A lot of us can go on for days about the Lagos big girls we see around - toting bags the size of baby elephants, with equally large Sunglasses and the latest mobile phones. We know their repertoire and their itineraries. However, the Lagos big boy doesn't seem to get as much attention. Well he didn't till now. Here is a small piece from a friend of mine, Ms. Okemini, that gives an interesting take on the Big boys of Lagos.
THE LAGOS BIG BOY
“There’s a ‘Look’ in this city. Do you notice?” She asks Him.
“A look to the city?” He is confused.
“No, no I mean a look IN the city. It’s a little...strange.” Pause. “I think it’s the men...there’s something about them, you know. Suddenly, they’re all vulture-bald and goateed these days. Leather sandals and white kaftans. Maybe, some ethnic jewellry on the right wrist and voila we christen another LBB!”
Unconfirmed reports have stated that the factory’s capacity is currently one (1) Lagos Big Boy every two working days. With 2 manufactured a week from over a million factories in the state alone, an epidemic is imminent. The pirates have gone on rampage, there are counterfeit LBB’s littering our streets. Gold-diggers arm yourself with discernment.
“Everyone looks the same.” Her.
“Welcome to Lagos.” Him.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
That one feeling
Be it love lost, falling out with a friend, a business plan gone awry, or destruction of a priceless memento, I always get a most curious feeling when things don’t go as planned; A feeling that comes when I feel that something has been broken; perhaps beyond the point of repair; A feeling that bubbles, oily, to the surface of my psyche, only to drag me down, into its void.
It is a deep emptiness; a feverish turmoil that grips my mind. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet for minutes on end. I wonder where I went wrong; what I could have done better; how it is too late to change things. But as suddely as the feverish storm grips me, I am calmed. I am calm because, in the midst of my chaos, I perversely find tranquillity. I discover the eye of the storm, and there I find peace.
Like numbing poison, this feeling corrodes me, yet I do not feel its sting. A part of me is dying. I know this, but I do not care. I care for nothing. I am in a deep valley, with no shepherd. But there, at the lowest point of my consciousness, am I at my best. Because nothing else matters, I can set myself to task.
Blurred words on manuscript become razor sharp. Jumbled syntax is laid straight before my eyes; I can read. Distractions fade into misty grey; all I see is white parchment before my eyes; I can focus; I can write. Emotions in disarray; letting down their defences; I can push them aside, and pay full heed to carnal intent. I am a machine, more efficient than I have ever been.
But this state of mind is far from perfect - in truth, it is fatally flawed. For while my intrinsic motivations find themselves fortified, a part of the extrinsic world is lost on me. I cannot listen. I hear spoken words, but their meanings die upon my ears. I can read text, but English script is Spanish to my unhinged mind. I am a machine, and while I process input, I will never truly understand it. I will be cold; I will be detached; I will speak my mind, no matter how callous my thoughts. I will be mechanically efficient - but only for so long.
As with most emotions, this sentiment wanes. While traces of prior linger, and occasionally gnaw at my soul, they are soon overshadowed. Other feelings soon regroup, barricading my path to dispassionate efficiency. Phantoms of distraction materialize, restricting my cognitive advance. Work still needs to be done. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet – but this time, there is no subsequent path to tranquillity; no quick fix for my pending workload. Only mental exertions will help my cause - but I don’t mind. The mental load is lifted, and, even at the cost of my godly work rate, it’s great to have my feelings back.
The sinking feeling in my gut disappears, allowing me to fill it with food, laughter, friends, and the occasional bouts of euphoria they bring. More importantly, I can hear again; I can let the outside world in, and fully experience life. But that sinking feeling is a drug; and when it leaves, a part of me wants it back. A part of me wants to be free of distractions, to operate without a care in the world; to get jobs done and to get them done quickly. To speak my mind without concern for what anyone else thinks. That feeling will come again, but I will not search for it. When it comes, it comes, and I will use it to further my cause. I will learn from it and change, so that hopefully, one day, the feeling will be no more.
It is a deep emptiness; a feverish turmoil that grips my mind. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet for minutes on end. I wonder where I went wrong; what I could have done better; how it is too late to change things. But as suddely as the feverish storm grips me, I am calmed. I am calm because, in the midst of my chaos, I perversely find tranquillity. I discover the eye of the storm, and there I find peace.
Like numbing poison, this feeling corrodes me, yet I do not feel its sting. A part of me is dying. I know this, but I do not care. I care for nothing. I am in a deep valley, with no shepherd. But there, at the lowest point of my consciousness, am I at my best. Because nothing else matters, I can set myself to task.
