STONE COLD HAVEN

One of the most offensive comments I’ve ever heard was “he said if we paid £40 extra each, we’ll get into the VIP section”. This was one of my friends in a taxi feeling excited about getting off the phone with an “insider” from the club we were going to. Up to that point, I really hadn’t taken notice of where we were going clubbing, I was more interested with what we were going to eat first because I was hungry.

“£40?!”, I exclaimed in shock, “to get into a pub in South East London? You can get a blowjob for £40”.

“That’s for a VIP pass” the argument followed, “And it’s not a pub, it’s a club”.

I’ll come back to this VIP thing in a bit. It had been a great Saturday that started with us drinking at midday. It’s been a while, but I applied for my overnight visa from er indoors and it was duly granted to allow me to attend a Christmas drink up after a game with my Arsenal supporting friends. Even she knew there was absolutely no chance expecting me back home on Saturday night and promptly granted the visa.

So we sang and made merry, and even thought of opening a book to bet on how many of us would actually make it to the stadium. It didn’t matter that the pub was literally a few minutes’ walk from the Emirates, 5 pm got to us quicker than we could order enough pints. It’s one of those things that always gets you – being in your seat before kick-off is just an elusive bastard.

We quickly got into the cheering rhythm as the first half flew past – with one of my friends who was there for the first time (he supports Liverpool unfortunately) spending most of the time being mesmerized by the magnificence of the Emirates stadium. Seriously, this guy was taking photos of the pitch and the players instead of enjoying the football match. We excused the poor bastard – it was his first time in a proper stadium, one of the best in the world.

The result was disappointing, but I’ll take a point after a European weekday game with our boys coming back with a late equalizer. Everyone was still in a party mood as we headed back to the pub. Those who did not have overnight visas ended up having the traditional ‘one for the road’, and making mental notes for the next time – “make sure your missus sanctions an overnight stay”.

Fast forward a few hours later, and we had been roped into visiting an African club in South East London. When I heard the driver in the taxi being told the address, I said there’s no African club anywhere near that road and it’s a bloody long road with hundreds of nightspots. An African club is not one of them.

So imagine my surprise when they said we need to pay extra for a VIP pass. You see, I have a problem in principle. This whole “VIP status” in clubs or entertainment venues is just taken too far. It makes no business sense whatsoever. Why create second class citizens and try to segregate people in a place that is a shit venue in the first place.

If you’re going to make me a VIP – it better be VIP. Don’t try and entice me with a section of the pub with a few fluffy seats and a huge ugly fuck off bouncer built like a brick shithouse stopping people from entering the fluffy seated area.

I’m still listening to the same dodgy music, still smelling the same sweaty bodies like every other fucker in the pub, fighting like everyone else to get a pint at the bar, using the same dodgy and smelly toilets with the same lollipop selling, chewing gum peddling toilet attendant that’s’ smiling at everyone. If you’re going to make me VIP, make sure you have heated toilet seats, a surround sound system playing jazz fm, a toilet that can wash my ass with soapy water, and blow dry all the cracks and curves that nature endowed on me. (more…)

When chatting to a good friend on new year’s day, I asked how her daughter was, and at first, it seemed that the question had dampened her spirits.

“Darius, she’s in secondary school now”, was the subdued answer and it was quickly followed by a resigned “Dude – it’s official, we’re old”.

But even after we both cracked out laughing, the thought lingered and you begin to take stock. I guess that the main change in my life over the last several years is that some things have become more important than others and you tend to prioritize better and focus on what’s important. What hasn’t changed though is the ability for nostalgia to hit you hard enough to make you home sick especially with the sub zero temperatures and snow storms that box you in the house and makes you ask that dreaded “what am I really doing here” question.

It made me think of the good old days growing up and enjoying some of the simplest and most cherishable moments life will ever present.

