The Late Train

Hate them all you will - and we will - but you've got to give it to London Underground; commuters of the grey cloud city have been handed a mother of a 'late pass'. We freely tap our snooze buttons; take time to prepare our cups of tea; indulge in generous helpings of BBC Breakfast; wait for trains less congested to arrive, and even stop by stores en route for doughnuts and coffee, knowing fully well that if we are late to the office, no real explanation is required.

'Sorry I'm late boss, the trains were a nightmare.'

And they probably were, at some probable time, on one of the probable lines you probably should have been on a lot earlier.

What's so sweet about this setup is that everyone from the new recruit to the office veteran has been screwed-a-plenty by our nation's national treasure of a public transport service – God bless our Queen. The phrase, 'Sorry I'm late boss, the trains were a nightmare.' does not raise alarms of deceit, but instead rings with familiarity.

Pick a card, any card; someone was taken ill on a train, someone was found under a train, or someone has pulled a passenger alarm on a train. You mavericks of unrelenting disturbance, I say thank you on behalf of London City. For on our mornings of gross lethargy and disregard for time, your past endeavours can be recalled promptly to generate an often fabricated nightmare of a journey.

Without taking the gloss off of our heroes in blue, there are two additional saving graces for any late employee:

Firstly, it doesn’t matter how late you arrive at work, as long as a departmental colleague arrives later. If you do happen notice a few absent colleagues, don’t be too hasty to pull your ‘Train Card’ (these lose value with excessive use). Instead, take your seat as if you’re 10 minutes early. You might as well be. The only person who’s actually late is the last to arrive in the office. In fact, even if you arrive 5 minutes early you’re still late if you’re the last to arrive. It’s office law.

The second is more of a desperate manoeuvre than a grace. You’re late, and you know it, but it’s Thursday and you’ve already used two ‘Train Cards’ this week. Unless your travel route makes the news – you’re now desperately praying for a crash or power outage – you’re screwed, and all recent displays of tardiness will be brought to the table. There’s only one thing for it, Krispy Kremes . . . for everyone!

More often than not this could all be avoided by resisting the urge to hit that all too easy snooze button. That snooze button which only serves the purpose of multiplying the number of times you’re angrily woken up in the morning.

But in reality, who really wants to be early for work anyway? The cleaning lady and the milkman, that’s who.

A to the . . .

The Problem With Smartphone Users

...and by ‘users’ I mean addicts. If you have ever tried to have a conversation with a smartphone user then it’s likely you’ll know exactly where I’m heading with this one.

It’s also likely you have a smartphone.
And likely you think that it makes you cool.
But more than likely it just annoys everyone else.

Yes, the smartphone is indeed the technological manifestation of that nerd in school who knew way too much and really should have been bumped up a year. His hand was raised for every question; he did his science homework; he was reading newspapers during lunchtime while the boys played football. The teachers loved him, the girls thought he was weird, and the guys just wanted to punch his face in.

Universally, smartphone users tend to have a knack for involving their smart(ass)phone in every conversation. The two main culprits are uncoincidently also the market’s two leading competitors; BlackBerry and Apple’s iPhone.

BlackBerry Users – The Over Nurturing Mother

With their phones reaping in instant messages, texts, emails, facebook alerts and much more from who knows where, it’s no wonder the baby won’t stop crying. Instead of giving it a good slap or dare I say putting it on silent, BlackBerry users continuously cut you off mid-sentence to attend to each individual beep and rumble as if waiting to hear from Supernanny herself. What’s worse is that they do it with a cringe worthy reticent grin on their faces. The face a mother might give her child the first few times they look up and splutter, ‘mama’, completely blown away as if each time was the first.

iPhone Users – The Proud Father

With an app for almost everything – literally – iPhone users see every conversation as a platform on which they can show the world what new (and often useless) app they have acquired. Congratulations, you’re long faced child is now walking, talking, reading, writing, graduating, working or getting married. We’re very pleased for you, but can we now get back to the matter at hand?

iPhone users fail to grasp that those of us who don’t own iPhones don’t particularly care that if you shake your phone hard enough it will lead you to the nearest Starbucks. Go dunk your handset in a skinny latte.

World War 3g

It’s the ever perpetuating Apple v BlackBerry clash all over again. And once again it’s a bout that can’t be settled in the 12 billed rounds. I would leave it to the good old public to decide but general elections and X-Factor competitions strongly suggest otherwise. My scorecard (the only one that counts) is in, and it couldn’t be any closer. Apple’s iPhone couldn’t take this on its own merit, but thanks to the supposedly ‘already revolutionary’ iPad – that I haven’t seen a single person with – I have to give it to them.

Years of research, development and design was put into making the iPhone the most complete and compact handset on the market, so what did Apple then go and do? They threw buckets of cash into making a bigger and more obnoxious version! Now not only do Apple have two products that can seemingly do everything, they have a much larger one which is utterly impossible to ignore and will no doubt be filled by it’s users with millions of apps that will bore the rest of us stiff. Congratulations Apple, you win again.

