Enough said, the talent is insane :)
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7hfU0DkMwU
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Ngeli ya Baiskeli VI: From whence it began...
Since the beginning of my Dutch adventure, there has always been one constant; and no its not the cold, neither is it the near homicidal winds, nor the erratic weather patterns but the availability of a means of two wheeled, non-motorised transportation.
The chronology of those that I have come into contact with and involved with can be traced in earlier versions of this here blog but for the sake of memory, we shall delve just a bit into the past.
First there was Blackie (later christened St. Blackie due to her boundless magnanimity). She, who accepted and shieleded all stray noises and gave them a place to call home, I proudly owned and took all over the place but sadly retired herself in a moment of suicidal insanity that left her destroyed and yours truly limping for a week.
Next came Newbie, lithe, fast and in great condition. Run well for a couple of months and even accepted to take on some of the traits exhibited by her predecessor (maybe it was a haunting, or Blackie just looking out for me - we shall never know). Took on noises left, right and centre and then one day, just refused to work. I should have taken a hint when her back brakes just seized up for no reason mid cycle to class one morning rendering that ride a cardio-vascular session. Then she unceremoniously broke four spokes in one ride and two more on subsequent rides. Finally she gave out and just refused to move; what option did I have but to let her go?
Then there was the 'Greyhound'; a sturdy city bike with working light systems, gears and systems at al. Perfect workhorse that could cart across the city in record time on demand or just cruise around at slow speeds for random cycle work. What a bike that was; no complaints whatsoever about 'The greyhound' I dare say...well till the day that it was nicked from the parking lot outside my house...stunned was the only expression I had on my face for a couple of days, and the mystery surrounding that remains just that, a mystery.
So now I cycle around on a brilliant bike. However, for fear of history repeating itself inexplicably, I have refused to name it. The bike is capable of 21 speed and has extra handle bars, handles brilliantly and is as light as light can get on a heavy duty bike. But as is characteristic of all those that have passed through my possession, magnanimity has not eluded even this one. The home of all noises seems to have been moved from all the bikes I had previously and is now in the cogs and chains of this here bike but I fret not. Apparently, this is a good sign; fast track to potential naming soon and after that the sky is the limit.
How brilliant can this get...nameless one, on to you..
The chronology of those that I have come into contact with and involved with can be traced in earlier versions of this here blog but for the sake of memory, we shall delve just a bit into the past.
First there was Blackie (later christened St. Blackie due to her boundless magnanimity). She, who accepted and shieleded all stray noises and gave them a place to call home, I proudly owned and took all over the place but sadly retired herself in a moment of suicidal insanity that left her destroyed and yours truly limping for a week.
Next came Newbie, lithe, fast and in great condition. Run well for a couple of months and even accepted to take on some of the traits exhibited by her predecessor (maybe it was a haunting, or Blackie just looking out for me - we shall never know). Took on noises left, right and centre and then one day, just refused to work. I should have taken a hint when her back brakes just seized up for no reason mid cycle to class one morning rendering that ride a cardio-vascular session. Then she unceremoniously broke four spokes in one ride and two more on subsequent rides. Finally she gave out and just refused to move; what option did I have but to let her go?
Then there was the 'Greyhound'; a sturdy city bike with working light systems, gears and systems at al. Perfect workhorse that could cart across the city in record time on demand or just cruise around at slow speeds for random cycle work. What a bike that was; no complaints whatsoever about 'The greyhound' I dare say...well till the day that it was nicked from the parking lot outside my house...stunned was the only expression I had on my face for a couple of days, and the mystery surrounding that remains just that, a mystery.
So now I cycle around on a brilliant bike. However, for fear of history repeating itself inexplicably, I have refused to name it. The bike is capable of 21 speed and has extra handle bars, handles brilliantly and is as light as light can get on a heavy duty bike. But as is characteristic of all those that have passed through my possession, magnanimity has not eluded even this one. The home of all noises seems to have been moved from all the bikes I had previously and is now in the cogs and chains of this here bike but I fret not. Apparently, this is a good sign; fast track to potential naming soon and after that the sky is the limit.
How brilliant can this get...nameless one, on to you..
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Of growing older and seemingly wiser..
Birthday week has come and gone; yes I claim a birthday week. Why you ask? Well because I figure that after an entire month laden with study calumniating with exams form the back door of hell itself, I deserved a week off from life in general. Luckily, my birthday falls right about the start of this lazy week I call it so I could so easily protract it for an entire week and have no guilt about it whatsoever; thus birthday week!
