Monday, March 17, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Something small to let you know that I'm alive and kicking the bucket
The month of February pretty much doesn't exist. Well, this last one at least. I can prove it - mathematically. All months have either 30 or 31 days except February which has either 28 or 29. Therefore, by virtue of this anomaly, February is not a month. I dare any mathematician, philosophician, metaphysician and logistician to say I'm wrong. See, I'm right because no one's come forward.
Also "racism still alive, they just be concealin' it." How is it that Black History/Heritage Month (BHM either way) is not a month and who declared this non-month BHM anyway? Dr. Woodson of course (back then it was Negro History Week). Woodson's black which is OK until you discover that the Negro History Week was in honor of 2 abolitionists one who is a white man!! OK, you say, Abe Lincoln is as black as Bill Clinton (which is true in all senses) but he is still as white as Bill Clinton (also true in all senses).
Now regardless of what that sentence means, it seems rather unfair that the 1 week out of52 that is dedicated to Negro reminiscences is only 1/2 black. Well, only 1/2 black until you discover that the other abolitionist was Fredrick Douglass - now he was black, for sure, but he didn't know his father - a problem that a lot of inner city youth can relate to today - except he suspected that his father was a white slave owner (what was it with those white slave owners and their desire to sleep with black women - black women are sexy, I guess... but I digress). In any case, our 1/2 of 1/52 becomes 1/4 of 1/52 = 1/208...can you believe that!!! Negro History Week indeed! Also it is rather strange that BHM has become a mantle taken up by the liberal left since the '60s (if you buy into the whole left-right political axis thing). Regardless, it is strange to note that both Douglass and Lincoln were staunch Republicans!! (note. politics change over time - it may have benefited that Black man to be republican then, but it doesn't seem to be the case today - the shift probably occurred in the 60s which led to the eventual rise of the neo-cons with Reagan (his governorship began in 67!).
So the question is; What was Dr. Woodson thinking? unless he wasn't. Brainwashing is most likely what happened, you know - this whole whites and blacks living peaceably together as the King suggests tends to make blacks complacent. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for living peaceably together but it becomes an expense when we are cheated into believing that we are in fact living peaceably together. It's the Manchurian Candidate all over again but instead of Manchuria its the White House (white house candidate?). So you say Obama will CHANGE all that - but i bet you a million bucks he won't be living in the Black House.
Also "racism still alive, they just be concealin' it." How is it that Black History/Heritage Month (BHM either way) is not a month and who declared this non-month BHM anyway? Dr. Woodson of course (back then it was Negro History Week). Woodson's black which is OK until you discover that the Negro History Week was in honor of 2 abolitionists one who is a white man!! OK, you say, Abe Lincoln is as black as Bill Clinton (which is true in all senses) but he is still as white as Bill Clinton (also true in all senses).
Now regardless of what that sentence means, it seems rather unfair that the 1 week out of52 that is dedicated to Negro reminiscences is only 1/2 black. Well, only 1/2 black until you discover that the other abolitionist was Fredrick Douglass - now he was black, for sure, but he didn't know his father - a problem that a lot of inner city youth can relate to today - except he suspected that his father was a white slave owner (what was it with those white slave owners and their desire to sleep with black women - black women are sexy, I guess... but I digress). In any case, our 1/2 of 1/52 becomes 1/4 of 1/52 = 1/208...can you believe that!!! Negro History Week indeed! Also it is rather strange that BHM has become a mantle taken up by the liberal left since the '60s (if you buy into the whole left-right political axis thing). Regardless, it is strange to note that both Douglass and Lincoln were staunch Republicans!! (note. politics change over time - it may have benefited that Black man to be republican then, but it doesn't seem to be the case today - the shift probably occurred in the 60s which led to the eventual rise of the neo-cons with Reagan (his governorship began in 67!).
So the question is; What was Dr. Woodson thinking? unless he wasn't. Brainwashing is most likely what happened, you know - this whole whites and blacks living peaceably together as the King suggests tends to make blacks complacent. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for living peaceably together but it becomes an expense when we are cheated into believing that we are in fact living peaceably together. It's the Manchurian Candidate all over again but instead of Manchuria its the White House (white house candidate?). So you say Obama will CHANGE all that - but i bet you a million bucks he won't be living in the Black House.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Week two - a brief review (rhyme in time?) - Poetry in Motion
Wow! What a week. What a week. (a third time - for those who missed the alliteration?) Wow! What a week!
I am currently sitting in my room sore all over - almost unable to write this post. Sore because I played 7 consecutive game 11, counting 1s, 4 on 4 then 5 on 5 basketball games almost spraining my left ankle in addition to exerting non-existent muscles that atrophied due to lack of play and/or gym (in this case 'and' only). I use the verb 'exert' as in 'exert oneself' except I think that is colloquial use and thus means 'use of energy' only in the latter context. Also my sentence could mean that my non-existent muscles actually atrophied in which case it would be rather paradoxical (or not depending on how crazy you are) because the non-existent muscles are by definition a non-existing phenomenon and thus could not atrophy. Brian Greene would say otherwise because string theory would prove the existence of non-existence - ence. I simplify. All-in-all, I can hardly use any muscle. I actually was planning to sleep, or more appropriately trying to sleep when I remembered, or rather realized, no actually remembered my realization that I hadn't had a decent chat with my most beloved blogees (those who read blogs). I'm just a bag full of alliteration today, aren't I? (amn't I/ am I not?) The Bs and the Rs - especially the Rs - and those sexy tongues that rrrrrrrroll them.
aaRRRgh! You're off the edge of the map, mate. Here there be monsters! Had to do that - Captain Barbossa, Commodore (almost) - Pirates of the Caribbean, for those who miss the reference. Speaking of which. This week - more or less or more than less - culminated with this swinging (sliding and see-sawing - playtime for adults) Caribbean themed part-ay at this swinging (sliding and see-sawing - playground for adults) joint in Brooklyn. Ambar, I think it was called - unless that was the original destination and we got sidetracked and ended up elsewhere, as is often in these cases of alcohol. Anyway, I don't remember much about this 'Caribbean' thing because I had an early morning today (very early like 3am or 4am - but I think 3am) and I needed to go sleep (not all memory loses are alcohol induced - sometimes some events just didn't happen) I needed to wake up refreshed and caffeinated because today was an important day for me. Very important but equally long arsed! (never really seen a long arse but, wait. Scratch that - memory's the damnedest thing!) Unfortunately just before my departure for home I met this lady whose name now eludes me but starts with an N. Nikki, Nadine, Nailah, Nicoletta, Nadia N-something. She was smoking. as in sssssssssmokin'! the mask style. She was so sexy, I would have fucked her slowly. And with that statement I divide my very loyal and devoted (hopeful?) lady blogees and devotees (hoppers?) into two.