With patience I await the unveiling of a BlackBerry twelve times the size of my Bold 9700.

A to the . . .

Why Is A Metrosexual?

It’s a question I’ve given thought to for as long as people have tried to convince me that pink is indeed my colour. Contrary to common clichés my disregard isn’t a matter of discomfort with my sexuality. My Oyster card simply doesn’t cover the bandwagon.

A broad misconception of the metrosexual is that he is the grey area between the hetero and homosexual male; I find this reasoning unfounded. I am also indifferent to ideas that are heavily anchored by the metrosexual’s fashion sense. Are we so quick to forget the skinny jeans and tight T-Shirts of Grease’s T-Birds, and Danny’s compulsion to ensure his hair was always kept in righteous order? Replace the leather jacket with a cardigan (which Danny eventually did) and we have today’s man.

So why then is a metrosexual? Well it’s more to do with social evolution than androgyny. And knowing how narrow minded we men can be, would it be so far fetched to pitch that this wave of image consciousness and liberal mind states is all a bid to improve our chances of getting laid? To swipe a term from Neil Strauss’ No. 1 bestseller The Game (the autobiography of a pick up artist), it appears that the metro is on a twenty-four hour peacocking binge.

“PEACOCK-verb; ‘to dress in loud clothing or with flashy accoutrements in order to get attention from women…”

The metro’s uniform is of importance and I do not wish to downplay this aspect. Their brash splashes of pastels and flashy accoutrements are arguably as noteworthy to their identity as black apparel is to Goths. The fashion codes may allow you to point out stereotypes and sub-cultures, but it doesn’t provide a clear indication of what they’re all about.

You see, this most certainly is a man’s world, but it wouldn’t be nothing without a woman. The further we drift from the creation of fire, the wheel, and the brilliance of sliced bread, the more this becomes undeniable. The liberal perception of the metrosexual stems from his acceptance of female independence in the Western world. A man’s car no longer holds defining value as it’s now more likely a woman will have her own. If a fight breaks out she’ll have her earrings off and hair tied back before a punch is landed. And what can he buy her that she can’t get herself . . . in the correct size with matching accessories?

It was once our differences that drew men and women together. As these differences have gradually dissolved men have sought alternative and less primitive methods of snaring their prey. Metrosexuality in this case is an expression of the similarities between men and women, simultaneously associating itself with stereotypes of homosexuality. After all, if you can’t beat them join them.

All is not lost for the macho, macho man. You’d lose a fair bit of money betting against a woman’s yearn for a man in uniform, hard hats, or Diet Coke breaks. The metro’s cutting edge is that he picks and chooses from the general consensus of what women want. He can keep the muscles and drop the dirty nails; the Timberland’s are traded in for plimsolls.

Modern men, regardless the colours of our shirts are dropping chauvinistic tendencies for more open-minded principles. And no one is waving the flag with more vigor than the metrosexual.



A to the . . .

Ak-Man’s Top 5 Reasons To Get A Job

Who wants some free money?

OK, it’s not totally free, you have to ‘work’ for it . . . well actually, if your fortunate enough, you just have to turn up to work. You don’t even have to arrive there on time.

“Of course profits drive most companies to get the most activity out its employees for the least amount of payment that they can get away with. So it would serve an employee well to get the most amount of payment for the least amount of work. A balance must be struck between employer and employee.”

– Eugene D. Gibson (An Islander’s Outlook Of The World)

If you already have a job, GREAT, you’re halfway there . . . just try not to leave your monitor exposed while you read this. Most of us are being overworked and underpaid, so I’m about to reveal my Top 5 Reasons To Get A Job.

5. LUNCH TIME

Some employees are fortunate enough to get paid for their lunch breaks . . . how great is that? You could almost call it a free lunch . . . almost. Others are not so fortunate but it’s okay. If they give you an hour’s lunch, leave 10mins earlier and come back 10mins later. That’s 20mins of free money. Now sit at your desk and settle down for another 10mins . . . that’s 30mins worth of cash you didn’t ‘work’ for . . . welcome to my world.

4. HOME TIME

Simply the best part of the working day. You’ve been looking forward to this since your alarm went off in the morning. Unless you work in a small office environment, or have to clock in and out like Fred Flintstone, you really have no excuse for not slipping out 15 – 30mins early. You aren’t chicken are you? I thought you wanted some of that free money. Get up and stroll out as if you are supposed to be leaving that early.

Always have someone else to blame (who isn’t around) if you get caught by a superior.

3. SICK PAY

There are several reasons to take ‘sick days’ . . . try not to waste them when you are actually sick. Ever notice how so people turn up to work feeling like crap? Coughing all over the place with red eyes and running noses? It’s because they don’t want to waste their sick days in bed with no one to look after them. Take sick days when you’re feeling well, that way you’ll get paid to recover from a hangover, watch TV and play computer games . . . or even go to an interview for a job that pays more and requires you to work less.