Don’t know about some readers up in here, but there were times when 5 bob could take you a long long way back in the day. My dad used to give us 5 bob a day and that would cover bus fare to and from school, a soda and a snack of some sort (usually quarter bread bandika) for lunch, and you’d still have left over change to buy roast maize with pili pili or patcos to carry you through the evening.

Long before the advent of satellite TV with over 20 exclusive movie channels, local entertainment back then was fronted by public service open air movie services like Tazama Mobile Cinema pitched up in an open field once a month to bring to you the blockbuster of the day. They had this strange habit though, of commentating the movie as it went on in a manner that was as equally funny as it was annoying.

Speaking of entertainment, there were classic shows that would definitely be in my DVD collection right now – From Vioja Mahakamani and the comical antics of the residents of Matopeni, to Vitimbi and the real celebrities like Othorong’ong’o and Masanduku (forget all these latter day celebs who think they’re celebs because…well, anything makes you a celeb these days). There were shows like Tushauriane that were banned outright because they showed a couple embracing and the chap started unblousing the girl. Or even the days when we didn’t have mobile phones and you had to walk a kilometre to the nearest phone box where there was a massive queue of all manner of people – and you’d be mad when your ‘girlfriend to be’ plays hard to get and pulls that stunt of asking you to call later because she’s watching No One But You or The Rich Also Cry. The ungrateful heifer – after all those hours you’ve waited in line to make that call….LOL!

(more…)

In the 1988 documentary film Michael Jackson- The Legend Continues, the narrator, actor James Earl Jones, aptly describes the fascination and mystique about Michael Jackson’s collective body of performances as a “Presentation of Showtime”. The only argument that can be levelled against this description of Michael Jackson is that his whole life was a presentation of Showtime, and not just the magic he unleashed on stage or through his signature vocals that brought to life his music that continues to transcend generations of millions of fans around the world.

It’s hard to truly appreciate both the magnetism and the reality of such a statement until you personally experience the magic of an individual who has most definitely earned the right to be considered the greatest entertainer on earth. Not many people had the privilege of witnessing in person, the phenomenon that is “Whacko Jacko”, and for those who did, they will continue to bear witness to a magnificent talent and a consummate professional who despite being deeply troubled, arguably gave up any semblance of a normal life to provide the world with the gift of music that is destined to be immortal in its truest sense.

What can you say about such a person? The first thing that comes to mind for me is the sadness this brings and the profound irony that in death, Michael Jackson is literally uniting the world as hundreds of millions of fans and non-fans alike from all corners of the world, mourn the passing of the greatest superstar we will ever know, yet Michael died a very sad, lonely and broken man.

A lot has been written out there about every aspect of the saga of Michael’s life and death, and as a shameless fan of the man and his music, I would be lying if I said I haven’t been affected by his demise. Perhaps there’s nothing as therapeutic as expressing in my own words, my experiences and how the man, his life and his music influenced me. Call it my own little Stone Cold tribute to the enigma that is Whacko Jacko!

(more…)

Seeing that folks are all getting lovey dovey and using every excuse under the sun to try and get some for Valentines day, I thought it might be good to get into the groove with a love song selection – or as they call it in the maze plantation, shika shika time selection.

In no particular order…I hope you enjoy what I’d play for you and your partner if I was your DJ for tonight….

1. My my my by Mr. Johnny Gill

Without a doubt, one of the best talents of the legends of love music…and a nice strong voice to boot. We need another legend to take over from Luther Vandross so hope he permanently comes out of retirement. This song reminds me of many moons ago when my girlfriend at the time loved Johnny Gill so much she said it was so bad that she could cut his head off and put it in the freezer just so she could see him every day. Needless to say, we did part ways…LOL!

2. Have you ever by Brandy

What a voice? This young lady will top my list of all time favourite vocalists any time.

3. Rock me tonight (for old times sake) by Mr. Freddie Jackson

Now how can this song not do it for you. I tell you, panties have fallen around the world coz’ of this tune. Good ol’ Freddie.