The first, finding the statement appropriately witty. According to a song by a close friend of mine, Corinne Bailey-Rae (or was the song a cover of something someone else sang - I forget), a wicked sense of humor suggests exciting sex but I don't brag about these things! Incidentally this very close friend of mine wrote a song called Breathless which is about how it feels when you fall in love with a very close friend. Thinly-veiled, I told her, after which we promptly (censored for young blogees and also as a preemptive strike against possible litigation from her label or death and torture - preferably, but never, in that order - from her bodyguard). So she's clearly right about the correlation between wicked senses of humor and wicked senses of...well, wicked senses. Both, evidently point to adventure and there's nothing more adventurous than sex, is there? Maybe life but that's debatable. Corinne though phenomenal in (censored), is a more phenomenal musician. This is not to downplay her sense of (censored) adventure which is no where as low as the genius average (makes as much sense as upper middle-class) but rather to express the magnitude of her rather ingeniousness in musicology. Y'all should check out her music (no she's not paying me to do this but in return for this favor I hope her label doesn't sue me and her bodyguard doesn't kill and torture me for anything written here because I truly think her music will save the world even though she has no such aspirations.)
The second group of loyal, devoted devotees and blogees and groupies (they hang around me like...like...something that hangs around other things). These are disappointed by my statement - said statement being 'She was so sexy, I would have fucked her slowly.' Here, they thought I was this romantic understanding non-thinking-about-sex-all-the-time kinda guy because my witty banter and wicked sense of humor no doubt pointed to my interest in the intrigues of the mind and the soul as opposed to the body - an intellectual, a feeler (not feeler feeler groper but feeler feeler cry-er) which, of-course, I am but I don't especially 'brag' about these things. To these, I can only say please do not cast away your quick judgments of me for quick judgments of me. Like everybody (except the "beautiful"), I don't like to be quickly judged but I especially don't like to be quickly judged twice. I plead my case before your honors. You see, I only briefly met her and though, or perhaps because, her eyes looked very wise, I only remember what I saw - her physical features; body and face, which, like I said, were ssssssssmokin' (I think there's one less 's' here than before - actually I know, I counted them both, found this had 11 and the other had 9, then promptly deleted 3 from this and promptly wrote this parenthetical - clever, huh?). I counted twice because I was afraid I miscounted and would thus come off as stupid but I was right the first time...or maybe not. OK. I was right. I will add that I was not particularly thinking about fucking when I wrote what I wrote, I was merely remembering what it was that gave me a rather fitful 3 hour sleep (or lack of it) and made me reluctant to eat all day (and people say there's no such thing as love at first sight) and thus added to my body's complete total breakdown (though not as complete and total as to prevent me from writing this post). Which also proves that I was not thinking about sex (or am/ is even now). Among my shoulder, back, arm, thigh and calf non-muscles that can't move, I add another which generally has a mind of its own. Perhaps I should also explain what I mean by fucking her slowly. Or perhaps not. Suffice it to say, doing it (her) slowly would be an attempt to savor as much of her stunning beauty for as long as I can. But enough of this talk.
Besides a rather climactic and anti-climactic conclusion to this week, there was the Martin Luther King Jr. day (quite the mouthful) celebrations which started off the week with a bang almost as big as the Big Bang seeing that it created a few new creatures that cared about and expressed their pride for their heritage like no one really can. This bang, perhaps had more energy than the Big Bang because these creatures subsequently or rather immediately, on the day after, evolved into superior beings who now frown upon their heritage like no one really can. I make no judgments about this Lemony-Snicketty Unfortunate Series of Events (otherwise known as LUSE) because, as with other similar things, Brian Greene knows more about the Big Bang than I do.
As for me, the obligatory Monday holiday was insufficient - which explains the lack of blog posts. I celebrate the birth of Black Jesus like I celebrate the birth of White Jesus - One week long of festivities and gift-receiving culminating in a new year. This should not be surprising because I also give the Devil his dues. I celebrate Columbus Day fervently, and this celebration, because the Devil naturally works as much as Black Jesus and White Jesus combined, extends for two weeks, culminating in Halloween, during which I give candy only to the deserving; the little devils and sometimes those that make a decent effort; the little bastards. These celebrations differ from country to country of-course. In Haiti, for example I honored Hernan Cortez instead of Christopher Columbus while in the UK I celebrated Father Christmas instead of White Jesus - but it's all good, because these are merely incarnations of the same Being, I think - as every other human being generally is. Buddha is my homeboy!
In Africa, I indulge in indolence (the alliteration for the conclusion). This is because I dedicate 26 weeks to Jesuses and 26 weeks to Devils. In alternation of course. Balance must be maintained at all costs. The Yin and the Yang -the Chaotic Taotic.
Sigh. I live many many lives.
I am currently sitting in my room sore all over - almost unable to write this post. Sore because I played 7 consecutive game 11, counting 1s, 4 on 4 then 5 on 5 basketball games almost spraining my left ankle in addition to exerting non-existent muscles that atrophied due to lack of play and/or gym (in this case 'and' only). I use the verb 'exert' as in 'exert oneself' except I think that is colloquial use and thus means 'use of energy' only in the latter context. Also my sentence could mean that my non-existent muscles actually atrophied in which case it would be rather paradoxical (or not depending on how crazy you are) because the non-existent muscles are by definition a non-existing phenomenon and thus could not atrophy. Brian Greene would say otherwise because string theory would prove the existence of non-existence - ence. I simplify. All-in-all, I can hardly use any muscle. I actually was planning to sleep, or more appropriately trying to sleep when I remembered, or rather realized, no actually remembered my realization that I hadn't had a decent chat with my most beloved blogees (those who read blogs). I'm just a bag full of alliteration today, aren't I? (amn't I/ am I not?) The Bs and the Rs - especially the Rs - and those sexy tongues that rrrrrrrroll them.
aaRRRgh! You're off the edge of the map, mate. Here there be monsters! Had to do that - Captain Barbossa, Commodore (almost) - Pirates of the Caribbean, for those who miss the reference. Speaking of which. This week - more or less or more than less - culminated with this swinging (sliding and see-sawing - playtime for adults) Caribbean themed part-ay at this swinging (sliding and see-sawing - playground for adults) joint in Brooklyn. Ambar, I think it was called - unless that was the original destination and we got sidetracked and ended up elsewhere, as is often in these cases of alcohol. Anyway, I don't remember much about this 'Caribbean' thing because I had an early morning today (very early like 3am or 4am - but I think 3am) and I needed to go sleep (not all memory loses are alcohol induced - sometimes some events just didn't happen) I needed to wake up refreshed and caffeinated because today was an important day for me. Very important but equally long arsed! (never really seen a long arse but, wait. Scratch that - memory's the damnedest thing!) Unfortunately just before my departure for home I met this lady whose name now eludes me but starts with an N. Nikki, Nadine, Nailah, Nicoletta, Nadia N-something. She was smoking. as in sssssssssmokin'! the mask style. She was so sexy, I would have fucked her slowly. And with that statement I divide my very loyal and devoted (hopeful?) lady blogees and devotees (hoppers?) into two.
