SLEEP CYCLES, NIGERIAN POLITICS AND MR. STEVIE KING [Is that all?– Ed.]

I’m searching for the right words to start this. But I know if I spend too long on it, I’ll probably forget exactly how I planned to say it (or as it has been known to happen to better men- what I wanted to flipping say in the first place). So here it goes: I HAVE REALLY F’ED UP MY SLEEP PATTERN. That wasn’t so hard, and I think I even nailed my point exactly. I didn’t think before this that there was any way to make it worse that it originally was: Bed at 3 a.m. up by 9 (or 10-ish). It’s not as if I have a set period of functioning. But now I’m the only person I know that goes to bed at 11 a.m and wakes up at 3 in the afternoon.

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 Lagos) are not the invention of this writer’s overactive imagination. - Ed.] . Without pay of course, unless I want to be reminded of the pain of carrying me for nine months and the extreme agony of dozing off during that caesarean operation. My work duties vary from day to day, but can always be found safely in-between proofreading and changing printer ink. It isn’t always the work that keeps her up though. She spends the rest of the night/morning sharpening her spider solitaire skills. Enough about the superwoman that birthed me and whom I recently saw put together a 3page speech an hour before she had to deliver it. And back to her mortal seed [son! – Ed.] that can’t sleep at the right time of the day.

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 Nigeria as a whole is in Diaspora. Those of us who are not (yet) physically on the wider end of the Western Union Money Transfer funnel are actually in mental Diaspora. Thus explaining why nothing here ever works – “no one’s home! Who needs electricity?”

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 Nigeria – Ed.] (should?) also support Atiku…now is that 3 or 4 different ways? WTF?

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 8^th 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. Reading takes time, and the glass teat takes too much of it.

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.]

Shame I'm not in the 8th grade

You Passed 8th Grade Science

Congratulations, you got 8/8 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Science?

Blog Worthy?

I really don't have anything to blog about. So...
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…

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).

THE END
I need a job...*Yawn*...hic

TAGGED

Ok! by order of monie and c0dec. I join this game which i at first consider as a way to deal with some personal issues but i now see as the emotional equivlent (if taken too seriously) of pissing against the wind.

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.

1. My perfect mate is equal parts woman and girl (at least for the foreseeable future)
2. My perfect mate and I shouldn’t need too many words to communicate (i.e. should understand #1 without an accompanying essay).
3. She should have a sense of humor.
4. She should have earned (or plan to) by merit alone the position of best friend
5. 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)
6. She should be adventurous
7. She should have good taste in music, literature, movies etc (because one of us has to)
8. She should know God and have a religion of some sorts (even if its one we have to makeup)
9. 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.
10. 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.

Not about the lizard in my room

Welcome faithful readers (imaginary and real), souls interwoven to mine by the fiber optic thread of the World Wide Web… who am I kidding? I can’t keep this up!!! I’m totally… narfed (for lack of a better a better word- “kpanshed” finally failed me). As you may have noticed (if like me you don’t have a life) I haven’t posted up anything in a minute (finally living up to my moniker). I guess its because I’ve been too busy with funerals, malaria, post-census fatigue and the lizard in my room (long story). Hopefully I’ll be back in true blogging form in a couple days. In the mean time I’ve been tagged (on two sides) and writing that list isn’t as easy as it looks. Suddenly “Must have seen every episode of the original voltron!” and all the other things I once thought important characteristics of my better half look silly on paper. So right now I’m working on a new list (I’m actually trying to narrow down my hundred or so points to 10). I don’t know why I feel I have to be sincere with this but I do so I’m taking my time.

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)!