I didn't link you to that song because I have a deal with the copyright owners of Femi Kuti's music to promote his songs. Neither did I link you to there because I want to blog about the human pre-occupation with the act of copulation, which is what the song is all about.
Actually, the only reason I linked you to that song is so that in future, I can be able to say that my blog literally started with a bang.
Anyway, hello everyone. Thank you for coming. And without any further ado, let's begin.
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you...
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you...
Some of you didn't know that those are lyrics from part of the song 'Fix You' by Coldplay. Well, now you know.
And all of you didn't know that those are the words I wake up to every morning because Fix You is actually the designated wake-up alarm tune on my Samsung E250.
Well, now you know!
So, I hear someone ask, what minuscule interest to them or singular relevance to society is information about what I like listening to when I wake up supposed to have?
Well, that's just it. I DON'T like Coldplay. I don't think Coldplay are a very talented singing group. In fact, it is my very honest opinion that Coldplay should be requested, nay, COMPELLED to desist from exploring their talent (or lack thereof) in music any further, and all the howls they have recorded so far confined to a single faulty CD and given to someone I don't particularly like who lives very, very far away from me.
So, I hear that voice ask again, why would I make a song by a group I don't like the first thing I listen to when I wake up every morning?
Well, first of all because unlike me, there are people out there whose taste in music leaves as much to be desired as an Amish grandmother's Sunday outfit. Some of these people, however, unfortunately happen to be people I care deeply about, and I would very much like them to know that despite such undesirable preferences, or even when they posses much more irritating ones in addition such as being fans of Liverpool F.C, I still hold them in the highest esteem.
Secondly, it has a little to do with a lesson my mother once taught me.
One day once upon a time, Mrs. Cornelia Akumu Omwango opened the door to her kitchen and by doing so, broke her beloved carved wood Sugar-dish. This wasn't because her beloved but very mischievous son had balanced it on top of the door hoping it would land on his irritating elder sister's head and instead got his mother.Rather, it was because by opening the door, she surprised the aforementioned elder son who at that very moment had his hand inside the aforementioned carved wood sugar dish.
Sons have this habit of going into uncontrollable panic when surprised by their mothers, and panic never augurs well for fragile objects in the hands of such panic-stricken sons, so in a nutshell, that was the last time Mrs. Omwango's beloved carved wood sugar dish ever held any sugar.
Naturally, the son wasn't going to get away scot-free. Mrs. Omwango's reputation as a tough disciplinarian was because one, she came down on indiscipline hard and two, she came down on indiscipline fast. Thus the echo from the shattering sugar dish had barely cleared from the son's ears before they were dealing with a totally new sound, a zinging sound normally felt by people who have just been slapped. "And you are taking Ndufya* for one full week!" She snarled.
(*If you don't know what Ndufya is, it means you probably didn't grow up in Nairobi. If this is the case, kindly get in touch with someone who did and be educated.)
Taking Ndufya for one week is the stuff foul moods are made of, and from then onwards, any thought of illicit maneuvers towards the new sugar dish would immediately trigger that absolutely excruciating memory, and I would immediately kill it.
Now, let's fit Coldplay into this scheme of things.
You see, what I learnt from my misadventure is that nothing inspires discipline better than a disagreeable sensation or the threat of a disagreeable sensation. And the way I needed the disagreeable sensation that was the memory of taking Ndufya for a week in order to be disciplined around Mom's sugar is the same way I need a disagreeable sensation in order to be disciplined about something else.
Thing is, when you love to sleep the way I do, you can get into lots of trouble if you are not disciplined about waking up. And that is where alarms come in. But not just any alarm. You can't put alarms of sounds you like listening to, such as Serj Tankian, Green Day or Elephant Man. (All of which, I'll have you know, I have in my Samsung E250) Those are in no way disagreeable sensations, and designating them as my wake up alarm would actually be giving myself a lullaby, instead of a wake-up alarm.
The reason it is called an alarm is because it is meant to ALARM you into waking up, and in my opinion, they don't come more disagreeably alarming than Coldplay.
AND FINALLY, THE ROCK, THE BLUES AND THE KAPUKA.
On Saturday evening, about an hour after Arsenal had made the easy job of putting four past Wigan look like uberadvanced Quantum Physics, Mufti Sheikh Ramadhan Mubajje, who has jurisdiction over the Jummat I currently belong to, announced that the moon had been sighted and the month-long Ramadhan fast was at end.
Saum is by far the most physically and psychologically taxing of the Five Pillars of Islam, and observing it to the end with the dedication it demands is the mark of a true believer. So to all my Moslem brethren, mko juu tu sana. May Allah's blessings find you and uplift you. La ilaha ilallah.
Staying with football, we now know who is the real boss of Manchester!!!!
When I met Sammy during the Bell Lager-sponsored UTAKE nite at Steak-Out two Saturdays ago, he was screaming, "Huyo Dj aishi milele!" with a bottle of Bell Lager in his hand and looking like someone who could easily force a breatherlyser into early retirement.
The reason for my friend's exuberance was because he had benefited from a number of free Bell Lagers that a guest Radio Dj at the party had earlier thrown his way, and it was this Dj that Sammy was now wishing a very long life.
Sadly, this wish was never to be as four days later, Ronald Ssempagi,a.k.a Dj Roni of Capital fm Uganda, succumbed to multiple organ failure at Kadic clinic in Bukoto, Kampala.
May his soul rest in eternal peace.
As President of the Federal Republic of the United States of America, my clansman has to choose even the words he uses in his dreams because every syllable that comes through his lips automatically becomes a lightning rod for often emotional, always polarized American opinion.
But even he couldn't hold back his stupefication at Kanye West's absolute lack of class during the VMAs last Sunday, and he very un-presidentially called the Grammy award-winning rapper 'a Jackass' following Kanye's obviously inebriate shenanigans at the awards.
I know quite a number of people who agreed with Kanye's view that Beyonce was more deserving of the best Female Award that Taylor Swift got, and one of Kanye's most endearing attributes is his forthrightness which often borders on, and sometimes goes beyond, arrogance.
But even they wouldn't fault my cousin the president's contention that this time, Kanye did indeed behave like a class A jackass.