a day (as advised by Mr. King – Now who’s the SUCKA! I’m not even going to read it over!!!) Arsenal is going to the finals. I’ll be up all night/morning, reading your blog. In typical blog fashion…I’m depressed…Life is hard…I hate my boss…Wait a minute! I’m unemployed…I don’t have a boss…This is the politics free utopia I once dreamt of…YIPEE!!!
THE END [Rejoice…I have to live with him. Help – Ed.]
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Blog Worthy?
I think reading too many blogs kills your blogging mojo. This used to be a reflex thing. Now? I’m wondering why write this when you can just read some blogs then go and play some more Snes games…
Yes my PC crashed again. And this time theres no blue screen theres just a lot of beeping. I plan to sue someone. Now should that be Microsoft or Intel? Someone should have warned me not to unplug the game pad while the PC was on. Considering that my copy of windows XP was bootlegged maybe I should cross Microsoft off my list…
Now I’m back using this public (family) property laptop and for my little sister’s sake I’ll have to push back writing that erotica novella I was working on (we can’t afford another freak in the family). Is it true what they say about laptops and sperm counts? I’m going paranoid here. I swear I can almost hear the wails of my unborn children emanating from my nut-sack (nobody outside academic circles uses the word testicles and balls is so pre-2002, hence nut-sack). Could the heat really do that? Hmmm…
I’ve been trying to get my writing cap (unblog related writing cap) back on. With stuff like:
As dawn broke on Lagos the city rose in a single magnificent sweep brushing off the debris of drunken souls and sleepless dreamers its shoulders had had to bear the night before. The prostitutes crawled back into their stench filled corners sharing the same piece of norcturnal karma as the city cops that mounted all-night checkpoints the night before. Obalende, the city’s unacknowledged heartbeat, nudged itself back to life with sporadic spasms of conductors calling out to the first explorers of this brand new day. The sun slowly rising, pealing away the excesses of the night before, restored the eternal optimism of the average Lagosian, beamed down rays of false hope onto the dew-covered streets. The black-stripped orange buses, blood in the labyrinth-veins of the city, started their endless cycle again. Strangers packed side by side on their way to equally strange destinations. Gospel music blaring out of speakers was their theme song as they moved from the island to the mainland.
The boy named after the city had been a virgin the day before…
Then I read Tori’s excellent (for a first trial) fictional piece on the joy of finding love on the dance floor and suddenly 27 word sentences didn’t seem so cool anymore…
I’m currently rereading this biography of Oscar Wilde (by…I’m too lazy to stretch my hand out to check for the authors name- from here the first letter looks like a P) for the umpteenth time. Why? He is one of the most quotable authors ever
“The world is a stage but the play is badly cast”
“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”
And my personal favorite
“We are all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars.”
The thing is his sexuality was rather doubtful and... lets just say whenever they make a movie of his life (I suspect they already have) I won’t be copping it…
I am currently listening to Kanye West’s College Dropout and wishing it was 2004 again. Does this signals the beginning of a quarter-life crisis…
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Styl-Plus “Expressions” (A review of sorts)
Beating the temptation to buy the bootleg over the original version of this album (on display side by side at my local bootlegger’s), I hurry back home 4 beers poorer than I left, wondering WTF I had done! My mission had been simple: find out if the Ghostface “Fishscale” bootleg was available (it wasn’t). The worst case scenario had been to spend 3.33 beers (yes I do think in beers-get used to it) on one of those 5 in1 bollywood DVDs for my ever-growing (against my own will) Indian film collection. But here I was in a bus heading back home with the digitally-enhanced mugs of Shifi, Tunde and Zeal (in order of song writing credits- ratio 8.83: 1.83: 0.33-Yes I’m the reluctant genius) in my palms, sitting as the butter in-between a sandwich of jittery, lapping (that’s two on each side-source NURTW handbook), school girls who were yet to discover deodorant, but seemed well informed on the topic of Styl-plus, judging by all the neck stretching they were doing to get a glimpse of the CD I was to hide. In summary, at the time, copping this album seemed like a serious blow to my gangster.
Already familiar with the inner workings of the styl-plus machine, given that I oscillated between fan and hater during the Olufunmi era (for all those that missed it-It was a surreal period in Nigerian history when every Nigerian had this one song stuck in their head), it was good to note that nothing had changed. Production credits still go to the Styl-plus in-house production duo of Sunky and Mekoyo. Nothing changed either in the management department; Joey and T-Jazz still hold them down in that aspect. Why do they have their pictures on the other side of the album cover (Dame Dash and P.Diddy styl)? The liner notes unfold to reveal acknowledgements (God, fans, Press, friends et al) and lyrics etc. there’s also the inclusion of some Mtech promotional thing (at 0.3 beers per SMS of adult jokes, horoscopes and sex advice- they should have skipped my CD!). What’s left? Oh yeah the music.