The first, finding the statement appropriately witty. According to a song by a close friend of mine, Corinne Bailey-Rae (or was the song a cover of something someone else sang - I forget), a wicked sense of humor suggests exciting sex but I don't brag about these things! Incidentally this very close friend of mine wrote a song called Breathless which is about how it feels when you fall in love with a very close friend. Thinly-veiled, I told her, after which we promptly (censored for young blogees and also as a preemptive strike against possible litigation from her label or death and torture - preferably, but never, in that order - from her bodyguard). So she's clearly right about the correlation between wicked senses of humor and wicked senses of...well, wicked senses. Both, evidently point to adventure and there's nothing more adventurous than sex, is there? Maybe life but that's debatable. Corinne though phenomenal in (censored), is a more phenomenal musician. This is not to downplay her sense of (censored) adventure which is no where as low as the genius average (makes as much sense as upper middle-class) but rather to express the magnitude of her rather ingeniousness in musicology. Y'all should check out her music (no she's not paying me to do this but in return for this favor I hope her label doesn't sue me and her bodyguard doesn't kill and torture me for anything written here because I truly think her music will save the world even though she has no such aspirations.)
The second group of loyal, devoted devotees and blogees and groupies (they hang around me like...like...something that hangs around other things). These are disappointed by my statement - said statement being 'She was so sexy, I would have fucked her slowly.' Here, they thought I was this romantic understanding non-thinking-about-sex-all-the-time kinda guy because my witty banter and wicked sense of humor no doubt pointed to my interest in the intrigues of the mind and the soul as opposed to the body - an intellectual, a feeler (not feeler feeler groper but feeler feeler cry-er) which, of-course, I am but I don't especially 'brag' about these things. To these, I can only say please do not cast away your quick judgments of me for quick judgments of me. Like everybody (except the "beautiful"), I don't like to be quickly judged but I especially don't like to be quickly judged twice. I plead my case before your honors. You see, I only briefly met her and though, or perhaps because, her eyes looked very wise, I only remember what I saw - her physical features; body and face, which, like I said, were ssssssssmokin' (I think there's one less 's' here than before - actually I know, I counted them both, found this had 11 and the other had 9, then promptly deleted 3 from this and promptly wrote this parenthetical - clever, huh?). I counted twice because I was afraid I miscounted and would thus come off as stupid but I was right the first time...or maybe not. OK. I was right. I will add that I was not particularly thinking about fucking when I wrote what I wrote, I was merely remembering what it was that gave me a rather fitful 3 hour sleep (or lack of it) and made me reluctant to eat all day (and people say there's no such thing as love at first sight) and thus added to my body's complete total breakdown (though not as complete and total as to prevent me from writing this post). Which also proves that I was not thinking about sex (or am/ is even now). Among my shoulder, back, arm, thigh and calf non-muscles that can't move, I add another which generally has a mind of its own. Perhaps I should also explain what I mean by fucking her slowly. Or perhaps not. Suffice it to say, doing it (her) slowly would be an attempt to savor as much of her stunning beauty for as long as I can. But enough of this talk.
Besides a rather climactic and anti-climactic conclusion to this week, there was the Martin Luther King Jr. day (quite the mouthful) celebrations which started off the week with a bang almost as big as the Big Bang seeing that it created a few new creatures that cared about and expressed their pride for their heritage like no one really can. This bang, perhaps had more energy than the Big Bang because these creatures subsequently or rather immediately, on the day after, evolved into superior beings who now frown upon their heritage like no one really can. I make no judgments about this Lemony-Snicketty Unfortunate Series of Events (otherwise known as LUSE) because, as with other similar things, Brian Greene knows more about the Big Bang than I do.
As for me, the obligatory Monday holiday was insufficient - which explains the lack of blog posts. I celebrate the birth of Black Jesus like I celebrate the birth of White Jesus - One week long of festivities and gift-receiving culminating in a new year. This should not be surprising because I also give the Devil his dues. I celebrate Columbus Day fervently, and this celebration, because the Devil naturally works as much as Black Jesus and White Jesus combined, extends for two weeks, culminating in Halloween, during which I give candy only to the deserving; the little devils and sometimes those that make a decent effort; the little bastards. These celebrations differ from country to country of-course. In Haiti, for example I honored Hernan Cortez instead of Christopher Columbus while in the UK I celebrated Father Christmas instead of White Jesus - but it's all good, because these are merely incarnations of the same Being, I think - as every other human being generally is. Buddha is my homeboy!
In Africa, I indulge in indolence (the alliteration for the conclusion). This is because I dedicate 26 weeks to Jesuses and 26 weeks to Devils. In alternation of course. Balance must be maintained at all costs. The Yin and the Yang -the Chaotic Taotic.
Sigh. I live many many lives.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
1984: The Crystal Ball Edition
I had been thinking about starting every blog with a shout out to my peeps - but I figured if I was to do that I'd probably have 2 more blogs left before I shut down the site .Actually no. There really is no need for self-effacing modesty. You know what they say - modesty is pride in disguise, or something to that effect, and I have neither the need nor the patience to mask myself behind layers of lies and deception (I'm not a liar. Neither am I a Decepticon - at least not yet, but one day they'll come for me, I'm Cybertron-bound people! All hail Megatron and may he rain his wrath upon Starscream that arse-kisser!!). The truth is that if I was to give a shout-out to all my peeps, my fans and my innumerable critics, I'll still be writing from my grave (or from beyond the pearly gates of Cybertron). So I will not start all my blogs with a shout out but every now and then I promise to show my appreciation. There's no story without the audience (or the storyteller - so we are equally important though we must never forget that there are some who are more equal than others - remember your place!)
shout out to Ling and to Samuel (see I keep my promises)
And now your futures.