2. HOLIDAY PAY

Quite similar to sick pay, but offers less spontaneity. I have a higher regard for holiday pay because if you’re fortunate enough, you may actually be going on a holiday. Somewhere nice where the inhabitants don’t understand what you’re saying, and you’re never sure if you received the correct change from the shops. Your employer can’t phone you with annoying questions or ask you to come in for a half day. You’ll return to money in your bank, that’s money you earned by enjoying yourself in another country and not thinking or work at all.

1. Turn Up And Do Nothing

As ‘they’ say, it’s the small things in life. The Number One reason to get a job is that you can get paid a days work and do nothing but . . .

Take A Power Naps – Lean back on your chair, close your eyes and catch up on some of the sleep you lost the night before. Alternatively, fold your arms on top of your desk and use it as a rest for your head.

Make Personal Calls – Not only are you costing the company money by not doing your job, you’re also running up their phone bill.

Have A Snack Break – Isn’t it funny how no one will question you if you’re sitting at your desk eating a choc bar. Only a fool would ask you what you’re up to. Totally acceptable in the workplace.

Check Your Emails – If you don’t know how to do this, you really shouldn’t be working in an office environment . . . get yourself a McDonalds application form and learn the value of an hour.

Chat To Your Friends via Instant Messenger – Compare who’s wasted more of the day; make social arrangements; discuss prior arrangements; moan about having a job; send each other cool web links to check out.

Check Out Cool Web Links – http://islanderoutlook.blogspot.com/

I’m sure you can think of several other ways to escape working while at work (pretend to go to the toilet), there are loads. If you’re really bored, try and calculate how much of your working day you actually spend working. You might be surprised by how much free money you’re stacking up.

“So it would serve an employee well to get the most amount of payment for the least amount of work.”

- Eugene D. Gibson (An Islander’s Outlook Of The World)

A to the . . .

Jump On It

Is it ever really too late to jump onto a fad?

Of course it is! You don’t want to be that weirdo on the bus wearing a bandana and playing with a Tamogotchi. Timing is of course the biggest factor as most of these trends are either seasonal or simply the flavour of the month. Catch on too late and you would have missed ‘the movement’.

Many come and go; they’re typically started by trendsetters like me, or resourceful folks like me. Not one to blow my own trumpet (all the time), but I did introduce you all to the T-Shirt and Jeans combo . . . and that’s still running strong till this day.

I don’t want any of you to look back and think ‘where was I when that took off?’ It doesn’t have to be that way. Here are some bandwagons that are moving along nicely . . . feel free to jump on.

Facebook

I’m an active member of this online community. This is because unlike most of the others out there which are used (and let’s be realistic) by lonely people who want to get laid or have no real friends, Facebook is designed to bring you closer to the people you already know. This is what makes Facebook unique . . . and a reason why a lot of employees are on their final warning.

With Facebook you can’t simple search people and have a good rummage through their profile and pictures. You can only do this if you are added to the individuals ‘friends’ list.

You may also find Facebook useful for finding old friends. The privacy settings on Facebook means that the majority of those singed use their real name and not an online alias such as ‘SEXY_BABE_69’ or ‘WELL_HUNG’.

I’ve found long and short lost classmates and former work colleagues. It’s a worthy bandwagon to jump on . . . and its recent news coverage adds too its prestige.

Heroes

Television, as we all should know is getting worse by the day. Fortunately there are a few gems out there worthy of attention. The latest one to grab me is Heroes. I’m pretty late in getting involved in this, but I’m glad I have. What a great show so far. I’ve watched the first five episodes of Season One and I’m pretty much hooked. I’m in catch up mode however as they are already onto Season Two.

Heroes has a lot to offer, I can see it running for quite sometime. In a few more years it’ll be one of those shows that used to be great until they ran out of ideas but kept making more episodes. At present it’s an exciting show which meets its potential and raises many questions you’ll want answered.

You can catch up on the fun here:

http://www.cucirca.com/2007/05/27/watch-heroes-online/

Expect exciting cliff-hangers, attractive females (well only two so far) and a storyline that’ll keep you up all night . . . ‘just one more episode.’

8 Min Abs

Since the ‘gym’ movement is still in affect, here’s a product I won’t stop raving on about.

OK, I’ve never actually been overweight. But as a man of vanity I must recommend this DVD to one and all who like to stare at themselves in the mirror with a self satisfied grin.

This is pretty much the ULTIMATE abdominal workout. I jumped on this movement sometime last year and saw great results in a month. Three mornings a week I’d wake up extra early pop in the DVD and crunch like never before. At first I struggled (as you do when working new muscles) then eventually it became a satisfying routine.