The album starts up in typical jump-off style, with the paint-by-numbers, turn of the millennium, synthetic R ‘n’ B production (complete with synth stabs) of “Always on my mind”. As an introductory track it’s disappointing and unoriginal, with little to no replay value. The signature styl-plus sound is missing and the boys come off sounding as impressive as P-Square doing their Usher impersonation. It’s also packed with lyrics that overemphasize Shifi’s desperation to rhyme with multi-syllables:
“Girl my sanity/Lies in the humanity/that you show to me/because only me without you is vanity/when I sit and meditate/ on you my feelings levitate…” this isn’t exactly Eminem rhyming “oranges” with “door hinges” so…Skip.
“Drives me crazy” is the first step the boys take in redeeming their image. A second first impression: A tale of a philandering femme fatale playing all 3 of the styl-plus boys. With a legion of screaming female fans under their belts, it’s a hard tale to swallow. Although you’ll probably be too busy singing along (or in my case humming along) to the song to care. The signature styl-plus juxtaposition of Nigerian language hooks with straight R ‘n’ B verses, complete with introductory ewo’s, is in full effect here. Sadly this joint is revisited (and mutilated) later on in the album with lack luster raps from 2Shotz and Big Lo of “Delicious” infamy. They almost succeed in making a delicious pt 2 out of this remix. Yuck!
“Don’t wanna see you again” continues (I assume) with the story of “Drives…”. With signature Styl-plus production the boys mold an ultimatum chorus, reminiscent of Brian Mcknight’s obsession with numbers (or maybe it’s just that “1, 2 buckle my shoe…” nursery rhyme) that packs enough punch to kick the cheating winch out of your speakers.
If Ne-yo was Nigerian “Imagine that” would explain why dude can’t turn off his radio! With infectious "S&M" production that’s a mish-mash of (unapologetic) euro-pop and dancehall, Daft Punk meets Sean Paul; this song has crazy crossover appeal. You better turn off the radio and murder a couple DJs if you want to get out of hearing this one, around my way. With the same Yoruba-English combination that made “Olufunmi” the theme song of 2003 and 2004 “Imagine That” falls short of its predecessors fame only because of the familiarity of its style. This reviewer has wet dreams of a remix with lagbaja doing the Yoruba bits. Aight wet dream is an exaggeration; it’s more like a stirring in my loins.
“Coming Home” finds the S-P boys sharing one spliff too many with a couple dreads in the studio UB40 deserted in the 80’s. It’s an unexpected turn into the realm of that reggae-world beat sound of groups like Aswad. This might not be familiar territory for the ears of their fans but the boys pull it off almost flawlessly. Also the hope-the-good-girl-that-i-left-for-a-golddigger-when-i-blew-up-is-still-waiting-for-me concept doesn’t hurt, although I’m inclined to believe from a woman’s point of view it might sound patronizing (But what do I know!).
The hits keep rolling with this reviewer’s personal favorite joint “Iya Basira” up to bat. Hilarious and original, Iya Bas is the lament of a man whose addiction to the food of his local buka leads him down the self-destructive path of theft, deceit and concludes with the unspeakable taboo of shunning his mothers’ food. He resolves to get Iya Bas locked up by accusing her of rinsing her no-eyed monster into her customer’s food (a rumored practice usually flung as insults between owners of rival bukaterias). To someone like me who has been down a similar path (Stay away from Mama B of Education complex UNILAG!) lyrics like these are a lot easier to visualize and a hell of a lot funnier:
“I say the way I dey e no dey okay/
Wetin be your own advice/
I don dey steal my paddy money/
To buy Iya Basira rice/
Even on my girlfriend birthday/
Wey she dey wait make I take am to ocean view/
I no know when I pass the place/
The only thing wey dey my mind na Iya Basira Palm Oil* Stew…”
*Pronounced Oiiyel
This song is mostly in Pidgin English rap form, not usually of my taste, but the sing-song execution with a unique voice half Tuface Idibia, half Louis Armstrong was quick to win me over.
“Hadiza takes us back to familiar styl-plus territory. This time their language of choice is Hausa. A reinterpretation of a classical music sample (source unkown- you don't pay me to research stuff. do ya?) made famous stateside by Xzibit’s Paparazzi and more recently, locally, by Modenine’s Elbow Room. The familiarity of this loop which is initially inviting to a fan of the two artists mentioned turns out to be the undoing of this song. Listening to Shifi’s druken Mase meets a younger Kanye west (“Back when they thought pink Polos would hurt the roc...”) flow after listening to Xzibit, Modenine, Ammu, Proverb et al makes his attempts at blessing the mic sound more like curses.