Ling, thank you for that lovely comment, you will be immortalized in song and dance. Your name shall live on in the great halls and libraries of the skies and in the year 4046 they will commemorate your bi-millennial in all the galaxies - a banquet that shall have no equal until 6046, when they shall no doubt celebrate your quadro-millennial. In truth they'll have missed it by 38 years - through no fault of your own. After WWCCXXVI, afropolitan will be destroyed by the Solarsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei or the SAZI for it's 'anti-socialist' leanings and propaganda. Your name though will be remember fondly, afropolitan having become mandatory reading in at least 7 of 15 planets (the CZ323ians will be especially fond of it). One of the CZ323ian professors will attempt to reconstruct the site and sadly you will be mistaken for the character in Kar-Wai's 2046 which will also be thought to have been made in the year 2046. (This post is, of course, the very source of confusion - but the future is predetermined by our will)
Samuel, you shall have no such luck, I'm afraid. You dissed my African Soul Brother and, though I totally agree with you, he is my biggest financial backer. He promised to pull his funding, if I showed you any goodwill. I cannot risk this very important operation. You will be forgotten, crushed into obscurity - but for the greater good. You will die a painful and horrible, yet ultimately redeeming, death - but such is life! You are the source of your own self-destruction. But I'm envious of you. You're like those centennial plants - the newly discovered palm-like trees or maybe palm tree-like trees in Madagascar - which live quietly for a hundred years then expend all their energy in one final ginormous bloom - radiant flowers dripping with nectar, the foods of the gods - then they whither and die a few months later. Now, that's going out with a bang! Something everyone wants to do but never really get to. Look at Michael Schumacher. This dude wins 7 Championships, the last 5 consecutively. He considers retiring then decides to win one last time. In charges El Nano a.k.a Fernando Alonso Diaz and poor Schuey places 3rd. He holds off retirement home for one last year in a last ditch attempt to go out with a bang. Unfortunately, Mr. Red Baron is no match for his younger counterpart and can only bow out humbly. We all know he wanted to go again - I mean he's still a test driver for Ferrari - but there's only so much you can do before the stench of desperation chokes you to death. So you see, everyone wants to go out with a bang! For most of us though, going out with a bang would mean quitting at our prime (in my case, after my very first post!) - one doesn't quit when the world's in your hands. You, Samuel, are a lucky man!
Speaking of having the world in your grasp, I was playing Texas hold 'em with a bunch of poker nerds the other day. There I was happily parting them of their hard earned cash (happily because this is my only source of income) all the while regaling these suckers with my larger than life exploits during umemulo (adolescent rite of passage during which I fought bravely against a pack of wolves, killed their leader and domesticated the rest - all true I swear). Suddenly I'm dealt both The Emperor and The Wheel of Fortune. (Here's a tip to playing poker: the most assured way of winning all the time is to teach your opponents how to play using Tarot Cards. It is naturally harder for Texas Hold 'em 'cause you have to convince management to use them, but if you're anywhere as resourceful as I am, this'll be a walk in the park (during the day of course, you don't want to meet unsavory characters in the park in the dark) - it's a guarantee of success to be the only one who knows what's going on. Look at GW. He feigned ignorance to make as many illogical moves as he liked and voila! Not only did he invade Iraq, he got re-elected!) So I'm dealt these 2 powerful cards just out of the blue. For two such powerful cards, there can only be one interpretation; worldy power and riches achieved effortlessly. And because I don't intend to do anything but eat, play poker, swim, watch tv, go to the movies, read, write, sleep (or not depending on the urge) - this is an awfully long list of stuff that needs doing. Regardless, it goes to show the power of the blog . I mean, Tianmen City officials who beat some dude to death were brought to task by members of the blogging community! In other words, the world belongs to dudes and dudettes sitting in front of their computers all day in nothing but their underwear! And whose boxers are more flashy than mine, huh? Spiderman rules! I rest my case. The world is mine.
Thus spoke Czar Ra Shyster!
shout out to Ling and to Samuel (see I keep my promises)
And now your futures.
Ling, thank you for that lovely comment, you will be immortalized in song and dance. Your name shall live on in the great halls and libraries of the skies and in the year 4046 they will commemorate your bi-millennial in all the galaxies - a banquet that shall have no equal until 6046, when they shall no doubt celebrate your quadro-millennial. In truth they'll have missed it by 38 years - through no fault of your own. After WWCCXXVI, afropolitan will be destroyed by the Solarsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei or the SAZI for it's 'anti-socialist' leanings and propaganda. Your name though will be remember fondly, afropolitan having become mandatory reading in at least 7 of 15 planets (the CZ323ians will be especially fond of it). One of the CZ323ian professors will attempt to reconstruct the site and sadly you will be mistaken for the character in Kar-Wai's 2046 which will also be thought to have been made in the year 2046. (This post is, of course, the very source of confusion - but the future is predetermined by our will)
Samuel, you shall have no such luck, I'm afraid. You dissed my African Soul Brother and, though I totally agree with you, he is my biggest financial backer. He promised to pull his funding, if I showed you any goodwill. I cannot risk this very important operation. You will be forgotten, crushed into obscurity - but for the greater good. You will die a painful and horrible, yet ultimately redeeming, death - but such is life! You are the source of your own self-destruction. But I'm envious of you. You're like those centennial plants - the newly discovered palm-like trees or maybe palm tree-like trees in Madagascar - which live quietly for a hundred years then expend all their energy in one final ginormous bloom - radiant flowers dripping with nectar, the foods of the gods - then they whither and die a few months later. Now, that's going out with a bang! Something everyone wants to do but never really get to. Look at Michael Schumacher. This dude wins 7 Championships, the last 5 consecutively. He considers retiring then decides to win one last time. In charges El Nano a.k.a Fernando Alonso Diaz and poor Schuey places 3rd. He holds off retirement home for one last year in a last ditch attempt to go out with a bang. Unfortunately, Mr. Red Baron is no match for his younger counterpart and can only bow out humbly. We all know he wanted to go again - I mean he's still a test driver for Ferrari - but there's only so much you can do before the stench of desperation chokes you to death. So you see, everyone wants to go out with a bang! For most of us though, going out with a bang would mean quitting at our prime (in my case, after my very first post!) - one doesn't quit when the world's in your hands. You, Samuel, are a lucky man!