Blurred words on manuscript become razor sharp. Jumbled syntax is laid straight before my eyes; I can read. Distractions fade into misty grey; all I see is white parchment before my eyes; I can focus; I can write. Emotions in disarray; letting down their defences; I can push them aside, and pay full heed to carnal intent. I am a machine, more efficient than I have ever been.
But this state of mind is far from perfect - in truth, it is fatally flawed. For while my intrinsic motivations find themselves fortified, a part of the extrinsic world is lost on me. I cannot listen. I hear spoken words, but their meanings die upon my ears. I can read text, but English script is Spanish to my unhinged mind. I am a machine, and while I process input, I will never truly understand it. I will be cold; I will be detached; I will speak my mind, no matter how callous my thoughts. I will be mechanically efficient - but only for so long.
As with most emotions, this sentiment wanes. While traces of prior linger, and occasionally gnaw at my soul, they are soon overshadowed. Other feelings soon regroup, barricading my path to dispassionate efficiency. Phantoms of distraction materialize, restricting my cognitive advance. Work still needs to be done. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet – but this time, there is no subsequent path to tranquillity; no quick fix for my pending workload. Only mental exertions will help my cause - but I don’t mind. The mental load is lifted, and, even at the cost of my godly work rate, it’s great to have my feelings back.
The sinking feeling in my gut disappears, allowing me to fill it with food, laughter, friends, and the occasional bouts of euphoria they bring. More importantly, I can hear again; I can let the outside world in, and fully experience life. But that sinking feeling is a drug; and when it leaves, a part of me wants it back. A part of me wants to be free of distractions, to operate without a care in the world; to get jobs done and to get them done quickly. To speak my mind without concern for what anyone else thinks. That feeling will come again, but I will not search for it. When it comes, it comes, and I will use it to further my cause. I will learn from it and change, so that hopefully, one day, the feeling will be no more.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The Maga Chronicles
"A Blackberry Torch? you shouldn't have."
Oh, but of course he should have. In fact, it is expected, for these are the words from a lady to her designated Maga; a man who will spend tirelessly on her, perhaps with some underlying intent.Just perhaps. A lot of women think they are above the Maga, and that they will use him for what he's worth before discarding him. But beware, the maga is not a simple animal. I went on a bit of a twitter spiel which I aptly named #TheMagaChronicles. Here it the collection of tweets:
I almost dont mind being a maga. If I have enough money to buy multiple girls BB torch + brazilian weave, I'm probably in a good place
A basic boy who can barely afford bb bold is laughing at a man who buys torch for fine women on the regular. Go figure. #magachronicles
To the maga, ladies are an investment. you think you've found maga, but maga has added you to his portfolio. #magachronicles
The maga is patient; he will lure you in slowly. The process may take months, years, but eventually, something's gotta give #magachronicles
The reason a maga has multiple women is because he's smart. At least one investment will bear fruit - if not all of them, at different times
The maga is a psychological genius & will mess with your head. While you think he's getting nothing from you, each gift let's him get closer
The maga doesn't give gifts; he gives you a chance to let him in - to talk to you for that extra 2 minutes. To let him crack one extra joke
The maga will extract information slowly, one piece at a time. With each gift/convertation, you let him know something new...
After 6 or 7 gift-versations, the maga knows more about you than your coworkers & some of your friends. Suddenly, you start to feel attached
A couple more gift-versations later you start to think "you know, that guy aint so bad. Sure he's old and not that cute, but he gets me"...
The golden opportunity for the maga arises when youre in emotional distress. He'll use all the information he's obtained and draw you closer
Then you start thinking "that guy's always there for me. Perhaps I should give him a chance"...
Before you know it, he's got you. Maga don hammer. But weren't you the one supposed to hammer in the first place? See how things change.
What happens from thereon out is up to fate. If maga had good intentions, he may wife you after the deed is done. If not, who be maga now?
You must forgive me if the tweets seem a bit disjointed. Twitter only allows 140 characters at a time, and I was just airing some Maga-ish thoughts. No, I am not a Maga, though, as I've stated, it wouldnt be all bad to be one. =)
On the random, I also followed @CharlieSheen today. He keeps me winning with Tiger blood!