Just when I think I’ve heard the best from these boys and its downhill from here they prove me wrong with the straight Yoruba Classic “Mase” (Pronounced ma-shey i.e “do not”) that transports me back to those late 80’s/early 90’s street blocking family(Owambe) parties. I’m right there watching this local band play Ebenezer Obey (covers), music pumping out of bass-crippled speakers, next I’m wandering the (now totally unsafe) streets of Lagos island at 1 a.m., hand in hand with my prettiest cousin (Don’t go getting the wrong idea with your filthy minds-this was at least 7 years before I became the walking erection that typeth this), reckless uncles taunting me with my first sips of beer (resulting in the eventual creation of this functioning alcohol…hic), guzzling all the Tandis, Dr. Peppers, Zests, Crests (and whatever other soft drinks are out of circulation now) without caring about the inevitable humiliation of having to spread my mattress in the sun the next day. These boys couldn’t have done better if they resold nostalgia in a tin of Danish cookies filled with clippings from Uncle Wole’s Animal Club magazine and a taped recording of an episode of under 5’s (sorry if I lost you there but I was born nostalgic-I even have memories of being a sperm…nope they’re not mine they’re Bruce Willis’s from “Look who’s Talking”).
After this wonderful trip down n’gbati memory lane yours truly is brought crashing back down to the reality of open relationships, ass-shaking, bling-blingism that is right here-right now, by the “Drives me crazy” remix I mentioned earlier. Big Lo makes a big show out of his lack of breath control thus providing us with the biggest Low on this album (big pun intended-I even rhymed) and 2shotz out bests himself as the most ig’nant Nna bros. this side of Owerri.
Thankfully the boys quickly head back into their signature (now bordering on gimmicky) sound, milking another eastern Nigerian language (Don’t ask me which one-Hausa was my NL2 in JSS) to produce “Ima” their plea for social reform, nation building mumbo jumbo. Effective it is, “Heal the world” it ain’t. Packed with a little too much of that “Love is all we need” rhetoric for moi, it just isn’t mp3 worthy.
The album ends (sort of) with the “Run away” sound-alike “Home within your heart” reminiscent of eunuchcal stylings of Irish pop bands Boyzone and Westlife. If that type of music is your forte this may be the one you’ll have on repeat, but this reviewer has one too many cavities already to swallow the sugar-coated lyrics, “The wrath of your embrace/ was a testimony of the sweetness of your grace…” Nucca Please!
Although not starting or ending in my taste “Expressions” is a multilingual vocal orgy worth the price of admission (4 beers-I'm talking star here!) and as i speak (type..edit actually) its being ripped onto my p.c, to rest comfortably somewhere in my media library inbetween Sage Francis and Vast Aire, proudly Nigerian, (at least) 3 more tracks are added to the soundtrack to this phase of my life (future Producers of the movie of Rae's life-take note).
I need a job...*Yawn*...hic
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
TAGGED
Rules of the game:
1. The tagged victim must come up with 10 different points of their perfect man/woman
2. Need to mention gender of target.
3. Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment saying they've been tagged.
4. If tagged again, there's no need to post a 2nd time.
- My perfect mate is equal parts woman and girl (at least for the foreseeable future)
- My perfect mate and I shouldn’t need too many words to communicate (i.e. should understand #1 without an accompanying essay).
- She should have a sense of humor.
- She should have earned (or plan to) by merit alone the position of best friend
- She should be as fine as “D-D-D-D-DAMN!” (One day I hope to outgrow this juvenile attraction to beautiful women and learn to see that true beauty…yadah, yadah, yadah…one day)
- She should be adventurous
- She should have good taste in music, literature, movies etc (because one of us has to)
- She should know God and have a religion of some sorts (even if its one we have to makeup)
- She should understand that I’m a “work in progress” (even though I appear to be the ish). And since she’s “perfect” in my eyes I’d like to reciprocate this.
- She should be the type of person that reads this and realizes that half of it doesn’t matter if “we” work.
THE END
since everyone on earth has been tagged i'll let it die here.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Not about the lizard in my room
A little Irony: www.dying.com was “under construction” the last time I checked. i.e. incase you ever thought you were dying, they’ll like you to know its in the works.
Afterthought: God bless (the bracket)!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
KIDS LOVE WE CENSUS PEOPLE
The one benefit of this census gig for me as an enumerator (a programmed people counting drone motivated by petty monetary gain and, in extremely rare cases, boredom) in Dodan barracks is the children. Even though they call us names like “sex-spawn”, “sense-sucks” and “cent-whores” (unintentionally I must add-I don’t think they’re that witty), follow us around making fun of our government issue orange and neon green reflector vests (I’m still trying to figure out why cause I think they’re rather fly), occasionally stain our computer sheets making the count of their family void, they absolutely love us. In the middle of writing some of the weirdest names on earth (e.g. “Eretinghen Perekeme Godist”- for real) and helping people figure out their own ages, occupations and in one rare case their sex (it turned out to be a 70 yr old androgynous being with a moustache) I found myself overwhelmed by these kids that swarmed out of every corner, staring in awe amazed at…I’m not exactly sure what. These kids have done so much for my ego today that I’ve decided that “when I grow up” I want to be a Hausa military dad with 8 rugrats running around my 12 by 12 ft. apartment/room!
