The Pursuit of Happiness

I am masquerading at Garden City that I hear “in the field gathering information”. Lol.

I am drinking a cappuccino, interestingly enough. An odd choice on such a hot occasion, but I was falling slowly and surely asleep and I needed to banish the encroaching temptation to just jump back into the car and drive back to Kyaliwajjala where I have a bed.

When the waitress was preparing it, I was joined at my table by AutoPaul, a friend who is on his way to London. He sat down and we discussed whether I really wanted to ask him to bring back a Nokia 5530, or Baby Zu or Sinayo. That is the stripped-down nothing-but-the-basics version of the famous Zuena, or Nokia 5800 and it just went on sale in the United Kingdom. It’s  more attractive than it’s ancestor in two ways. One is that it is cheaper by far. A paltry 500,000 shillings. Incidentally, that is the same amount of money I paid for my very first mobile telephone back in the days. Ivan was still a tadpole back then but me I was already connected. You may be cooler now, but I was cooler first.

GA628
This is Eric, the iPhone of those days

The second thing that makes the Baby Zu to the Zuena as a whole Rihanna to a mere Beyonce is the fact that it includes technology that traps Wifi waves from the ether and gathers them into its memory card, so I don’t need to carry my faithful and much-loved but, let’s face it, heavy as fuck laptop with me to Chomas or to Good African every time I need to download a new podcast or mixtape. I can just  whip out my phone when I find myself in an area where these wifi waves reside and command it to find the podcasts or the zshare mixtapes.

That is Baby Zu in two colours
That is Baby Zu in two colours

I can even get it to call up blogs, twitter, facebook and IM in a way that is superior to the methods my current phone uses and thus can I stay in touch using Yahoo Messenger with friends in outside countries. Like Cheri, for example (There has never been a more boldfaced hint in the history of wordpress, Chan.)

Thie proggie is slightly problematic, though, for those who didn’t bother to click the link, I don’t want to go for it until I have lusted after it with an energy that is practically perverse. As it is, right now I’m just checking her out across the room and thinking she’s kind of fly.

One of the rules of Thingism, the life philosophy that seeks fulfilment through the accumulation of material goods, is that you can’t just want it: you have to bleed for it. That is the only way you will know satisfaction from having it. If you have never heard of Thingism (or the Pursuit of Shit) here it is in a nutshell:

Thingism (Or Shitism):

Are you unhappy? Unfulfilled? Do you feel like your life is a meaningless waste?

Do you feel overwhelmed by the futility of it all?

Then you need to go out and get some shit (Material things).

Get new shit. Get fancy shit. Get expensive shit.

Get trendy shit. Get highly-advertised, designer-labelled shit.

That is what you need to give your life the illusion of meaning and purpose.

The more shit you get the more shit you crave in a never-ending-cycle of greed and lust!

You will never feel lonely again, once you start running after shit.

Get you some shit.

Because getting Shit. It’s the meaning of life.

You want to object and bring up the old retort about the old man who spent his life gathering riches but never found what he was really looking for and died miserable and alone. That is because what he wanted was love. Instead of buying love, he went out to buy Bentleys. Misguided hoarding is not Thingism.

For example, if what you really want is a reason to value yourself as a human being, and you go out to buy House of Dereon garments in the hope that this will give you what you inwardly desire, you are wasting your money and time.

Because there is NO REASON to value yourself as a human being in the first place. We are all worthless. Every single one of us is a pointless piece of crap crawling from fear to shame to regret, and the only reason we don’t just stop moving once and for all and just die on the spot is that, in addition to those, we also have greed and envy and vanity, the only things that motivate us to get out of bed in the first place.

And to gain true satisfaction, these are the urges you should feed. To feel true fulfilment, you need to feed your greed, and your lust and your vanity. You won’t get happiness, but happiness is like life itself. Life is the absence, nay, the postponement of death.  To live is to delay your demise for just another day.  And happiness, similarly, is merely a state of temporary distraction from the natural state of hopelessness that is the lot of every man, woman and child.

man, what was in that cappuccino?