I haven’t done 8 Min Abs for about five months now, and no word of a lie, my stomach is still toned from way back when. The chocolate and ice cream is doing me no favours . . . but I’m a man so I don’t care. I’ll only wash it down with a pint anyway.

If I wasn’t so lazy and probably look for the DVD.

Corinne Bailey Rae

“And I wonder why it is, I don’t argue like this, with anyone but you

I wonder why it is, I won’t let my guard down, for anyone but you”

– Just Like A Star

Of course the lyrics sound better with her singing . . . that’s why I haven’t copied the whole song. Trust me on this one . . . its money well spent. Or time well spent if like me you’re only a few clicks away . . . I shall say no more on that matter.

Get your swerve on people . . . does ANYONE say that still?

It’s not an order for you all to go out and be shepherded by frowsy pop culture . . . Lord knows I like to be an outcast and make a nuisance of myself also. These are just a few pastimes that’ll help you keep one foot in the bandwagon.

A to the . . .

Yeah I'm Gonna Beat My Kids

It might yet be a while till I’m a father but this discussion still interests me. When it comes to the debate on whether or not to beat your children (and by beat I mean spank) I’ve heard long and drawn out arguments from each side.

- Child abuse
- Discipline
- Lazy parenting
- Necessary parenting

The list goes on and on, and strong arguments are made in this verbal tug-of-war. Occasionally an opinion falls into the flammable cipher and everyone gasps in horror at its simplicity. A point of view so straightforward it surely cannot hold any weight. Can it?

“I’m going to beat my kids because my parents told me to.”

*GASP*

Yes, my parents have both directly and indirectly given me a truck load of reasons to beat my future kids if they step out of line. To suggest that I’ll beat my kids because they told me to sounds more or less spineless and cowardly; I won’t dispute that. So maybe if I break it down for you you’ll let me keep my testicles.

First and foremost, this debate doesn’t hold much weight where I’m from; the capital of Africa, home of the brave 419’ers . . . Beyonce sang our national anthem, that makes her one of us. Jay-Z drew water from our wells . . . but I’m not too keen on him so he can stick to the projects.

In Nigeria its common to beat your children when they step out of line, I’d go as far as saying it’s the number one disciplinary option. I got beats, my bro and sister got beats . . . I went to my cousins’ homes and they got beats . . . I’m certain that if I was raised in Nigeria I would have gone to school and got beats.

This was pretty much the norm in my upbringing. I never liked getting whooped, what kid would? Don’t dislike and discipline go hand in hand?

Would it be fair to say that they beat it into my nature? My culture and environment have imposed several other traits on me after all; I believe that this is another one of them.

I’m not eager to beat my kids; surely that’s when the issue slips into child abuse. But now I appreciate the line that was drawn between me and my parents . . . even though I spent the first half of my life loving but not liking them that much. In that sense I’d say they went too far with the discipline. I never looked at my parents as friends, as buddies, as pals. It was always mum and dad; approach with caution.

Beatings at my expense allowed my parents to maintain the parent child relationship. You could of course argue that other disciplinary forms would have been just as effective at instilling fear and respect. Did my parents know at the time that their disciplinary authority over me was dependant on whether the beatings hurt me or not? Surely they were aware that I’d grow older, that one day they’d dish out a beating and I wouldn’t even flinch, much less cry. They knew right?

Of course they did!

I never got a beating that was unjustified, not one I can remember anyway. And unless caught in the act, I was given the opportunity to plead my case (or think up a good lie). Every beating came with a lecture that usually lasted at least one hour; they sat while I stood. My days, the lectures were honestly more painful than the beatings. The older and smarter I grew, the less beats I received and the longer the lectures lasted. Notice the shift?

To further justify my decision to beat my future children I’ll draw attention to another significant ingredient of my upbringing. That ingredient is religion. Raised as a Christian, I went to church on Sundays, read my Bible, and prayed before I went to bed. I often listened in church with tentative ears, hoping (almost praying) to hear loopholes that would benefit my budding mind. None arose, but several suggested that a Christian lifestyle might better fit the parents.

- Honour thy father and mother
- No sex until you’re married
- Spare the rod, spoil the child

God was on my parents’ side. Another reason to begrudge them . . . and He also had several reasons to be angry with me. Three on one . . . you might even say it was five on one (if your brain has warmed up). Not the kind of odds for a kid to get excited about.

Some relief comes in knowing that when I take the parent role God will be on my side if I have to beat my kids. They won’t like it, but hopefully one day, after I've beaten stupidity and rebelliousness out of them, they’ll see me as more of a friend . . . sort of how I see my parents now.

A to the. . .

The Autobiography Of A Non-Smoker Who Kind Of Smoked . . . Part Two

Half Baked

My girlfriend (the ex from part one) wasn’t a bad girl; she was sweet, funny and a little bit off the wall at times; but certainly not bad. Well I never saw her dark side at least. The same girl did try to get me high though, not so innocent after all. She didn’t only puff on tobacco; she liked the green leaves also.