I was planning to go on and on about these kids (believe me I can) but I’ve got to get up early tomorrow to once again answer Brodá Bode’s call.
Other Realizations from doing this census thing:
-A whole lot of people don’t have middle names
-A lot of women feel comfortable breastfeeding in front of census officials (I was almost counting…almost)
-Col. M.G Mustapha commander 81st division garrison (the big boss in those parts) acts like he’s on T.V all the time. He had me looking over my shoulders, searching for the camera crew half the time we were in his office. He’s cool tho.
-There are definitely more women than men in this world (trust me on this one. I’m talking 5:1 or something. Hopefully I can get this to influence my whole attitude when approaching women. From now on I’ll be like: “Baby! There like five of you out there but there’s only one of me! Come get some!” maybe not in those exact words and I’ll also try to lose the indelible smirk thats on my face as I type this.
-The Adisa’s of flat 18 block 6 are the nicest people on earth. They we’re the only people who offered us drinks. I’m thinking of counting them twice to repay their gratitude (I dunno why I want to but I can).
-Some people (a sizable portion of our nations army) still think Bobby Brown is cool!?!
-Secret service agents actually tell people that they work for the secret service. So what the fizzyuck is so secret about their asses? (Why they questioned me about whether I’d been paid or not? I dunno).
-Some people don’t need subtitles to understand Indian flicks. Which by the way are very popular in the barracks. :)
-The Nigerian government wants to know whether you have cable television???
-In my past life I worked for the NPC. I’m a natural at this ish. In fact I should get a medal for my work.
-Federal officials have been instructed to count homeless and mad people (don’t ask me how i'm with the state)
-This is one situation where the phrase “girls dig the uniform” doesn’t hold its weight.
Aight I’m off to bed but first please remember if you see a census person 2mrw/today remember they’re people like you and they need the occasional FREE drink.
Friday, March 17, 2006
R.I.P
Its funny how you could go weeks or even months without thinking of the people who are special to you. Like the woman who baked all your birthday cakes until you got too old or was it too cool for parties. The woman whose home was never a house to you. Always smiling, always thoughtful, she made the world revolve around you. Someone whose image would forever be entangled in all of your childhood memories. A few bad times but it was mostly the good times with her. My mother’s best friend. My almost godmother. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here but its strange how people need to go before you realize what they really were to you. You?
Death is a strange thing. The moment you hear about someone you care for or maybe just even know pass away there’s this selfish mental rush for memories. And that’s what’s happening to me now. Like “when was the last time I saw her?” “Wow I’m never going to see her again?” “How come no one told me she was sick?” “How come I never asked Ayobami about her?” There are too many I’s here. This isn’t about me. Some phone calls need to be made here.
Dear Santa
dear santa,i know its a bit early but i know how busy things can get up there. Enclosed in this email is an image of what i really want for christmas. please ignore my previous four page letters begging for sex, love and money. sex is just something my generation likes to talk about and i'm sure you're already tired of us always asking. Love was what killed Romeo and juliet. i know they're fictional characters so Gen. Sanni Abacha might be a better example...or was that sex... i never seem to be able to seperate the two. neither can anyone in my generation and i suspect neither can you. if i'm wrong about you then i'll advise that you quit bragging about how many ho, ho, hoes you've bagged, it isn't helping your PR (neither is the whole kids on ur lap thing, even though MJ won the trial don't put urself in his shoes- He's white) .plus to be politically correct they're called women-eager-to-throw-caution-to-the wind (WETT-C-2tee-W) , a bit of a tongue twister if you try to say it 3 times, hence the acronym. on the topic of money i'ld still like some but that (whatever it is) comes first. my regards to misses we loved her on Oprah.
your friend at christmas,
Rae
P.S
on second thoughts a little sex on the side wouldn't hurt.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Serving Self, Country and other short stories
With that out of the way I’ll just have to figure out ways to keep myself occupied before and after that event. I am getting tired of being my mums voice activated robot/remote control/how do I look in this-erator.
I caught myself playing that what do I want to be when I grow up game again. This certainly wouldn’t have been cool 5 years ago and it most definitely isn’t now. I mean it’s a little too late to enroll in superhero school. While we’re on the subject 2 days ago while running some errands I bought a comic (www.pandoracomics.com - support naija). So? If I had given myself the usual its for “the artistic value, look at the detail, check out the foreshortening on that panel…blah, blah” yarns I wouldn’t feel this *&%$d but the truth is my mind just went “Oooh! Comics. Half-naked supermodels! Flying people in spandex! Buy it!” At my age I should be able to realistically justify all my inner childs needs. As if the guilt wasn’t enough the attendants face kept going from the comic book to my 3-week-old beard in an aren’t-you-too-old-for-this manner. So right now I’m convinced that I’m going through a quarter life crisis. Which doesn’t explain my new Indian film fetish.