Blogtrotting Thurrogits

  • It’s hard to comment on Scotchbiscuits because all one ever has to say is “wow”. It’s not fair.
  • Joe in Uganda has found a Guardian story about a Ugandan president  that will have me grinning stupidly at random moments throughout this week whenever I remember it. It’s a blog post from that UK newspaper about the dancehall culture in Uganda: specifically focusing on The Fire Base Crew. Buchaman does not come out smelling like roses. But then again, does he ever? 
  • It’s hard to comment on Princess  because all one ever has to say is “wow.” It’s not fair.
  • I am not really a big poetry fan, but I am a big Cleo fan, so it gives me great pleasure to be the one to introduce her blog. The poetry is sweet and cool. Like Cleo.
  • If you, like me, know the true value, the real power of this internet of ours, you could swoop in like the superhero you truly are and save Minty. She needs an introduction to online scrabble. Be warned, however: She is likely to kick your butt.
  • If you work in one of those dynamic, forward-looking companies that are not afraid to face the immense communication and information-gathering potential of the web then you can log onto your un-blocked facebook and join the Sanyu FM Breakfast Show’s group. They continue discussions on the nation-building issues of the day, I believe. I don’t know of course, because I work at a company whose IT department does not believe in letting employees access and disseminate information– The New Vision newspaper. 
  • I don’t know how to link it without getting onto facebook. Please log on and search groups for” Sanyu FM Breakfast”.
  • And finally, you have got to check out thenextquarter.blogspot.com. You have to.  Why? Because  you will love it, that’s why.
It’s hard to comment on Scotchie because all one ever has to day is “wow”. It’s not fair.
It’s hard to comment on Princess because all one ever has to say is “wow.” It’s not fair.
Joe In Uganda has found a Guardian story about a Ugandan president  that will have me grinning stupidly at random moments throughout this week whenever I remember it. It’s a blog post from that UK newspaper about the dancehall culture in Uganda: specifically focusing on The Fire Base Crew. Buchaman does not come out smelling like roses. But then again, does he ever? 
I am not really a big poetry fan, but I am a big Cleo fan, so it gives me great pleasure to be the one to introduce her blog. The poetry is sweet and cool. Like Cleo.
If you, like me, know the true value, the real power of this internet of ours, you could swoop in like the superhero you truly are and save Minty. She needs an introduction to online scrabble. Be warned, however: She is likely to kick your butt.
If you work in one of those dynamic, forward-looking companies that are not afraid to face the immense communication and information-gathering potential of the web then you can log onto your un-blocked facebook and join the Sanyu FM Breakfast Show’s group. They continue discussions on the nation-building issues of the day, I believe. I don’t know of course, because I work at a company whos IT department does not believe in letting employees access and disseminate information– The New Vision newspaper. But if you can and want to you check it out and tell me.
I don’t know how to link it without getting onto facebook. Please log on and search groups for Sanyu FM Breakfast.
And finally, you have got to check out The Next Quarter.

The lying in wireless

I went to Simba Telecom at Lugogo Mall on Friday to purchase a bluetooth adapter. That is a little gizmo that would perform two life-saving tasks at a go: The first would be to enable  my shitty bomboclart virtually useless Nokia 5000 to communicate with my computer and be less useless in the process. The second would be saving me the bother of buying a new phone. 

Those are not actually two tasks, come to think of it; it is one task in parts. Like a burger. 

In the shop the tall, helpful Indian man with the greying temples stretched his long arm out towards a display case and extracted a box. The packaging said it contained a Linksys Wireless-G USB Adapter. The tall helpful man said it was what I was looking for.

One of them lied. And it was not the packaging. I discovered later that evening when I tried to use the Linksys Wireless-G USB Adapter that it had no idea where my phone was. 

Does everyone in the class know what bluetooth, is by the way? I may be getting ahead of you. I do that sometimes. Hazzard of intelligence. 

Let me explain, just in case you are not with me. 

You see sometimes a phone has pictures on it. Pictures taken with the phone camera. The user of this phone may want to post these pictures on the internet, perhaps to his blog. Usually the user sticks one end of a wire into his phone and then inserts the other end into his computer and then shakes the phone a little bit. The pictures then slide down the wire (which is called a USB connector cable) and soon land inside the computer.

But if he has a bastard crap piece of nonsense phone like the Nokia 5000, he cannot use any wire at all. The only way he can get the pictures to the computer is through a fancy sort of telephone teleptathy called Bluetooth.

Now the phone knows how to speak in  bluetooth. But the computer has to be literate in this ethereal language too, so as to receive these thoughts.

In short, when a bluetooth-enabled device speaks, only another bluetooth-enabled device can understand. It’s like how women communicate. 