Speaking of having the world in your grasp, I was playing Texas hold 'em with a bunch of poker nerds the other day. There I was happily parting them of their hard earned cash (happily because this is my only source of income) all the while regaling these suckers with my larger than life exploits during umemulo (adolescent rite of passage during which I fought bravely against a pack of wolves, killed their leader and domesticated the rest - all true I swear). Suddenly I'm dealt both The Emperor and The Wheel of Fortune. (Here's a tip to playing poker: the most assured way of winning all the time is to teach your opponents how to play using Tarot Cards. It is naturally harder for Texas Hold 'em 'cause you have to convince management to use them, but if you're anywhere as resourceful as I am, this'll be a walk in the park (during the day of course, you don't want to meet unsavory characters in the park in the dark) - it's a guarantee of success to be the only one who knows what's going on. Look at GW. He feigned ignorance to make as many illogical moves as he liked and voila! Not only did he invade Iraq, he got re-elected!) So I'm dealt these 2 powerful cards just out of the blue. For two such powerful cards, there can only be one interpretation; worldy power and riches achieved effortlessly. And because I don't intend to do anything but eat, play poker, swim, watch tv, go to the movies, read, write, sleep (or not depending on the urge) - this is an awfully long list of stuff that needs doing. Regardless, it goes to show the power of the blog . I mean, Tianmen City officials who beat some dude to death were brought to task by members of the blogging community! In other words, the world belongs to dudes and dudettes sitting in front of their computers all day in nothing but their underwear! And whose boxers are more flashy than mine, huh? Spiderman rules! I rest my case. The world is mine.
Thus spoke Czar Ra Shyster!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
sank you
oh! mad love. thanks y'all. I'm feelin' the love. Oh am I feelin' the love!
Sounds like one of those blogs these crazy musicians have on their websites where they go crazy - well, crazier - expressing their thanks to their quite insane fans and all). And how do I know this? Yup. I'm one of the very few, possibly only, sane fans who visits these websites. And before you go calling me a schmuck (whatever hell that's supposed to mean) I'm sure you'd do it too, if you were me - hmm. That doesn't quite build my case like I thought it would - oh hell, I just want to express my gratitude to the 7 or so people that've looked at this blog - and no! that is not a random number. I've had about 20 profile views and I know at least 14 of those are mine - and no again, I'm not a needy, insecure, self-absorbed withdrawn tortoise of a man (hate those self-aggrandizing know-it-alls who throw this psychobabble bullshit around like they're characters in some sappy 90's show). I was just looking for an excuse to be lazy - see, I had projected to have an audience of at least 5 in 5 months (roughly one a month for those too lazy to do the math). Now that that threshold's been passed, I can lull around - or focus on the writing and the living as opposed to the selling - I hate selling. It's a tough job. I couldn't hack it. I need people to love me and nobody loves salesmen (no I'm not needy, I thought we already got that out of the way).
Shout out to Anonymous who left me a few comments - a couple actually; one for each of the previous posts - you are the man, or woman, or transgender or whatever... depending on how you self-identify (very important word there, I think)
I can take no credit for this success so early in the game - already I have offers from extremely well-known magazines to write some spiel about stuff, but you'll be happy to know I turned down these multiple five-figure offers just to stick to my rocking fans - Rock on! I just did the the ROCK ON finger sign and I know you just did so as well - we are so connected, you and I. Hopefully these magazines, if they know what's good for them, will return with six-figure offers (which, of course, will be promptly turned down - no doubt about that)
But like I said, I can take no credit for this. I asked a cool cat, AM, to spread the word like fire across facebook. I don't have an account myself and I don't intend to have one - for a lot longer, I hope. I much prefer the face-to-face let's vibe and/or get physical right here right now mode of communication rather than the let's type and text and hopefully meet someday for a cup o' tea one. As much as I love the written word, body language is so much better; so rich and so expressive! I've already given my soul to this soulless mechanical medium called blogger and while, I acknowledge that it is inevitable that one day I will have to join a social networking site of some kind (myspace, facebook, bebo, habbo, twitter, nutter, or maybe on of those 'looking for love' joints) I am happy to say that that day is not today. Why? You ask, it's just a bit of innocuous technology. Wrong! Besides the obvious matrix 'robot take over the human world and turn all meat into batteries' nightmare thing going, there's the Antichrist to think about! Most people think that the Antichrist is going to be this one single individual guy as strong as Mohammed Ali. They're mistaken; it's the corporation, man! or better yet THE CORPORATION - also called Apocalypse Inc. which is a subsidiary of the Armageddon group. Antichrist & Co. - known today chiefly as Google. (Disclaimer: Google is the owner of Blogger). I can see the future people. These eyes are old and wise. "And you will know the signs when Google finally catalogues the sky and all the stars therein shall be held in one gigantic database-satellite space station to be accessed only by Sergey and Larry whenever they wish to cast them down as fire and brimstone to create floods and pestilence and all sorts of manner of things. These things shall come to pass when Google shall change its motto from 'Don't be evil' to 'Only be evil' - thus it is written, so shall it be." It is my duty, as it is now yours, to spread the good news...um I mean truth...that the world may know - and so unwittingly bring the end closer to...um...its...its end?
Thanks for the unwitting disciples AM, my African Soul Brother. He hates it when I call him that - would rather be called friend or brother "because," he says, "it reduces what is a deep intimate relationship based on our unique personalities into some casually thrown platitude created to oil a dreary political machine based on superficialities very akin, in fact, to the very racial trappings which we are trying to transcend." (Boy, you should hear him talk). My prompt reply? "Bullshit, you closeted Africa hater!" And he promptly runs into the closet to cry his heart out - but I love that fucker! He's also an aspiring writer, storyteller, or something. "I find that narrative can be quite the tool for meditation." In this light, I refer you back to his facebook profile thing and read his notes? notes, he says. I think you'll find them to be quite meditative - on what I don't really know. He complains. Get the fuck out of here (actually meant to say that out loud but he's reading over my shoulder to make sure I've marketed him as much as he has me). Quid pro quo is his catchphrase, that capitalistic prick. And he calls himself African! Shame. He's apparently Kenyan (cool) and is of the Taita tribe (doubly cool - except I think he only says these things because he saw a photo of my sisters - which is silly because they're not Kenyan at all). He likes the eldest who just turned 18 (joy, he says until I point out that she was 16 in the picture). Of course, now he doesn't like her - had more to do with my carefully veiled threats concerning my sisters than anything else, I think. Introductions are in order. I've got these three cutesy-wutesy (they will hate that! and I will never admit that I said that ever in public!) sisters. There's Sophie, Marjorie and Angel (was my dad's turn to name the kids - my mom added an 'a' at the end of her name in her birth certificate, so she's technically Angela). I love these kids to bits! ahem. Moving on.