Bollywood is the ish! There’s just something so inspiring about a girl going into a sing and dance routine after just being raped 2 scenes ago, it just makes you wonder what you’re so down about when she’s battling aginst the pressures of their caste system, poverty, evil bearded uncles and still has time for synchronized dancing. And it’s rather interesting to watch backup dancers materialize out of nowhere. Lets not forget the whole Pakistani nuclear weapon propaganda that’s so beautifully woven into the plot of EVERY movie. Its escapist cinema at it’s finest and if you haven’t seen an Indian film since Burning train (I get misty-eyed just saying the name…sniff) you’re missing out on something beautiful. I’ve actually started to show withdrawal symptoms now since I haven’t been able to lay my hands on any since I moved back home. Although I talked to my local bootlegger and he told me he’ll keep an eye out. Expect a review soon.
In the mean time I’m keeping myself entertained with real life drama (not big brother Nigeria). Keep this to yourself right! THE (already married) DRIVER IS KPANSHING THE HOUSE GIRL! I know, I know. My life really is that boring. Its just the only thing I’ve found out recently just thought I’d share plus it I think it explains why she’s doesn’t cook for me. I’ve had microwaved noodles for lunch these past 2 weeks and I’m talking indomie (plus the occasional sardine) not some fancy stuff that was made to be microwaved. I know I should get all lord and master on her ass but there’s this unspoken rule of my kind that’s says the easiest way to get poisoned is to get someone that doesn’t want to cook for you to do it. It shouldn’t have been that shocking walking in on them considering that Muri (the driver) has the largest GIF phone porn collection this side of the equator (I kid you not) but judging by the pictures I would have guessed that his taste tended more towards silicon-enhanced blondes and Alsatians than bald prepubescent looking Calabar girls.
Yesterday was my man Momz’s birthday and in typical me style I forgot. We’re (heterosexual) guys here its not like he was expecting a gift, card or anything (a couple beers wouldn’t have hurt). All he wanted was just a lousy phone call, which I accidentally made last year guided by the stars, which seem to have deserted me of recent. Being that he isn’t a woman (or a man with sensitive skin) he calls me:
Toometoblog- hey momz wetin dey?
Momz-you just dey wake up
Toometoblog- at all. I just tire small.
Momz- (getting to the point) you know say today na my birthday?
Toometoblog- for real (at this point I’m like “why did you admit to not remembering?”. so I spend the next twenty seconds counting from the 7th which was the last real date I thought I remembered so I can at least sound as if I knew the date).
Momz- yep
Toometoblog- for real (I say for real a lot, for real) today is the 14th!
Momz- no today is the 13th?
Toometoblog- For real the 13th (from this point on I’m screwed and all my lame jokes about how I think he should spend the day don’t connect)
I have a serious problem with birthdays and phone numbers. I don’t even know my old man’s birthday (although that isn’t my fault cause he doesn’t know it either or maybe it just changes from year to year).
Was watching the news when I discovered that my dream job has been taken “Virgin (the old man calls it Faa-jin) Nigeria trains 58 crew staff and attendants etc.” wouldn’t that be the ish flying around the world, dressed in the dodgiest green since dog vomit, scrapping human vomit off seats, looking out for taliban brethren disguised as Santa while increasing your own probability of kpefing in a plane crash. I think I’ll pass on that. Oh but the free food! Why do people complain about airplane food in movies and sitcoms? Personally I think it’s the ish! (this coming from someone who thinks ostrich meatballs are the ish).
I am currently listening to Lupe Fiasco- kick push (for the 62nd time-WMP can tell) and getting high off whatever the neighbors are smoking. Goodnight!
Monday, March 13, 2006
ORIGIN
An album cover i did for promo copies of Deck's single (which features yours trully). we just shot a video for it lastweek and were sending copies out to stations so call and beg them to play it,abeg.
Currently Unemployed
Question: Why do naija women think having "sensitive skin" is something to be proud of? if you heard the way this girl said it you'd think she was talking about having royal blood or something. Please sensitive skin! pscheeew!
i'll be back!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
This is not the news! (ITS BETTER! ITS ME!!!)
My new months resolution is to write. Just write. Anything… Rhymes, poetry, book/movie/album reviews, screenplays, extraterrestrial restaurant menus, love letters (for money)…ANYTHING. The reason behind this my dear reader is that I want to write for a living. Why :
-It sounds so cool to say stuff in interviews like “the first five chapters were written in the south of France while I stayed in, (hypothetical future famous painter, architect, actor, art critic, photographer etc.), Fabian Leland’s Summerhouse. That would probably explain why you notice a looser, more carefree poetic candence in the ramblings of Edwardo, the story’s reluctant protagonist’s inner child, compared to the other chapters which I wrote in my upstate New York penthouse...yadah, yadah, yadah! ”
-I owe a few people book dedications and appreciations.
-I want to be financially independent by 30 (approximately 2500 days left! Work!)
-I want to work from home, be around my wife and kids everyday (unless I’m on a world wide book signing tour thing or on Oprah).