Hah hah! Little joke there. Trying to lighten the tone a bit. Yes. Umm. Well… moving on. 

You can attach a bluetooth gizmo to your computer to make it bluetooth-enabled (I am not going to say it’s like hormone therapy or anything like that, because I don’t want to continue with the gender stereotyping joke. Really, gender stereotyping is not my thing. It’s only women who can make sexist jokes and expect to get away with it. (Hah! Got you! You didn’t see that coming, didja! Two nil!)

So the computer, with the new gizmo from Simba Telecom sticking out of its side, could not hear the phone. I had been given the wrong device, I discovered. This was confirmed by my geek friends over the weekend.

So I have to dash over to Simba Telecom and get a replacement. I shall do that today. If I am successful I shall be able to put the nice picture I have on my (very very bollocks, stupid and lousy) Nokia 5000 phone up on this blog. Which was the point of the whole story.

Another freestyle post. A placeholder, actually.

Dante did not hit back at me for insinuating that he was the one photographed carrying a lady’s handbag on Antipop’s blog. This had me nervous for a while, because I thought he was biding his time, waiting patiently for the opportune moment to strike back, like a puma in the shadows. Or a malaria parasite. The puma, probably. But I soon realized that he was not going to retaliate. Because he won’t waste his wrath on a shell that wasn’t actually as funny as I thought it was when I posted it.

 

Oh well.

 

BHH was awesome. Or the bits left of it when I arrived were. I met Chanel No 5. Technically, I was meeting her again, as we had been introduced before. However, she was in the company of questionable characters then, so it doesn’t count. 

 

One of the most weird things about modern office life is this: You send a file, by email, to a colleague who sits a foot and a half away from you. Then after sending it, you call across the room. 

 

Yo, Bob!

Yes, sir?

Yo, I just sent you email.

Okay please.

Yesterday at BHH everyone was drinking Mountain Dew. Today this is my desktop wallpaper.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

my desktop
my desktop

Random Thurrogits in the classic sense

 

 

  • Did you know that Kelly Rowland has had plastic surgery? Of course you did. You have eyes in your head and can see that that is not the nose she was born with, that is the nose she got from the nose-store on Rodeo Drive. Cue earworm: “Then you say no-no-no-no-nosejob….”
  • Why can’t these local musicians produce, you-know, music with developmental themes, instead of just singing about nothing? Why don’t they sing about issues? The person who asked that question asked it as if it doesn’t have an answer.
  • I met Antipop. She is small in stature and not frightening at all. Not in the least.

 

Sentences that didn’t make it into the paper 1:

“You wish someone would wave a magical wad to make all your troubles go away.”

 

  • Big Brother is ending this weekend. The way I don’t give a rats shit is astounding me. I am stymied, flummoxed, bewildered. Morris can tell you the rest.
  • Speaking of Morris, do you think Maurice Mugisha, the dapper, articulate NTV news anchor, is thinking of using his middle name and introducing himself as 

Sentences that didn’t make it into the paper 2: (This is from a Q&A our boy submitted this week. The question is directed to someone who by some strange coincidence has appeared in three posts in a row

Q: Why did you abandon the Miss Uganda business?

A: I left the Miss Uganda business because I felt I had done enough to the Ugandan beauty pageant.

 

The Creative Process

Or, it is not easy coming up with this shit.

Not as easy as some people make it. Some people just look out of the window and a vibrant, wondrous world, bursting as it is with light and colour  instantly inspires them to spin enchanting tales. About onions, for example. Other people get drunk and let their fingers tango over the keyboard and the result is yet another masterpiece. Some people just exist, like Cheri, Minty, et al.    

I will not even try to make light of the magic that creates Iwaya.

But the thing is, these people make it look easy. It’s not easy for every one. 

If I may be allowed a moment of navel gazing, and I surely may, it isn’t that easy coming up with a blog post three times a week. Of all the hornets buzzing in my head, which one, oh, which one, if captured and squeezed, will ooze out an amusing post of innard-juice? 

You see what I mean? That is the kind of image I come up with by reflex. I can’t publish that sort of thing. I have to sort and sift and search and try to pick the choicest globule of hornet abdomen goo to offer.

And even then I do it tentatively. I approach you with nerves wracked, fingers trembling slightly, transmitting the vibration through the tray, filling the air with a rattling sound. There is a ring of sweat dampening my collar and my knees are jelly.