I never used to drive back then so after our dates we would stroll around the streets delaying ‘home time’. Chatting about whatever, and sharing more than a few jokes. We ended up walking through a quiet residential area and she pulled out a joint she had rolled earlier.

I didn’t like the fact that she smoked, or that she got high either. It didn’t bug me enough to break up with her so it wasn’t really a big issue at all. The pros outweighed the cons.

‘I want see what you’re like when your high’, she said it with a suggestive smile. ‘Light it up then’ I replied. She didn’t think that I would try it, she thought I was just messing about . . . she wasn’t aware that I had tried ‘funny’ cigarettes before. I kept my cool and played it off like it was nothing. She took the first hit and passed it to me. Her face had a huge grin plastered on; I took a drag, inhaled and exhaled blowing the smoke just past her face, as if to confirm that I had taken it in.

‘How do you feel?’ she asked. I felt normal, as if I had just finished a glass of water. Her face was clearly disappointed so she handed me the joint once more, ‘Do it again, you didn’t do it properly.’ I took another hit, deeper this time. I inhaled with my mouth open so she could follow the smoke into my lungs, and exhaled. She stared for a short while . . . ‘how do you feel now?’

I felt normal. Drugs are a disappointment.

OK, rewind back to 2003 . . . you remember my friend who generously handed me cigarettes at will right?

Well . . . he had his own flat for about 3 or 4 months. He got hooked up by one of his dads friends who had decided to move in with his girlfriend. My friend got the flat for £20 a week . . . great init?

He also inherited a massive tub of weed (cannabis). The chunk was larger than a tennis ball.

It was also drier than sand in the desert! It must have been older than both of our combined ages. We didn’t know what to do with it so we waited for another buddy to come around with his roll up skills. Four of us ended up sharing the joint . . . we puffed, puffed and puffed . . . no one got high . . . might as well have rolled up begonias.

It wasn’t until a month later that I felt the hit of drugs. The same friend (it’s a good thing that I don’t hang around with this guy anymore) asked me to meet him at his aunt’s house before we went out to a club. His aunt had generously rolled up a little treat for us. It wasn’t weed though, it was some dirty cheap stuff, and I think its called Ash, Skunk or Punk. It’s like black soot.

I should have said ‘no’ when he asked me to try it, but there were three of us there and I didn’t want to be chilling out with two stoned guys trying to make sense of their ramblings . . . I wanted to be rambling too.

I will never try that sh*t again as long as I live! It was nasty, went straight to my head and felt like I had been punched between the eyes. That junk slowed me down, I didn’t even want to go to the club when we left . . . I just wanted to wash that junk out of my system, or sleep it off.

I was disappointed in myself for trying it, what was I thinking? It wasn’t like me to even be smoking cigarettes, talk less of class C drugs. OK, it’s not exactly heroin or cocaine, but it was stupid nonetheless. I knew I wouldn’t have a problem with it even if I did enjoy the high (which I didn’t); I just wanted ease my curiosity and be able to say that I had done it. Well I think that’s what I was thinking at the time . . . who actually wants to be a stoner?

Evidently I didn’t do enough drugs to lecture anyone against it, but you don’t need dementia and hundreds of needle pokes in your arms to say that drugs are bad. Go and watch Requiem For A Dream.

Part 3 (yeah there’s more) coming up next.

A to the . . .

The Autobiography Of A Non-Smoker Who Kind Of Smoked . . . Part One

I wouldn’t say I was ever a smoker; I had a few puffs in my time that’s all . . . quite a few puffs actually.

On the 1st of July 2007 a public smoking ban will be enforced in Britain. It’s about time if you ask me . . . filthy habit. This doesn’t mean that the public will not be allowed to smoke. It means that they will not be allowed to smoke in public. It pains me that I have to make this clear.

Apart from being able to leave a bar without smelling like cigarettes I’m not too sure how else this will affect my life.

I have fond memories of cigarettes, and I rarely smoked. I can vividly remember most drags and a little story that came along with it.

I had my first smoke in 1992; I was seven years old at the time. I was hanging out with my sister and two other friends; it was a cold and wet day. The kind of day where kids don’t play outside; they stay at home making noise and disturbing the domestic peace. We found our way outside though, for one reason only. One of our buddies had found a packet of cigs which had one remaining. I didn’t think to ask him where it was found, I just wanted in on the action. The four of us hid under a staircase which led up to a flight of flats where they lived . . . this was literally at the side of my house. Not a good move.

We sat in a circle and passed the cigarette around. It looked like fun until my turn came along . . . I didn’t know how to smoke. I sucked on the butt and nothing came out . . . lame. I exhaled anyway hoping that some smoke would appear . . . nothing. The cigarette was taken from me and I never held it again.