-I will never win the Nobel price for anything I don’t have a passion for (inner Chemist be warned). Its not that I want to be famous its just that I want people to appreciate me for my mind rather than my exotic good looks, firm abs and the sexual tension which naturally oozes out of me.
-I don’t want to work for your father or for mine
So I’ll be blogging as much as I can, without distracting for my presently more important project (a collection of short stories), Work on developing enough skills to write that Pulitzer or maybe just Booker price winning novel…okay I’ll settle for first place on some dubious internet writing contest where the 1st to 2500th prize is to get your poem published, but then you have to “send $35 for your own copy of this concise anthology of modern writing” in which your, rather dubious poem will be published, with those of a million other suckers!!!…What am I saying, been there, done that. “Rae, stick with the program, proceed!”
New stuff I discovered about myself (I’m not talking about hair in strange places)
-I can’t listen to music and write at the same time
-Strangely I can watch T.V and write at the same time (MTV is confusing and I’m yet to try writing with porn)
-Contrary to the above I write faster and more effectively while listening to instrumentals (most preferably the ones I made myself, www.soundclick.com/bohemianbboyproduction , must be some Pavlovian conditioning thing with the gazillion raps I’ve written to beats)
-I’ld be a much better writer if MSword didn’t come with word count (just 462 in like 20 minutes! I need to take a typing course).
-“Once efo has been in the freezer you can’t use it anymore?” says wise Old-earth to her culinary skill-deficient seed. I didn’t know that. I don’t see how this applies to me or affects my existence in anyway (oh…or could it be the same for marijuana! It’s for my glaucoma).
-72 hours is the maximum amount of time I can go without taking a bath (former record of 1 ½ weeks is now untouchable *sob*) or I’ll just die of mysterious causes in my sleep.
-My dream of achieving 5 hours of tantric sex, like my life-mentor Sting once did, is no longer attainable. With the discovery and acceptance of the fact that I can’t do anything for more than 3hrs unless we’re talking sleep (an area in which I excel). Yawn.
-I like reading blogs. Yawn.
-I’m better than my mum at minesweeper (either with a touch pad or mouse). I’m probably better than your mum too! Bring it on!
Women send the darndest (not a real word) SMSes #1:
Inspiration for a short story in research phase-
-GV TAO NO ITCHIG T SPK T HM PLS THANK
Sent by Mama (My Grandma)-
This sms took a molue full of family, friends, drinking associates and random strangers to decode. After being passed through an alien language translator, it reads as: “give Taofiq (my “lonely-Londoner” lifestyle living brothers name- he hasn’t tried to catch any Trafalgar pigeons for dinner…yet) my number itching to speak to him please thanks”. Now before anybody is stupid enough to think that this reflects anything, apart from my granny’s extraordinary abbreviation skills, can I ask how many of your Mamas can send text? If I had her number or even knew she had gotten a cell phone before I got this text I would have probably figured this out with the help of just a danfo load of peeps.
-was up,hp ur jacking well.jus found out I gv u wrong info.Women dnbleed 4 up 2 a week after givin birth.The max dey bleed 4 is 3days.Hp u feel relieved now.
Sent by PXQCC3 (Psychotic ex-QC chic she’s no. 3, in order of decreasing insanity, cause I know like 6 of them)-
This was a weird one because I don’t remember us ever having that conversation…well actually thinking about it now, I do. But I don’t remember being that concerned about that particular detail. It started with the pills for menstrual cramps I found in her bag and just…
Hhuuuunn! (Sound of throat clearing), To those ladies who are interested in sharing an eternity (or at least a meaningful overnight relationship) with me, it would be good news to you to know that I’m now well educated on such feminine subjects as PMSing, Menstrual cramps, mood swings, menopause and the effect of abortion on the baby-machine. Marry me!
See you next blog from more interesting SMSes (plus in-depth analysis) from PXQCC2, PXQCC4, PXQCC5 and other women in my life…including some saved msn convos with PXQCC1 would probably lead to a QC psycho overdose, so I won’t…WTF was in the water in that school? DDT? Ecstasy? essence of M&B? NAFDAC be informed.
GOD BLESS THE EGYPTIANS!!!
The ones next door that is, I don’t think the old man in the sky was that proud of their ancestors believe in dual divinity (He’s a bachelor! Duh!) And their insulting attempts at sneaking slaves and pets into heaven…probably why he put an end to the progress of their civilization, Apparently heaven has very strict immigration laws.
Ancient Egypt aside I speak of our neighbor/tenants, employees of ARAB contractors/construction (if you live on or around the island you may have run into a couple of them- strange pale men, with the eternal essence of garlic on their breathes, who drive around in beat-up yellow pickups terrorizing unsuspecting folk with cold foreign ice-grills).