Because I am scared shitless that someone might think it is fake.

Like, maybe Sylvie Owori and Brenda Nanyonjo are having lunch with …umm… Edith Mutesi of Record TV at Café Pap and one of them decides to use the computer hotspot facility to google themselves. (I don’t know about Brenda, but I am sure Sylvia does, and Edith should do it often). Then they land on this blog.

And then they retch onto their tuna melt sammiches and retch again, in a projectile fashion this time, onto the cappuchino lattes mochas of the yuppie clique on the other table, because they have been so revolted by my sentence construction and how jagged and dischordant my pacing is and how my paragraphs are full of anachronisms, not to mention the tonal imbalances, that it makes them sick to the stomach.

What if one of them says: “Shit. This guy is like Sagara.”

But you know, devastating as that may be, there is a place I can go for comfort. Sniff. 

It’s called Rev

Kyokka all these marbles.

A Basin List

 

A while ago Chanel called upon a few other bloggers to compile bucket lists. Those called included me. As a consequence, I have had the thought of death  haunting me for weeks.

Finally, after concluding that I had better not die ever, ever, I settled on a compromise: a basin list, if you will, not of things to do before I die, but of things to do before I turn 35 and officially stop being cool. 

 

  • Start and circulate rumour that Yvonne from Radio One is going to join Bukedde FM and is slated to co-host drive with Olanya. It’s true. She is. I saw her the other day and I saw Olanya on the same day. In the same city. 
  • Ignore all the haters who suggest that I have never been cool. Game recognize game. If you ain’t seen it, you ain’t been it. If you don’t spot game, you don’t got game.  I could go on but you don’t have all day and neither, despite appearances,  do I. 
  • Change template.
  • Get new Bad Idea photo. One that doesn’t look like it was shot for special Halloween edition of magazine. Last Sunday was malicious. I apologise for looking like that.
  • Never hear that black house joke again. Funny story. Yesterday I was delivering Don’s Audacity of Hope to Brenda. I had kept it for way too long, bambi. It was time to let someone else read it. As I handed it over, I said, “Too bad he is black.” I then elaborated (in response to her puzzled expression—she was wearing one very much like the one you are wearing now.) “I mean because he is black, everyone is going on about his race. If he was white, people would see past all that and recognize that he is truly a remarkable man.”  
  • That is a brilliant, cunningly delivered insight, of course. But because it was an off day, I didn’t stop there. Had to add: “A remarkable man. In spite of his colour.”
  • But at least I’m not as bad as Linday Lohan. (Lohan refers to Obama as “first coloured president”  AP)
  • I’m thinking of new shoes. Cos the current pair is old, battered, battlescared and in dire need of replacement. However, like all old Batas, it is also very comfortable and reliable. I think I should purchase a pair of those Rumpelstiltskins pointy-end shoes. In Gator-skin. Yeah. Then all those people who were shelling my old Bata mbu they are ugly. I’ll show you ugly.

 

Eye to eye

 

We had an accident a while back and the stems of my glasses fell out of alignment. One of them is tilted to the wrong degree and the result is that, when I wear them, they sit slightly askew on my face, with the left lens teetering a bit low and the right one a bit high.

I might as well be honest—the tilt is not slight. The incline is actually quite severe. People I talk to often tilt their own heads unconsciously when looking at me. Some go so far as to ask me why it is that I, and here you may want to cover your ears, look all bent out of shape.

I told you to cover your ears.

Hey, at least I didn’t say anything about looking “spectacularly bad”.

Oops. I forgot to warn you that time.

Look, don’t get mad. I have actually done you a favour. At least now you can relax in the knowledge that the whole Obama turning the white house black thing is NOT the worst joke you have heard all year.

Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life surrounded by bad puns (giving, of course, as much as I take) I will have to get these glasses fixed. That is not as easy as it sounds.

The frames seem to be made of a pliable material, soft enough to lose their official shape, but for some reason I cannot just flex them back into alignment. They seem to like their new crooked misalignment better, and after laying them down on a level surface and trying to gently coax the right stem, which had been sticking wide and high away from the straight and narrow, down to the correct path, it shoots back with a twanging sound of defiance that I am sure is not just in my imagination. Then I am left with the image that I cannot be blamed for of a video ho’s legs. During the audition, perhaps. 

