Twitter, wedding rings, and Eagle Eye Cherry

It’s been one of those weeks. I opened this window with a great story idea, but then I got distracted by five other windows and lost my train of thought. I really do suck at the art of the multitask.

When I’m alone in the house, I like to put on rock music very loud and sing along. My neighbours can knock for hours and I won’t hear them, because the walls are pretty soundproof. I can’t hear them rapping [the door] and they can’t hear me booming my rock.

Often, when I’m on rock mode, I hold imaginary microphones and pull a fake karaoke. It’s so fun. But yesterday, after doing the rock thing all day, downloading gigs worth of Manga, and watching the Poltergeist alone at 2.00 a.m., I had a hard time getting to sleep.

When I finally did sleep, I dreamt I was a Japanese girl in semi-manga Catholic uniform and pigtails, and that I had to play a karaoke gig. For some reason, schoolgirls were not allowed to karaoke. We were called some unpronouncable Manga name that I can’t remember, so I had to wear this massive luminous yellow jacket to hide my uniform.

Trouble is … I kept removing the jacket to find my microphone and backpack, then having to sprint down corridors and escalators to escape the music police.

Yeah, I definitely need a new hobby. The hair was so cool though.

I was thinking of quitting twitter [again] but a couple of friends talked me out of it. One reminded me not to take it so personally. After all, it’s only 140 characters. You can’t do much harm with that, no matter how hard you try. As he keeps telling me, it’s never that serious.

The other pal helped me put things in perspective. We were talking about some ish that went down a while back. I hadn’t revisited it in a while, but I ended up crying as we talked.

Once we were done, I realised that compared to that, any beef I have now is mere cotton candy. If I lived through that, I can live through anything. My mum tells me that all the time, but then again, all mothers do. It took an objective person to help me really see it. The issues I have right now are nothing.

Thank [God, kharma, the universe, or whichever deity applies to your faith life] for good friends.

In other news, I’ve been doing some work on rings, and I’ve picked up some interesting trivia. You know that ring that has two hands holding a heart with a crown on it?

It’s called a Claddagh ring, and it comes from ancient Ireland. You wear it on your right hand if you’re available, and on your left hand if you’re taken. If the ring faces outside, you’re still slice-able. When your heart is gone, you wear the thing with the heart hidden, facing your palm, with the bottom of the ring pointing at the veins that lead to your heart.

According to Wikipedia, Claddagh rings are often used at weddings, where the ring-giving vows include:

  1. With my two hands I give you my heart, and crown it with my loyalty.
  2. You hold my heart in your hands, and I crown it with my love.
  3. Let love and friendship reign forever.
  4. With this crown, I give my loyalty, with these hands, I offer my service, with this heart, I give you mine.

I added one of my own:

With this ring, i crown you king of my heart.

Of course, I doubt he’d actually wear such a gay-looking ring, and even I have to admit it’s pretty ugly. It’s a nice story though.

PS: Ooooooooh Eagle Eye Cherry! I heart X Fm.

♫ Falling in love again ♫ Eagle Eye Cherry ♫

Can PMS be banned from the office?

I had a 9.00 o’clock meeting today, and I didn’t want to be late, so I left the house at 7.00. I figured the rain would aggravate traffic, and since I needed two matatus, it was better to start early.

By the time I got the message that the meeting was cancelled, I was at Wilson Airport and it was too late to turn back, so I sat in the jam an hour longer then decided to get a power sandwich since I’d skipped breakfast.

I’d skipped the gym as well, so I thought it would be cool to walk to Uchumi Hyper. The drizzle was slight, but I had some good music [Yay X-Fm] and a warm red jumper.

When I finally got to Uchumi, it was barely open and the sandwich people were running around trying to set up. There were lots of clients waiting, so I hovered near the artificial queue.

After maybe ten minutes, I stepped aside to receive a phone call, and when I was done, the queue was gone – yay! So I stood by the sandwich place waiting to be served. For fifteen minutes.

Well, maybe not fifteen, but it felt pretty long. I wanted to walk away once or twice, but I was badly craving that sandwich.

I don’t know why I wasn’t being served. The sandwich people were huddled in a corner, and they kept walking up to me then totally ignoring me. I suspect it was my posture – I had my shoulders slumped, I was lost in the music, my head was down, I was semi-daydreaming, and I was dealing with my own PMS. Plus, I didn’t look fussy enough to cause a scene.

Eventually, a lady came over and barked at me. She startled me so much that I asked for a thigh turkey sandwich. What I really wanted was a polo thingy – which is much smaller.

Usually, when I order my sandwich, they ask me what size, what bread, which sauce, and if I want toppings on it. But Angry Lady just stormed off and started assembling the thing, even as I pleaded with her not to put chilli.

I thought about making suggestions, but the look on her face was more than just scary. Clearly, her level of moodiness was higher than mine, so I silently watched her and prayed she’d wouldn’t get it wrong.

I thought about it as she fought the big white bread [I prefer it small and brown]. In any other place, the client would have stormed off after such treatment, or at least they’d have refused the sandwich. But I figured I’d already lost half an hour, I was really hungry, and I’d finally found my green yoghurt, so I was mostly happy. I waited patiently, paid for my sandwich and left.

Luckily, all she did was use wrong bread and cucumbers.

I read an editorial by Binyavanga Wainaina in Kwani 04. He describes a bus trip in South Africa. The bus driver was drunk, and Binyavanga’s response was to sit behind him, go to sleep, and hope nothing bad happened.