Yours in winning,
Pat II
Oh, but of course he should have. In fact, it is expected, for these are the words from a lady to her designated Maga; a man who will spend tirelessly on her, perhaps with some underlying intent.Just perhaps. A lot of women think they are above the Maga, and that they will use him for what he's worth before discarding him. But beware, the maga is not a simple animal. I went on a bit of a twitter spiel which I aptly named #TheMagaChronicles. Here it the collection of tweets:
I almost dont mind being a maga. If I have enough money to buy multiple girls BB torch + brazilian weave, I'm probably in a good place
A basic boy who can barely afford bb bold is laughing at a man who buys torch for fine women on the regular. Go figure. #magachronicles
To the maga, ladies are an investment. you think you've found maga, but maga has added you to his portfolio. #magachronicles
The maga is patient; he will lure you in slowly. The process may take months, years, but eventually, something's gotta give #magachronicles
The reason a maga has multiple women is because he's smart. At least one investment will bear fruit - if not all of them, at different times
The maga is a psychological genius & will mess with your head. While you think he's getting nothing from you, each gift let's him get closer
The maga doesn't give gifts; he gives you a chance to let him in - to talk to you for that extra 2 minutes. To let him crack one extra joke
The maga will extract information slowly, one piece at a time. With each gift/convertation, you let him know something new...
After 6 or 7 gift-versations, the maga knows more about you than your coworkers & some of your friends. Suddenly, you start to feel attached
A couple more gift-versations later you start to think "you know, that guy aint so bad. Sure he's old and not that cute, but he gets me"...
The golden opportunity for the maga arises when youre in emotional distress. He'll use all the information he's obtained and draw you closer
Then you start thinking "that guy's always there for me. Perhaps I should give him a chance"...
Before you know it, he's got you. Maga don hammer. But weren't you the one supposed to hammer in the first place? See how things change.
What happens from thereon out is up to fate. If maga had good intentions, he may wife you after the deed is done. If not, who be maga now?
You must forgive me if the tweets seem a bit disjointed. Twitter only allows 140 characters at a time, and I was just airing some Maga-ish thoughts. No, I am not a Maga, though, as I've stated, it wouldnt be all bad to be one. =)
On the random, I also followed @CharlieSheen today. He keeps me winning with Tiger blood!
Yours in winning,
Pat II
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Why you aren't married
This is a nicely written piece I stumbled upon while browsing. You may not agree with it, but I just thought I'd share.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tracy-mcmillan/why-youre-not-married_b_822088.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tracy-mcmillan/why-youre-not-married_b_822088.html
Monday, January 24, 2011
EPIC DISCOVERIES
I have come across too many Epic things this week. okay, maybe just two epic things - but they are SO EPIC they count as multiple instances of EPICNESS!
First of all, watch one of the most EPIC naija videos out there till date. Nollywood aint got nothing on this one!
I dont Even know if I should make this second post seperate due to its SHEER EPICNESS! I just hope this one blog post can handle the EXPLOSIVE AMAZINGNESS of these two things at once. The internets may just explode... or implode!
This blog is by far one of the best things out there. Read, and revel in the epicnesity as it fills your mind... then BLOWS IT UP FROM THE INSIDE!
www.blackgirlsareeasy.blogspot.com
Yours Epicly,
- Pat II
btw: This post deserved all CAPS!
First of all, watch one of the most EPIC naija videos out there till date. Nollywood aint got nothing on this one!
I dont Even know if I should make this second post seperate due to its SHEER EPICNESS! I just hope this one blog post can handle the EXPLOSIVE AMAZINGNESS of these two things at once. The internets may just explode... or implode!
This blog is by far one of the best things out there. Read, and revel in the epicnesity as it fills your mind... then BLOWS IT UP FROM THE INSIDE!
www.blackgirlsareeasy.blogspot.com
Yours Epicly,
- Pat II
btw: This post deserved all CAPS!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Parental Concerns
Now I'm not a parent... yet. But I oft wonder how good (or bad) a parent I would be if eventually saddled with a responsibility of such epic proportions. It's a life-long task, just in case that somehow escaped your notice. As a parent I would want the best for my kids, and would want them to be the best they could possibly be.
But how does a father/mother elicit the greatest response from their child - the response, both mental and physical, that leads them to the epitome of their childhood form, setting the pace for a future of success and prosperity? The article below Compares two starkly different methods of "rearing" a child. My choice of word is intentional. Read on, and ponder which form of parental guidance would work best for you.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB20001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html#dummy
But how does a father/mother elicit the greatest response from their child - the response, both mental and physical, that leads them to the epitome of their childhood form, setting the pace for a future of success and prosperity? The article below Compares two starkly different methods of "rearing" a child. My choice of word is intentional. Read on, and ponder which form of parental guidance would work best for you.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB20001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html#dummy
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