Chaos broke out in Kenya - again. But there's this pal of mine from Chitown who also happens to be Kenyan (but that usually means something else when you're African-American). She's in Kenya right now and she says that it's not as bad as the media agencies here (here being the US of A) are reporting. It's hard to believe her. The pictures look pretty graphic and I'm pretty sure the photojournalist was much closer to the scenes of violence than she was. But lest we go blaming people for this problem, lets think back a few weeks. And let's change the setting to Mozambique (lovely place. spent about a year in Maputo back when I was yet to be me...have been back a couple of times and it didn't seem to change until a few years back, now there's all these buildings going up all over the place). Any way so in Mozambique, it's floods that's disrupting elections. Natural causes! So the conclusion? Africa's problems are largely natural problems!! Naturally, human beings are a natural phenomena. Remember dat!
I'm out. Peace (literally - wait, is it a verb?)
Sounds like one of those blogs these crazy musicians have on their websites where they go crazy - well, crazier - expressing their thanks to their quite insane fans and all). And how do I know this? Yup. I'm one of the very few, possibly only, sane fans who visits these websites. And before you go calling me a schmuck (whatever hell that's supposed to mean) I'm sure you'd do it too, if you were me - hmm. That doesn't quite build my case like I thought it would - oh hell, I just want to express my gratitude to the 7 or so people that've looked at this blog - and no! that is not a random number. I've had about 20 profile views and I know at least 14 of those are mine - and no again, I'm not a needy, insecure, self-absorbed withdrawn tortoise of a man (hate those self-aggrandizing know-it-alls who throw this psychobabble bullshit around like they're characters in some sappy 90's show). I was just looking for an excuse to be lazy - see, I had projected to have an audience of at least 5 in 5 months (roughly one a month for those too lazy to do the math). Now that that threshold's been passed, I can lull around - or focus on the writing and the living as opposed to the selling - I hate selling. It's a tough job. I couldn't hack it. I need people to love me and nobody loves salesmen (no I'm not needy, I thought we already got that out of the way).
Shout out to Anonymous who left me a few comments - a couple actually; one for each of the previous posts - you are the man, or woman, or transgender or whatever... depending on how you self-identify (very important word there, I think)
I can take no credit for this success so early in the game - already I have offers from extremely well-known magazines to write some spiel about stuff, but you'll be happy to know I turned down these multiple five-figure offers just to stick to my rocking fans - Rock on! I just did the the ROCK ON finger sign and I know you just did so as well - we are so connected, you and I. Hopefully these magazines, if they know what's good for them, will return with six-figure offers (which, of course, will be promptly turned down - no doubt about that)
But like I said, I can take no credit for this. I asked a cool cat, AM, to spread the word like fire across facebook. I don't have an account myself and I don't intend to have one - for a lot longer, I hope. I much prefer the face-to-face let's vibe and/or get physical right here right now mode of communication rather than the let's type and text and hopefully meet someday for a cup o' tea one. As much as I love the written word, body language is so much better; so rich and so expressive! I've already given my soul to this soulless mechanical medium called blogger and while, I acknowledge that it is inevitable that one day I will have to join a social networking site of some kind (myspace, facebook, bebo, habbo, twitter, nutter, or maybe on of those 'looking for love' joints) I am happy to say that that day is not today. Why? You ask, it's just a bit of innocuous technology. Wrong! Besides the obvious matrix 'robot take over the human world and turn all meat into batteries' nightmare thing going, there's the Antichrist to think about! Most people think that the Antichrist is going to be this one single individual guy as strong as Mohammed Ali. They're mistaken; it's the corporation, man! or better yet THE CORPORATION - also called Apocalypse Inc. which is a subsidiary of the Armageddon group. Antichrist & Co. - known today chiefly as Google. (Disclaimer: Google is the owner of Blogger). I can see the future people. These eyes are old and wise. "And you will know the signs when Google finally catalogues the sky and all the stars therein shall be held in one gigantic database-satellite space station to be accessed only by Sergey and Larry whenever they wish to cast them down as fire and brimstone to create floods and pestilence and all sorts of manner of things. These things shall come to pass when Google shall change its motto from 'Don't be evil' to 'Only be evil' - thus it is written, so shall it be." It is my duty, as it is now yours, to spread the good news...um I mean truth...that the world may know - and so unwittingly bring the end closer to...um...its...its end?
Thanks for the unwitting disciples AM, my African Soul Brother. He hates it when I call him that - would rather be called friend or brother "because," he says, "it reduces what is a deep intimate relationship based on our unique personalities into some casually thrown platitude created to oil a dreary political machine based on superficialities very akin, in fact, to the very racial trappings which we are trying to transcend." (Boy, you should hear him talk). My prompt reply? "Bullshit, you closeted Africa hater!" And he promptly runs into the closet to cry his heart out - but I love that fucker! He's also an aspiring writer, storyteller, or something. "I find that narrative can be quite the tool for meditation." In this light, I refer you back to his facebook profile thing and read his notes? notes, he says. I think you'll find them to be quite meditative - on what I don't really know. He complains. Get the fuck out of here (actually meant to say that out loud but he's reading over my shoulder to make sure I've marketed him as much as he has me). Quid pro quo is his catchphrase, that capitalistic prick. And he calls himself African! Shame. He's apparently Kenyan (cool) and is of the Taita tribe (doubly cool - except I think he only says these things because he saw a photo of my sisters - which is silly because they're not Kenyan at all). He likes the eldest who just turned 18 (joy, he says until I point out that she was 16 in the picture). Of course, now he doesn't like her - had more to do with my carefully veiled threats concerning my sisters than anything else, I think. Introductions are in order. I've got these three cutesy-wutesy (they will hate that! and I will never admit that I said that ever in public!) sisters. There's Sophie, Marjorie and Angel (was my dad's turn to name the kids - my mom added an 'a' at the end of her name in her birth certificate, so she's technically Angela). I love these kids to bits! ahem. Moving on.
Chaos broke out in Kenya - again. But there's this pal of mine from Chitown who also happens to be Kenyan (but that usually means something else when you're African-American). She's in Kenya right now and she says that it's not as bad as the media agencies here (here being the US of A) are reporting. It's hard to believe her. The pictures look pretty graphic and I'm pretty sure the photojournalist was much closer to the scenes of violence than she was. But lest we go blaming people for this problem, lets think back a few weeks. And let's change the setting to Mozambique (lovely place. spent about a year in Maputo back when I was yet to be me...have been back a couple of times and it didn't seem to change until a few years back, now there's all these buildings going up all over the place). Any way so in Mozambique, it's floods that's disrupting elections. Natural causes! So the conclusion? Africa's problems are largely natural problems!! Naturally, human beings are a natural phenomena. Remember dat!