The South African ladies on the bus chose to force the driver off the seat and select a burly fellow passenger to drive the bus. The whole scenario merely irritated Binyavanga, and I share his sentiment.

A while later, he was back home in Kenya, and got off a bus because it was overloaded. He made quite a fuss, but fellow passengers accused him of being proud and thinking he was better than them. After all, they were glad to ride in the smelly bus, so who did he think he was? They were still grumbling as the bus drove off.

Binyavanga’s point was that Kenyans have learnt to accept the status quo, and we get irritated when someone tries to change it, even if that change is for our own good. We prefer to live, let live, and have fate take care of things. And the last elections – in many ways – made our attitude worse because many people felt their opinion – and their vote – didn’t matter.

In my case, I stood there, watching the Angry Lady and hoping she’d get my sandwich right, but I didn’t do anything to ensure it.

Sometimes I feel that way about my business. I want it to be bigger and better than it is, but I don’t actively do anything to make that happen. The ‘business’ side of business can get pretty boring if you’re not a born marketter, or an accountant.

One thing I am proactive about is writing. So I’ll make you a trade. You can handle the business side of your work, and I’ll handle the write-ups.

Need some copy written for your website? A flyer, a job post, some policies, or even a letter of appreciation? Swing it this way and I’ll take care of it. Then you can peacefully go about the business of looking good and getting rich. Deal?

Life imitating art: Hinder and Rihanna vs Mya

Nittzsah, a fellow writer over at Diasporadical wrote about the Ushenzi/Ungwana campaign. It’s a series of adverts on Kenyan TV which aims to change social behaviour.

In one advert, a girl drops an ice cream cup on the floor in a busy street, and doesn’t bother to pick it up. She then giggles derisively at the council worker that does. In another ad, a taxi driver argues with his wife because he has found a purse with a lot of money, and decides to return it to its owner.

I find the ads amusing and entertaining, but I don’t know if they actually change anything. After all, I’ve never walked into a soda shop prompted by a Coke ad.

But at some level, these messages do filter through. My daughter insists that I buy Dettol, Lifebuoy, [and Barbie dolls] simply because of ads on TV. She also thinks Scotts Emulsion is cool. Growing up, that stuff was considered the worst form of punishment.

So for kids her age, it’s possible that seeing an honest cab driver on TV would make her less likely to steal.

It’s said that media is the best gauge of a society. It reflects what people are thinking, seeing and doing. But media also seeks to influence our habits, and it’s sometimes hard to tell which is which.

In 2000, a pretty RnB artist named Mya released a song called Case of the Ex. It had an awesome dance video and some pretty clever lyrics. It talks about a girl challenging her man when his Ex calls at 12.00 a.m. She wants to know how he’ll respond now that his Ex wants him back. The tone of the song is angst, and we can tell the girl isn’t amused by this Ex lurking around.

I liked this song because it was catchy. It had a great dance beat, and it spoke to the little pitbull inside me. It felt pretty good to sing  the attitude even though I’m not the kind of girl that will fight over a man.

Five years later, a rock band named Hinder released Lips of an angel. It covers the same theme, but from a guy’s perspective. He’s talking to his Ex, wishing he was with her, while his girl sits blissfully in another room. In this case as well, it an ex-based booty call.

Unlike Mya, this song always makes me cry. It isn’t just the Emo tone and the sad guitars … it’s the whole idea. He sings to his Ex…

… you make it hard to be faithful with lips of an angel.

Every time I hear that line, I get all teary for the new girlfriend who’s clearly being cheated on, emotionally at least. I wonder why he broke up with LadyEx in the first place if she was so awesome, and why he can’t just dump this new girl and get back the old one instead of sneaking around like that.

There are other lines that kill me:

Just knowing that you’re talking to me will start a fight. No, I don’t think she has a clue.

My girl’s in the next room, sometimes I wish it was you. I guess we never really moved on

Poor new girlfriend 🙁

The fact that both these songs hit massively says a lot about society. Often, a song becomes popular because it expresses what many people feel. In the 90s and 2000s, it was okay to stand up for your love. Songs about cheaters and break-ups were largely angry. We had hits like…

  1. Don’t mess with my man – there’s a version by Nivea and one by the girl from En Vogue
  2. How am I supposed to leave you now by Westlife
  3. Why you over there looking at me [while my girl’s standing here] by Ma$e

Later, the trend seems to change. Cheaters become apathetic and helpless, but not necessarily sorry. They realise what they’re doing is wrong, but they don’t plan on stopping. Sample these:

  1. Unfaithful by Rihanna
  2. Dilemma by Nelly and Kelly Rowland
  3. Confessions by Usher

Love has always been complicated, but it gets really sad when the world says it’s ok to eff things up then sing about it.

Songs begin with words, and words and sound are a pretty good way to express emotion  – whether you’re a bitchy ex-girlfriend or a late-night drunk-dialler. And words work best when they’re written down.

I take a lot of things to heart, because words can heal, and they can hurt. I can help you get those words across, though I would rather do it with angst than curl up and cry.

Whether you need a Taylor Swift to put tears on a client’s guitar, a Petey Pablo to get someone to show you the money, or an Ashley Simpson to warn off a jealous girlfriend, I’m the one to say it for you. From ghost writing to love letters to web copy to fan mail, I’m your girl, so call me!