4. He is by Heather Headley

Ladies, if you’ve got a good man who loves you, this song is one to dedicate to him. Make sure you’re singing the lyrics out loud to him if you want to stroke his ego…just for Valentines day only, otherwise he’ll get used to it.

5. For you by Kenny Lattimore

Definitely a contender for the Capital FM (Nairobi) “Lie like a man” gag….any guy who sings the lyrics of this song to a woman on Valentines day (as opposed to any other regular day) is probably lying like a nonsense…but hey, if it gets you into her panties (shrug) do what you have to do to make her happy on Valentines day.

6. I love me some him by Toni Braxton

Good ol’ Toni. Always dependable when it comes to unleashing some serious love songs. She’s got a dirty mind too if she wants to…but a good old fashioned slow jam to get you into the mood anyway.

7. Last night by Az Yet

Plucked right out of the Nutty Professor Soundtrack – without a doubt a song that doesn’t need explanation or one that masks intent with mob mooshy lyrics. It simply talks about being inside of you…go figure….And by the way, its intresting to note that President Obama’s “Chief of Stuff” (or his bodyman) has the same name Reggie Love, as Eddie Murphy’s alter ego in the Nutty Professor movie…but I digress. Last night it was.

8. Stroke you up by Changing faces

A favourite from back in the days of my mis-spent youth. Lots of memories from the days when R Kelly and Keith Sweat were in their element as producers…The sort of song that used to give guys boners hadharani.

9. Someone to love by Jon B featuring Babyface

Without a doubt one of my fav songs…and another one that reminds me of the more romantic days of my mis-spent youth and self perceived prowess with them of the fairer sex. A good tune to romance to.

10. Red light special by TLC

This song is just outright dirty…LOL! Decent enough if you’re not really paying attention – but with lyrics like “I’ll let you touch if you wanna go down, and I’ll let you go further if you take the south route”…yeah, further to the red light special – go figure.

Now if you don’t get laid with all these props on Valentines day…..Hhhhmmmm!

So I was scanning through the channels on TV late last night waiting for the news. I wouldn’t have naturally done this save for the commercials on the Sky Sports News Channel which I was avoiding like a nonsense.

Lo and behold, there was another reality TV disaster, this time in the form of the colourful heir head Paris Hilton, apparently hosting her own show to pick her next British Best friend. In my spirit of being an equal opportunity hater, I should state here that I had consigned similar reality shows like Tyra’s America’s next top model in the queue of the contenders for filing in the section between shit and syphilis. Paris here however, is challenging me to consider taking Tyra seriously and give her model show the benefit of the doubt.

I don’t have anything against Tyra or the many hosts of the woeful reality TV shows, its just that the whole frigging concept of subjecting desperate teenagers and young girls who want their 15 minutes of fame to some tired, questionable and subjective hoop jumping is a retarded concept. For one, these are more often than not vulnerable youngsters with the spot light thrust on them and probably end up more traumatized at the end of the show for having exposed themselves so badly without even realising it. Secondly, I’m yet to actually see the fruition of the vanity of the experience of the show. Pray tell someone, do these folks actually get anywhere in life afterwards – in their chosen career path anyway?

I guess I was just intrigued of how ITV programming bosses are desperate for ideas or ratings they’d unleash Ms. Hilton to the British public. What happened in America??? Or rather, couldn’t ITV figure out American networks were never going to let this ‘Paris British Best Friend’ nonsense actually see the light of day?

And who are these girls who actually even involve their families in desperately pretending to be who they’re obviously not in order to win a prize to become Paris’ new best friend in Britain….LOL! She must have pissed off Nicole Richie badly to need a screening show to pick another party mate. And these British girls are actually crying out loud because they’re being booted off the show following a desperate rant and attempt by Paris to pull off the suspense of Donald Trump or Alan Sugar’s Apprentice firings.

You know, there’s a famous saying which suggests that its better to keep quiet and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt. Last night was a classic example of the application of this rule of common sense. But I guess sometimes its unreasonable to expect common sense to be a common characteristic.