What have they done to deserve Allah’s benevolence and mercy, you ask? They’ve suggested hooking us up to their generator, which is always on stand-by round the clock (or as I suspect their house boy, A rather funky chap by the name of Samuel, may just be a retired Olympic sprinter). Now this is rather good news considering the fact that our gen has an attitude problem and the last time I checked on it, it said some really crude stuff to me, which I have too much dignity to reprint here. I have therefore decided to change my attitude towards them and will be nice whenever I can. Unless they try to talk me into purchasing prostitutes on their behalf, which is something they would eventually do if you get too close to them. Samuel has learnt this lesson a few years too late. (Coincidentally, as I reread this paragraph NEPA, NEP plc., NPHC, DICKS, or whatever they’re calling themselves these days, strike. I’m dying for that hookup).
GUESS WHO’S ON 3rd, 2nd AND 1st ?
(Note: I didn’t c & p this off www.ohhla.com or www.rapreviews.com I typed it all my widdle self. Employ me!)
Be on the look out for Lupe Fiasco’s debut album “Food and Liquor” executive produced by Mr. S Dot himself droping soon. Do a search on www.webjay.org to get 9 free Lupe tracks!!!
THE END
Oh before I get sued the whole MS Word thing was just my overactive imagination. Although, we the members of the organization of visitors to earth from non-hostile galaxies (abbreviate yourself!) are EXTREMELY PISSED that the word ALIEN doesn’t auto-capitalize (and so are our Mexican, Nigerian, Jamaican and Ghenien friends in Diaspora)!!! 1.
p.s
Check www.soundclick.com/illalliance for my new joint champagne supanova soon to feature DECK THE NEXUS.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
LOST HOPE or was it hope lost (same difference)?
A movie review of sorts:
This cinematographic masterpiece opens with a series of short scenes, intentionally blurred to soften our hearts Walt Disney-style, showing a love-struck couple horse riding, holding hands, rolling in the grass, visiting the zoo and doing stuff that love-struck people normally do (on what planet…please). Zack Orji stars as Mark…wait a minute did I just say Zack Orji…Oh yes I deed, I deed…Now don’t get it twisted I’m not one to go crazy over Nigerian home videos in fact my track record, for never having completed watching any Nigerian movie after starting, was intact until this very morning (no thanks or is it thanks to STV), but this is a classic film for all its worth.
With the unavailability of carbon dating evidence I’ll just estimate and say it was produced in nineteen ninety-what ever year such home video classics as living in bondage, living in bondage and living in bondage were released (ok. I don’t know any other good Naija films from that era, do you?). Now what really makes this movie standout from all the garbage that was produced in that period (and has been eternally churned out in monstrous proportions ever since) is the acting, its brilliant and I’m not being sarcastic. Marks love interest; played by Ghanaian actress Kalson Bofei (I’m sure its not spelt that way) is the stunningly gap-toothed Matilda. “Ghanaian?” you ask. Well the plot thickens cause a lot of Ghanaian actors appear in this movie and a few Kwames into the film it becomes obvious that this is a collaborative effort, filmed in Ghana (so that wasn’t Ibadan zoo!), between the naija movie industry (I’ll rather die than acknowledge the corny-ass term “Nollywood”) and Ghollywood! So as expected from the most eloquent of Africans “Cherch” replaces “Church”, “I-yen” replaces “Iron”, Feck replaces… yes, you guessed it. To this reviewer though, that was a minor distraction considering the quality of their acting.
This film also features Liz Benson (as Nina) who I have had the privileged of being neighbors with. Yes, she did live about fifty houses away from us for like four years, and I never got to lay eyes on her once in all that time…but we had an unspoken connection. If she still looks the way she does in this film then she’s definitely top5 on my list of potential M.I.L.Fs (see American pie for dumb pop culture references). I spoke.
Skipping all the corny black and white flashbacks; some of the most realistic vomit and blood ever on Nigerian television, EVER; the 3 trench coat wearing, Talab Abbass looking dudes that were Nina’s fathers bone crushing bodyguards. They were more reminiscent of Mirinda’s 3 orange men (cheap early 90s marketing ploy) with their synchronized movements, baldheads and stiff necks…
I’m back. And this is the roller coaster of a plot. Hold on to your tampons ladies:
Mark loves Matilda, he’s rich, she’s broke (somebody say cliché!) plus her mums a tomato seller. Tomatoes in this movie seem to be employed in an extended metaphor, which I was either too dimwitted to grasp, or maybe, just maybe it was a product of my overactive imagination (At age 5 I found the answer to all of life’s questions in a box of Yum-Yum: A possible future blog). Now Nina (Liz Benson) loves mark and she is the spoilt, doe-eyed, tantrum throwing, scorned-lover equipped with a super-rich father with the power to get her anything she wants (I need one of those) and this sadly includes marks skinny ass.
By means of some of the most impressive photo editing since the “George Bush shags Tony Blair” sex pictures, Mark’s mother helps break-up her sons relationship with, in her own words, “the tometo sellers deghter”. All this conniving is done while mark recovers from a car accident that occurs 2 scenes after walking out on his mother with one of the films most quotable lines:
“Mother I’m not scared of losing your wealth. I’m more scared of you losing my love.”