The fact that I never actually smoked didn’t stop my mum from giving me a beating for smoking. This was quite unjust if you ask me. We were unaware at the time but our friend’s mother had spotted us. Didn’t she know the street code? You don’t Snitch!

A Decade Later

My first real smoking experience never came until I was eighteen (early 2003). I’ve always had a firm personal stance against smoking, filthy habit. Drinking? . . . Now that was a whole different ball game. I would go to bars with my friends and get drunk; after I got drunk I would mellow out in a corner or facedown on a stool by a table and get all reflective about my life. PARTY ANIMAL!!! . . . not quite.

My best friend at the time had recently taken up smoking. I asked him for a cigarette and like most friends who want the best for you he obliged, and handed me a lighter with it.

It burned my throat when I first inhaled. He told me this was normal because I had ‘Virgin Lungs’ . . . meh . . . the next few drags felt better . . . then the next few cigarettes felt better.

This process continued for a few months. I would go out, get drunk and then mooch free cigs from my mates.

I was so close to becoming a smoker and I didn’t even realise until one day I strolled past a corner shop and wanted to go inside to buy cigarettes. I didn’t have enough money on me and was too lazy to go and withdraw cash. That’s when I realised that I had better stop all of this smoking nonsense before I actually became a smoker.

The problem is that I never had a serious problem. I literally quit just like that, it wasn’t even an issue for me. This is probably why I found myself smoking again two years later. It was nothing to me.

Two Years Later

A couple of years later I was hanging out of my bathroom window puffing on a cigarette that I had won the previous week. So shameful I know.

I had met up with my girlfriend (now ex girlfriend) at a bar. It was September 05, I was twenty-one, the sun was shining and I had recently graduated from University. Life was going well.

We chilled at an outside table chatting away about things I can’t care to remember. She pulled out a deck of card and we played a few hands while we conversed. I wasn’t on a hot streak that day; I was just so good that I didn’t lose. I was getting cocky now so we decided to make it ‘interesting’.

She never had much on her . . . a choc bar, comb, two lighters and a packet of cigarettes. I guess she thought that the laws of probability would turn and favour her . . .

. . . I won it all!

I cleaned her out and popped all of her things into a draw string bag. I had planned on returning them to her at a later date . . . but I ended up hanging out of a window smoking the cigarette in my bathroom. It was 1am and I couldn’t sleep . . . meh . . . I haven’t smoked since, high five anybody?

Part Two Coming Up Next

A to the . . .

Get Me Off Of This Train

Preferably before I SCREAM!!!

I just generally don’t like other people, especially when I’m tired or hungry. If I’m both then you may see a tear swelling in my eye if you look close enough. This shouldn’t be hard to see considering how closely we’re crammed into this train carriage.

What happened to personal space?

Rush hour is only tolerable when you have a seat; life looks better from that angle. It’s easier to read a book, a newspaper or whatever. You can relax you legs and crank up the volume on you mp3 player. You can wrestle for the armrests. If you’re extremely tired you can use the adjacent strangers shoulder as a pillow; you might get a troubled look but you’ll be sleeping so who cares? It’s a free world after all.

I grabbed a copy of the Metro this morning while I sleepwalked my way to work, and noticed an interesting little piece about the stress of commuting and how we deal with it. A few interesting points were made.

One . . .

Singing, humming or talking to ourselves

Huh?
I don’t know how this helps people deal with stress. At best people will discretely veer away from you, providing you with more of that precious personal space. You might even be lucky enough to score a seat . . . falsetto.

Two . . .

Planning for the day ahead or after-work activities

It’s just way too early for this . . . and if I’m on my way home, then it’s way too late also. Unless it’s a Friday and this that case I’m probably banging out text messages.

“R U Cumin 2nite?”

Three . . .

Working on a laptop, writing or reading and always make the effort to travel outside of rush-hour

Is travelling outside of rush-hour even an option for most people? I’ll drop this issue right here, but only because the Metro is a free newspaper. You won’t see this kind of crazy talk in The Guardian. Yes, everyone, stay at work till seven and then . . . oh, that’s the original problem, we’re all leaving at the same time.
OK, I really will stop now.

Four . . .

Getting angry with other commuters or admiring attractive people

I don’t know who writ this, or if their job is even secure. OK, yes it was in bullet points but I just don’t understand whether or not they are giving me permission to ‘wild out’ on public transport. I try to keep my cool when people annoy me on the train, but I might just have to reconsider if it will help me to ‘de-stress’.

I like how they have fused anger and lust together so casually. The two emotions that can fast-track your applications to jail and Hell.

Five . . .

Listening to music or audio books

Yes I must listen to my music this loud so stop looking at me like that before I exercise point four!

Six . . .

Oral gratification – from chewing gum, talking on a mobile, chatting with other commuters or eating

Yeah, I was disappointed too, thought they were going to take this in another direction.

Seven . . .