I'm out. Peace (literally - wait, is it a verb?)
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
quick update
I figured you'd probably wonder about the title - well it's pretty much self-explanatory. so there.
No, in all seriousness, it is something that reflects my experiences. I've lived in African cities all my life and I currently live in New York (City of the World?) which everyone falls in love with sometime. and while I don't envision myself living here for the rest of my life (Africa - she calls for me in the middle of the night), I'll be here for awhile. I'd like to think of Africa as needing (and indeed having) a new breed of post-modern leaders, artists, citizens etc. Of course this will be a personal blog and so reflect my new understanding of my beloved continent in the context of the most quintessential (arguable, no doubt) city. I hope in due time to have more than one contributor to this blog and hopefully that network will extend to other cities in the world and, especially, in Africa. While this blog will indeed focus on the African perspective or the African diaspora, it is my hope that it will reflect our common bonds. Well, that's it in a nutshell - doesn't really explain much about the title or the nature of this blog or anything. Suffice it to say, its complicated and will hopefully be elucidated as time goes by. That's my more humane, more optimistic side of things.
The other side thinks that this blog, its owner and its readers (currently numbering zero) should just...
No, in all seriousness, it is something that reflects my experiences. I've lived in African cities all my life and I currently live in New York (City of the World?) which everyone falls in love with sometime. and while I don't envision myself living here for the rest of my life (Africa - she calls for me in the middle of the night), I'll be here for awhile. I'd like to think of Africa as needing (and indeed having) a new breed of post-modern leaders, artists, citizens etc. Of course this will be a personal blog and so reflect my new understanding of my beloved continent in the context of the most quintessential (arguable, no doubt) city. I hope in due time to have more than one contributor to this blog and hopefully that network will extend to other cities in the world and, especially, in Africa. While this blog will indeed focus on the African perspective or the African diaspora, it is my hope that it will reflect our common bonds. Well, that's it in a nutshell - doesn't really explain much about the title or the nature of this blog or anything. Suffice it to say, its complicated and will hopefully be elucidated as time goes by. That's my more humane, more optimistic side of things.
The other side thinks that this blog, its owner and its readers (currently numbering zero) should just...
so...now what?
I've been thinking 'bout starting a blog for a while. the problem's - you know- is this like a personal diary thing or do i want people to see it? Well, obviously putting it up on this random blogger thing means I want an audience - which is OK seeing that I'm an aspiring writer or storyteller or both or something. Reminds me of this song I like by BlocParty called The Prayer. It basically questions our desire for fame and why it often seems wrong to want to be famous. But why should it? You know. All these impulses we have, they're human, right? By that virtue they should be OK. Of course, the counter-argument is that some impulses - human as they may seem- are clearly not meant to be pursued. It's like some people get all violent when threatened and while killing someone in self-defense is excusable by courts of all kinds (both the official ones and general human consensus) , taking a life is still a huge fucking deal, pardon the French, and really shouldn't be sanctioned by anyone. But who's going to stand and wait to die? Executionees is my guess, right? Deathrow bullshit!
I haven't been too clear in my argument, I'm afraid, but the point is, what makes certain impulses acceptable and others not? I'm coming off as some metaphysical philosophizing bullshitter but who gives a fuck? (I just threw that in there to make myself sound less pretentious; a very pretentious-like move don't you think? - and I did it again!)
Any way, I'm new at this art and money thing and I guess being on the brink of my career, the question of credibility looms large especially since making money off your art - something that I think all artists aspire to - is apparently selling out. Should I go all out and try and make as much money as I can ? Of course I should! - but that would mean losing something in the 'personally driven independent innovation' department, right? or maybe not, we'll see. The whole commercial vs. art thing as well as the mainstream (popular/ famous) vs. underground (obscure - independent) thing is clearly at play but i wouldn't want to go into all that just yet, for several reasons - the first being that right now, nobody knows this blog exists 'cept me and it'll take a while (maybe never) for that to change. But it's all good - at least I'm writing, something which I've been struggling to do this winter. The other reason is that this is my first post. I've got to say something about myself or something, right?.
This actually points to another problem I've been having with starting a blog (or anything for that matter)- you (or at least, I) always have the big picture in mind and sometimes I just wish I was there already...but you've got to start somewhere. I mean, I'd hope that I had a few (read 50 or so) posts before I could refer my friends and family to this blog (and then hope that word of mouF would spread this shit to kingdom come - the fame thing again!), but all I've got is this first one and I'm writing like this hoping that somebody will read it but maybe it'll just be me 'til kingdom come.
Anyway, back to myself (like all this hasn't been about me, huh?). I guess the best thing to say now is that I can only write a bit of myself everyday so hopefully you'll get to know me - my likes, my dislikes, favourite books, movies etc as life goes on (and as I document my own - I always feel like saying mine own). As of right now I'm reading this kick-ass comic (see, now you know I like comics) called DMZ by Brian Wood and Riccardo Burchielli. Basically, the United States of A. is in a second civil war and Manhattan is the DeMilitarized Zone between the Free States of America (FSA) and the USA (right, just so you know, I currently live in New York, New York, New York, New York, New York Ci-ty - a riff off Alicia Keys, sexiest woman alive and by sexy I don't mean just her looks). Any way, in DMZ, this random photojournalist intern gets stuck in Manhattan when he accompanies this Pulitzer-prize winning journalist into this crazy war frontier. Their copter's shot down so all he can do is survive. But after meeting some people who saved his equipment from damage, he starts documenting stuff and sending it back to his news agency. It basically takes all the crazy stuff about the current political situation and places it right in the heart of the source. It's the press and its malleability, it's the two sides of the war that are equally fanatic, it's the way the casus belli just seems to vanish after several years of war - no one really knowing what they are fighting for and it's the civilians caught in between who are not only surviving but etching out a thriving existence in the middle of a political war that nobody really understands. It's really well done and hopefully one day I'll be able to write something as angry and poignant as this. That's my future. Here's some history.