Cute.
As the story goes Mark dumps Matilda, marries Nina. A few months later Nina’s rich and powerful parents die in a plane crash (announced rather cunningly between adverts for upcoming Nollywood-Ghollywood collaborations- cheers to the screenwriting, marketing strategist Kofi something). So after 2 memorable scenes the 3 bald men sadly disappear. But the plot thickens; as Matilda finds out she’s pregnant with marks son… ehen! (Introduced by a horridly graphic morning sickness scene…ewww! that would have made a good ‘use a condom’ ad). Then she sadly (not as sad as the departure of the Talab Abasses) dies during childbirth…awww!
So 7 years later, I’m sure you guessed it, mark and Nina are yet to consummate their marriage…ooooh! (I’ll stop that now). This leads to another quotable exchange between mark and his mum.
Scene- mark in the middle of a flight of stairs, mum at the foot, feet…whatever (subtle gen-gen soundtrack music in the background):
Mum- I was just about to come upstairs to talk to you! (Was sounds like wez, mark like mek etc.)
Mark-Is there a problem mother? (In a loving, caring, might-still-be-a-virgin tone)
Mum-Of course there is a problem!
Mark-What is the matter mother? Have I offended you? (Still playing the wuss)
Mum- (emotional outbursted-not a real word) ITS BEEN SEVEN YEARS NOW! HOW LONG MUST I WAIT? DO YOU WANT TO SEND ME TO MY GRAVE WITHOUT LETTING ME SEE MY GRANDCHILD? YOU MUST DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT NOW!!! (Yes, she said it all bold and with CAPS LOCK on)
Mark-I…(speechless but his face says what the “feck”!)
So to please mother Mark starts kpanshing (new word courtesy of Toritseju click click!- I would have normally used the less offensive phrase “****ing **** ******s!”) outside his marital home and he gets conned into believing his new kpansh is pregnant with his child. On discovering his mistress’s deceit he is struck with even more kpanshingly bad news, in the words of his creative arts degree holding “decter”: “your spine was damaged during the accident, and this affected your reproductive system!” this got me thinking about the connection between spinal fluid and sperm?!
To put the icing on this set of unfortunate events, Nina in a bid to get the mother-in-law-from-hell off her case, kpanshes one of marks friends and successfully get pregnant. Her philandering ways are obviously discovered (spinal fluid can’t do that type of magic) and she’s unceremoniously kicked out of the house and the movie (while I try hard not to picture her in a foursome with the Abbases…is that a stirring in my loins. NOOOooo!!!)
The next dramatic scene which opens with some extremely horrific close ups has Mark threatening (unconvincingly) to commit suicide, this causes his mother to confess to her evil Photoshop ways, with the aid of those corny black and white flashbacks I mentioned earlier. Now with a much-needed change in pace, Marks sole purpose becomes his attempts to reclaim his tomato-selling son…Kwame! Flying tomatoes from Matilda’s mother puts a temporary halt to things. But that is nothing a mediating catholic priest (strange thing with his neon green shirt though…is that orthodox?) cant put an end to. With the two mothers confrontational scene out of the way and just when you start to imagine everybody lives happily ever after. Kwame is knocked down by a car, while trying to cross the road to join this scenic scene, and is killed (more cinematically correct blood on display here). Father holds dead son in arms. Freeze frame. And in the fashion of most Nigerian home videos: TO GOD BE THE GLORY
VERDICT: A Classic. Besides a plot, judging by two hit and runs, that relies on the believability of Ghanaians being more reckless drivers than we Nigerians are (an impossibility) this is a must see flick that shows, if nothing else at all, that Nigeria needs Ghana for things other than qualitative primary education (shout-outs to Mr. Antwi, Mr. Azari, Mr. Maxwell and the headmaster whose name I don’t remember but I’ll put my money on kofi…kwame…May-Day kiddy land for life y’all!!!)
OTHER NOTABLES:
1. The unlucky in love mechanic who is totally ignored and insulted by Matilda during the course of the film was always available for those genius moments of comic relief. He gets additional credit for cracking one joke too many to have saved Matilda’s life.
2. Hair dos reminiscent of your mum in the 90’s (personal flashback: watching that famous episode of The Rich Also Cry where everyone cried, at the hair-dressers with mummy).
3. A soundtrack (obviously provided by Ghanaian artists) that doesn’t oversell the story like most naija home video soundtracks do. A sound bite from a typical naija soundtrack artist would play like this:
“Marks wicked mother (la, la, la, la)
Why did you doctor those pictures
Of the mechanic and the tomato sellers daughter…”
Lol…I’ve heard worse, seriously. With that said don’t change the channel if this movie ever comes on again. And if you ever see it on VHS or VCD cop that shit. SUPPORT YOUR OWN and your neighbors. Peace. And if you do see and don’t think it’s as good as I say then write your own review!!! Goodnight.