Abusing substances such as tobacco and alcohol

I was waiting for a train last week and was offered a beer (Stella Artois). I’m usually up for freebies but politely declined the generous offer; this didn’t stop him from taking to me though. I felt sorry for the guy; his wife won’t let me bring alcohol home . . . I guess she is cool with him coming home drunk though.

Eight . . .

Meditation or prayer

This requires a focused mind, especially with ladies breasts pressed against you and sweaty men’s armpits in your grill (how’s that for ambiguity?). I’m 6’2” though so it’s not an issue for me (the armpits, I’m still a man).

Nine . . .

Seeking counselling or medication to cope with stress

I’m guessing that they don’t expect you to do this during rush hour. Wouldn’t it be cool to unload your problems to someone while you travelled home though?
“Ak, this is just between you, me and all the people in this carriage”

Please . . . just get me off of this train.

A to the . . .

I'll Pick You Up At 8

It’s easy to find single people, that’s never a problem. Finding someone compatible . . . now that’s where things get a little bit tricky. There’s always going to be something you don’t like about a prospective partner.

She smokes
She is too clingy
She is a gold digger
My friend(s) ‘banged’ her before
Only Tyra can pull of that forehead
Her husband will disapprove
She did hard time
My mum won’t like her

The list goes on . . . and on . . . and on unfortunately. You have a little bit of fun, find any old excuse to break up, and then go your separate ways.

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

After playing the ‘game’ for some time it begins to lose its gloss, its appeal, its allure. You tell yourself ‘I want more, I want something serious.’ But where do I look? Which rock have you left unturned, which channel have you not pursued? It would appear that you have exhausted every avenue.

You’ve met people in bars and clubs, supermarkets, train stations, through education and sometimes the issue has been work related. Friends have set you up, this includes blind dates, and you’ve also hooked up with your friends. After all, it worked for Monica and Chandler. Your mum has brought somebody home and left the two of you to ‘hang out’ while she conveniently pops out for something. You’ve signed up to face-pic, pic-face, hi5, 5hi, MySpace, Friends Reunited, Uboot and so much more!

If you haven’t been on one of MTV’s dating shows as of yet, not only are you missing out on the experience of a lifetime, but your true love is possibly one show away.

I’m going to give all you singletons out there the heads up; I’ve whittled it down to three of the hottest shows!


1. Date My Mom
Allow me to give you the rundown.
One man dates three mothers. After the three dates he must pick one of the daughters to date based on the impression he gets from her mum. Good fun ey?

This is the show you go on if you’re looking for wifey. I wouldn’t suggest that you go on Date My Mom unless you’re “serious, serious”. Personally, I’ve vowed to never introduce my mum to a girl I’ve coupled up with unless it’s serious, serious. So I have no desire to date your mum unless I’m looking for an instant wifey.

The show’s appeal rests in its mystery. You don’t get to see the girl you’ve selected until the end of all three dates. Most guys will ask the mums what their daughters look like; this is a rookie mistake. Most mothers reply generically . . . Brittany Spears, Beyonce, J Lo, etc. I recommend that since you can’t see the daughter, you should spend your time finding out what she is like and if she is what you’re looking for. Yes, I know I take this too seriously but I’m here to save lives!

At the end of the day you hopefully go home with the treasure and not the trash. On one particular show a young man left with the talking trash (something like Oscar the grouch from Sesame St.), Oscar the grouch asked the young man when he’ll take her out for the date and he replied . . . “I’ll text message you.” If that isn’t a burn then Pro Evolution Soccer never changed my life in 2003.

2. Next

The Rundown.
You’re given the privilege of dating up to five individuals in one day. You date them one at a time and if you’re not feeling them you just say “Next”, and can move on to another option. You pretty much have five shots at finding a sweetheart. However, for every minute they stay on the date they earn a dollar. If you decide that you want to take the person on a second date they can either agree, or keep the money they have earned. The show ends at this point whether they agree to a second date or not. So Mr. Lucky might not date all five girls.

Ugh . . . so much more complicated than Date My Mom.

So why go on Next? Well, option is a beautiful thing. You can evaluate physical appeal, personality and compatibility in a matter of minutes, or in some cases seconds. Don’t like the menu . . . “Next”

The only downsides to this show are that you may get a weak selection of girls (or guys), or the girl you’re feeling might no be feeling you and she’ll leave with the cash . . . not so lucky now are you?

In spite of minor technicalities I’d love to go on Next . . .

A Nigerian girl
An ‘alternative’ girl
A nerdy girl
A bitch
A Nigerian girl


3. Dismissed
MTV’s legendary dating show . . . and also my personal favourite.

The Rundown.
If you don’t know about Dismissed then it’s highly likely that you just aren’t ready for it either. One guy, two girls, and two dates at the same time; at the end you dismiss one of your dates . . . oh it’s on!

So I sit back and let two girls fight, squabble and bitch at each other to win my affection. Girls have fought for me in the past, and competed for my adoration. This is pretty much the opposite of a humbling experience.