A few things 'bout me - I'm African (as my title would suggest). At least that's how I'd like to think of myself. My name's Taita Rakotomanana. Yes I know that's quite a mouthful, you may call me T - most people do. But here's a little history of my name (names?). My birth parents were both African and are unfortunately both dead - happened when I was still a kid, barely registered so don't worry 'bout me. Any way, my father was from Madagascar hence my second name while my mother was from Kenya (which makes the election violence that just ensued a little unpalatable - but at least it's died down; now if only those crazy power-hungry leaders can sit down and come up with peaceable solutions). My first name is the name of the ethnic group my mother belonged to - kinda sounds like a girl's name but I love it and will be passing it on to my youngest daughter - if I ever have one...distant future (I'm turning 22 soon). Sadly, I've never been to any of these two countries, but one day... So, these two love birds were both in Mozambique during the civil war. My father was part of the peace keeping forces sent by the OAU (Organization of African Unity now AU - African Union) while my mother was a nurse, I think. Well, she worked for Red Cross. Any way, they met and made me. Never really formalized the union (as in marriage) but what's more formal than me? - I'm going to write a novel about them someday. My own little homage to two of the greatest people in the world, according to my parents. Any way, they died in some raid or something and I was adopted by my current family who knew them back in Mozambique. My dad's South African, which is where I've lived most of my 'adult' life. Spent the last 7 years there. My mom's from the UK but I've only been there once, and then only for a couple of months. I didn't really like it there but I was 9 or 10. My mom hasn't been back since. She doesn't like talking about her side of the family so there's little I know about it. So, Taita Rakotomanana is my name but you wouldn't guess what my surname is. ADONIS. Yeah! Of Venus and Adonis - which is, apparently the line my mom used to pick up my dad - talk about lame and egocentric. I mean she was comparing herself to Venus!! Which, she kinda is. She's 2 years older than my dad! Lucky my dad wasn't too familiar with Shakespeare, then. (You should hear him quote Hamlet today - what women do to us!!).
Enough said, I think, for today. Hopefully you'll all tune in as often as I write. Well then, until next time. (Wish this was a radio show or something...signing off would be so much cooler!)
I haven't been too clear in my argument, I'm afraid, but the point is, what makes certain impulses acceptable and others not? I'm coming off as some metaphysical philosophizing bullshitter but who gives a fuck? (I just threw that in there to make myself sound less pretentious; a very pretentious-like move don't you think? - and I did it again!)
Any way, I'm new at this art and money thing and I guess being on the brink of my career, the question of credibility looms large especially since making money off your art - something that I think all artists aspire to - is apparently selling out. Should I go all out and try and make as much money as I can ? Of course I should! - but that would mean losing something in the 'personally driven independent innovation' department, right? or maybe not, we'll see. The whole commercial vs. art thing as well as the mainstream (popular/ famous) vs. underground (obscure - independent) thing is clearly at play but i wouldn't want to go into all that just yet, for several reasons - the first being that right now, nobody knows this blog exists 'cept me and it'll take a while (maybe never) for that to change. But it's all good - at least I'm writing, something which I've been struggling to do this winter. The other reason is that this is my first post. I've got to say something about myself or something, right?.
This actually points to another problem I've been having with starting a blog (or anything for that matter)- you (or at least, I) always have the big picture in mind and sometimes I just wish I was there already...but you've got to start somewhere. I mean, I'd hope that I had a few (read 50 or so) posts before I could refer my friends and family to this blog (and then hope that word of mouF would spread this shit to kingdom come - the fame thing again!), but all I've got is this first one and I'm writing like this hoping that somebody will read it but maybe it'll just be me 'til kingdom come.
Anyway, back to myself (like all this hasn't been about me, huh?). I guess the best thing to say now is that I can only write a bit of myself everyday so hopefully you'll get to know me - my likes, my dislikes, favourite books, movies etc as life goes on (and as I document my own - I always feel like saying mine own). As of right now I'm reading this kick-ass comic (see, now you know I like comics) called DMZ by Brian Wood and Riccardo Burchielli. Basically, the United States of A. is in a second civil war and Manhattan is the DeMilitarized Zone between the Free States of America (FSA) and the USA (right, just so you know, I currently live in New York, New York, New York, New York, New York Ci-ty - a riff off Alicia Keys, sexiest woman alive and by sexy I don't mean just her looks). Any way, in DMZ, this random photojournalist intern gets stuck in Manhattan when he accompanies this Pulitzer-prize winning journalist into this crazy war frontier. Their copter's shot down so all he can do is survive. But after meeting some people who saved his equipment from damage, he starts documenting stuff and sending it back to his news agency. It basically takes all the crazy stuff about the current political situation and places it right in the heart of the source. It's the press and its malleability, it's the two sides of the war that are equally fanatic, it's the way the casus belli just seems to vanish after several years of war - no one really knowing what they are fighting for and it's the civilians caught in between who are not only surviving but etching out a thriving existence in the middle of a political war that nobody really understands. It's really well done and hopefully one day I'll be able to write something as angry and poignant as this. That's my future. Here's some history.
A few things 'bout me - I'm African (as my title would suggest). At least that's how I'd like to think of myself. My name's Taita Rakotomanana. Yes I know that's quite a mouthful, you may call me T - most people do. But here's a little history of my name (names?). My birth parents were both African and are unfortunately both dead - happened when I was still a kid, barely registered so don't worry 'bout me. Any way, my father was from Madagascar hence my second name while my mother was from Kenya (which makes the election violence that just ensued a little unpalatable - but at least it's died down; now if only those crazy power-hungry leaders can sit down and come up with peaceable solutions). My first name is the name of the ethnic group my mother belonged to - kinda sounds like a girl's name but I love it and will be passing it on to my youngest daughter - if I ever have one...distant future (I'm turning 22 soon). Sadly, I've never been to any of these two countries, but one day... So, these two love birds were both in Mozambique during the civil war. My father was part of the peace keeping forces sent by the OAU (Organization of African Unity now AU - African Union) while my mother was a nurse, I think. Well, she worked for Red Cross. Any way, they met and made me. Never really formalized the union (as in marriage) but what's more formal than me? - I'm going to write a novel about them someday. My own little homage to two of the greatest people in the world, according to my parents. Any way, they died in some raid or something and I was adopted by my current family who knew them back in Mozambique. My dad's South African, which is where I've lived most of my 'adult' life. Spent the last 7 years there. My mom's from the UK but I've only been there once, and then only for a couple of months. I didn't really like it there but I was 9 or 10. My mom hasn't been back since. She doesn't like talking about her side of the family so there's little I know about it. So, Taita Rakotomanana is my name but you wouldn't guess what my surname is. ADONIS. Yeah! Of Venus and Adonis - which is, apparently the line my mom used to pick up my dad - talk about lame and egocentric. I mean she was comparing herself to Venus!! Which, she kinda is. She's 2 years older than my dad! Lucky my dad wasn't too familiar with Shakespeare, then. (You should hear him quote Hamlet today - what women do to us!!).
Enough said, I think, for today. Hopefully you'll all tune in as often as I write. Well then, until next time. (Wish this was a radio show or something...signing off would be so much cooler!)
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