The internets, I think, after shaking such unwholesome thoughts out of my head. Why don’t I just ask the Internets? The internets know everything. 

After a few clicks’ search I find this: 

Re: Fixing bent glasses

« Reply #3 on: September 02, 2007, 09:58:13 AM »

________________________________________

Yeah, my brother is an optician.

He said to douse them with gasoline and ignite with a match. Should bend back into shape all by itself.

 

Something tells me this may be a joke. One that is not even as good as the black house one. Moving on.

 

Re: Fixing bent glasses

« Reply #7 on: September 02, 2007, 11:16:05 AM »

________________________________________

Go to a dollar store and get a cheap pair of glasses and just change the side piece –one or both.

 

 

 

Re: Fixing bent glasses

« Reply #8 on: September 02, 2007, 11:43:52 AM »

________________________________________

rearrange your face to the shape of the glasses

 

 

I then checked to see if I had googled my way accidentally to drunken-bastard-american-frat-boys.sarcasm and yes, I probably had. A bit more googling brought up two tips, which I shall now generously share with all of you, because you may have glasses of your own one day, if you don’t already.

If they are plastic, a bit of warm water will soften them enough for you to gently bend them back into place. Also, most opticians, at least those the internet is acquainted with, will fix them for free with their machines. I shall know which of these techniques works best soon. Wish me luck. I need my glasses straight so there is no distraction when I apply my trademark steel gaze upon those who even dare utter the words “black house” in my presence.

 

I leave you with this: 

 

For just
Heh.

Thurrogits and Stanely Tucci

This post will be interrupted occasionally by random instances of humourous ethics violations, including pictures with words splayed over them, and plagiarism from Ivan

The first unethical picture:

obamalol1

 

The impact of an American presidency is like a prison buggering. It is likely to happen, but maybe it won’t you will not really know for sure until it is over. 

Think of the sick babe who couldn’t get treatment at her local centre four because the only gynaecologist had been fired after it was discovered that he put in two months at a Marie Stopes clinic and the administrators know that if they are linked with the slightest whiff of abortion Bush won’t give them funds any more.

 

political-pictures-mlk-sweet

 

Or the guy who was building his house on kyeyo money, until the flow trickled dry because Bush let Greenspan continue his daring deregulation regime, which lead to this financial crisis.

(Unethical Plagiarism starts here: 3. Has anyone considered just how easy it is for thieves to take inventory right around this period. All one has to do is lie in wait and then note down the houses that have people yelling with excitement. Also, it’s easy to be discerning. The ones with yells that have like 5 minute gaps in between them have Pay-TV and that enables them to watch updates every five minutes or so. Those with yells separated by days have free-TV, so it’s really your call. (Plagiarism from Edge of Innocence of Ivan ends here).

 

political-pictures-barack-obama-gallon-milk

 

You don’t know how it’s going to bugger you, or even if, but you know, watch your ass.

But enough of this gay banter. Now, let us talk about Issues The Concern Us Directly. Such as Morris’ return from BBA… coming up. 

But first, it is Celebrity Endorsement Time!

Hey, Stanely Tucci! Is that you? Renown actor, writer, director, scene-stealer and possibly homosexual gentleman?

Stanely Tucci: I am not gay. You are thinking of Nestor Carbonell.

  • Nestor Carbonell is gay?

Stanely Tucci: Fruitier than Cam’Ron and Eminem in a mudwrestling match. 

  • How do  you even know that? You are just hating.

Stanely Tucci: He came on to me. In the shoe section of a Rodeo Drive store.

  • What were you doing in the shoe section of a Rodeo Drive store? Ha! Gotcha!

Stanely Tucci: I was researching for a role, okay. I was going to play Spongebob in the live-action biopic. I thought you said you had had enough gay banter.

  • Okay. Okay. I understand you have an very amusing and intersting and striking new blog to introduce to us,

Stanely Tucci: I do, indeed. May I lay upon you the cheekiness and the flights of fancy and the extremely lime-green literary stylings of Erique!

  • You mean, Eric?

Stanely Tucci: No, Erique. And Lime Green.

  • I find him very entertaining, with an exclamation mark, too!

Stanely Tucci:That is because, Baz, you are a man of taste.

  • Excellent. Now, I understand you are off to attend a party?

Stanely Tucci: I am, indeed. Joe Biden is having a shot-glass fest to celebrate.

  • Catch you later. 

Stanely Tucci: Word.