OK, so it’s only two girls and not five, not great odds to be honest, but if you get two good options then it’s quite likely that you’ll enjoy Dismissed more than anything you’ve experienced prior.

Each girl also gets a Time-Out card. This entitles her to 20 minutes of alone time with you (and the production crew of course). It is these time-outs that are likely to sway your decision, as the girl will stop competing and show you what she is all about. Some individuals use this as a chance to engage in deep and meaningful conversation; others ‘wisely’ use it to kiss-and-grope.

Apart from more women on the date, what else can you ask for?

So log off of your computers all you ‘digital pimps’, and stop spending all of your money in night clubs quenching the thirst of gold digging’ ho’s!
“What’chu drinking darling?”
Stop asking all your friends to ‘hook a brotha up’ and please, oh please, stop following all the hunnies to church!

P.S. All of you shy guys who struggle to approach girls might want to disregard the above shows and look toward something more elementary like Wanna Come In.

A to the . . .

Abandoned Nation

Some of you may remember the article I writ in January titled “Well, At Least We’re Staying Out Of The Papers” Well you can call this a follow up. Seeing that I am a young black man who lives in London, I feel that my opinion coupled with experiences certainly matters.

It’s highly unlikely that no one was a victim of these ‘lost youths’ in January, I still believe that the media simply overlooked prospective stories at the time. Why they did this I’m not perfectly sure, but it’s clearly evident that they are now trying to send out a clear message. This message seems to be that if you are a black male, and between the ages of 15-24 your chances of ending up on the front page are greatly increased. This is regarding both sides of the trigger.

We have (since February) seen an escalation in the reporting of youth murders in the news. A particular focus has been placed on murders involving young members of black communities in London. There are areas of London which are infamous for gangs and gun/knife culture. I used to live in one of these areas; I witnessed and experienced first hand the reality of senseless violence. When street life is hyped up, fabricated or subject to manipulation I find it easier to filter out the non-fictions and exaggerations.

Kodjo had recently spoken about knife crime when interviewed by the music
channel MTV. He said: "I think stabbing has got worse but the media also make it
bigger than what it is."

He is the latest teenager to die in a
series of attacks in the capital in recent weeks. Last month, three teenagers
alone were shot dead in separate incidents in south London.

Billy
Cox, 15, was shot dead at his home in Clapham while schoolboy Michael Dosunmu,
15, was shot in his bedroom in nearby Peckham days after James Smartt-Ford, 16,
was gunned down at Streatham ice rink.

Source:
http://www.itv.com/news/faad9d69600da8ba1fc8d634628be87c.html

Kodjo Yenga’s unfortunate story has a dark ironic undertone. In the face of this I still agree with his statement. Youths have been killing each other for as long as I can remember, and no one has been able to develop a solid theory or solution regarding this for just as long. When you ask someone who lives in the ‘streets’ about street life and they tell you that the turmoil is being overestimated, you can perceive that source to be quite reliable. Also take into consideration that everyone outside of the ‘streets’ is pretty clueless as to what is actually going on in them.

The Home Secretary admitted yesterday that the Government does not know enough
about the scale of knife violence and ordered police forces to start collecting
statistics on the use of knives in crime.

John Reid made the
announcement after the death at the weekend of 15-year-old schoolboy Adam
Regis.

Source:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml;jsessionid=PT2YCRSKQ3W0DQFIQMGCFF4AVCBQUIV0?xml=/news/2007/03/20/nknife20.xml

One major problem is the power of a negative minority; unfortunately the actions of a few can affect the lives of many more, rarely is this seen as significantly as when something bleak occurs. All of a sudden every young black male has a knife, every Muslim is a suicide bomber and all white females are binge drinkers. In reality there are not as many young, black, heartless killers as we are led to believe, nonetheless there are definitely too many. And of course they are not all young and black, but this will be our little secret.

How do you reason with the unreasonable?
Killing people is wrong, is this not common knowledge? Of course it is, but some people just don’t give a f*ck. Let’s not beat around the bush regarding this, it really is that simple. What’s frustrating is that no provocation is required when it comes to getting a knife in the chest, or a bullet in the head. Young tyrants are murdered on the same streets as ‘model students’.

I refuse to buy into ‘social theories’ which suggests that street crime in the UK is an imitation of that in the States. Murder and popular culture are two entirely different affairs. This isn’t a matter of Gangster Rap, baggy clothes and New Era caps. It is rather a dilemma that involves the heart of man, which in turn transcends deeper than race. And living in a society embedded in the developed world I believe that it also transcends deeper than culture. Without being too circumstantial, murder isn’t a culture, it’s a mind state.

The murder rate can be reduced significantly with a little bit of thought and a lot of effort, but who is ready to put the effort in? We are all consumed with our own problems until the reality of an abandoned nation becomes one of them.

A to the . . .