So what is it about growing older that makes us so excited? The need to hire temporary help to respond to messages on all sorts of social and electronic media aimed at yours truly is one I think. On this one day is when all and sundry will be nice to you; handshakes, hugs, kisses and the likes even from total strangers in a sort of emotional domino effect kind of concept.
As this day wears on, and in between my nonchalance to the system of classes I should be attending, I steal short moments here and there to try and contemplate all that I have been through in the past few years of my life and see if I have become any wiser since when I last did this.
Like a proverbial mirror on the wall, I stare into space to objectively assess my life in the past years in anticipation of massive revelations about the point of life and its direction in my particular case. For one the face has not changed much; the beard I shaved just last week is back with a vengeance, facial hair seems to grow much faster now (must be the age!); the eyes are a bit more sunken and tired (must be the midnight oil sessions taking a toll); the face has lost its initial youthfulness and naivety and aptly replaced with seasoned experience on issues life et al; the hairline is showing signs of receding which leaves me a few worries here and there.
They say a face can tell an entire story, so details of other changes are rendered pretty irrelevant in general.
Fast forward to the latter parts of the evening and a birthday party is in full swing. As I sit in a corner, head bobbing to the music or inadvertently due to the extra special drinks imbibed with over zealous individuals hell-bent on getting me on the drunken express in record time (as they believe a birthday is best spent drunken and disorderly!) - I know not - I recall when I was a member of the aimlessly-hopping-about-drunken-youth bunch in a night club with an inexplicable amount of energy; days gone by when I lived for the party; days gone by when FILO applied (for all who did some sort of management studies you will understand the first-in-last-out principle); days gone by when the success of a night was measured by how much one could imbibe in an evening or how many non-rejections from the fairer sex one would have notched up on the counter.
A loose chuckle escapes me as I watch the ensuing events of the evening and think back to why we actually celebrate getting older in life. Then it hits me; its not about celebrating ageing, it is celebrating getting through one more year of changes in one's life; one more year of growth (both physical but mainly mental); one more year of victories and losses and lessons learnt. It is a celebration of all that one has accomplished in a year and the hope and longing for another year of similar if not greater achievements. It is a celebration of life and an extension on one's lease of life.
So ladies and gentlemen, give thanks for the life you have and celebrate life every single chance you get!
As was said by Steve Jobs:
'Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice and most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.'
Salutations to you February-borns; we rock!
So what is it about growing older that makes us so excited? The need to hire temporary help to respond to messages on all sorts of social and electronic media aimed at yours truly is one I think. On this one day is when all and sundry will be nice to you; handshakes, hugs, kisses and the likes even from total strangers in a sort of emotional domino effect kind of concept.
As this day wears on, and in between my nonchalance to the system of classes I should be attending, I steal short moments here and there to try and contemplate all that I have been through in the past few years of my life and see if I have become any wiser since when I last did this.
Like a proverbial mirror on the wall, I stare into space to objectively assess my life in the past years in anticipation of massive revelations about the point of life and its direction in my particular case. For one the face has not changed much; the beard I shaved just last week is back with a vengeance, facial hair seems to grow much faster now (must be the age!); the eyes are a bit more sunken and tired (must be the midnight oil sessions taking a toll); the face has lost its initial youthfulness and naivety and aptly replaced with seasoned experience on issues life et al; the hairline is showing signs of receding which leaves me a few worries here and there.
They say a face can tell an entire story, so details of other changes are rendered pretty irrelevant in general.
Fast forward to the latter parts of the evening and a birthday party is in full swing. As I sit in a corner, head bobbing to the music or inadvertently due to the extra special drinks imbibed with over zealous individuals hell-bent on getting me on the drunken express in record time (as they believe a birthday is best spent drunken and disorderly!) - I know not - I recall when I was a member of the aimlessly-hopping-about-drunken-youth bunch in a night club with an inexplicable amount of energy; days gone by when I lived for the party; days gone by when FILO applied (for all who did some sort of management studies you will understand the first-in-last-out principle); days gone by when the success of a night was measured by how much one could imbibe in an evening or how many non-rejections from the fairer sex one would have notched up on the counter.
A loose chuckle escapes me as I watch the ensuing events of the evening and think back to why we actually celebrate getting older in life. Then it hits me; its not about celebrating ageing, it is celebrating getting through one more year of changes in one's life; one more year of growth (both physical but mainly mental); one more year of victories and losses and lessons learnt. It is a celebration of all that one has accomplished in a year and the hope and longing for another year of similar if not greater achievements. It is a celebration of life and an extension on one's lease of life.
So ladies and gentlemen, give thanks for the life you have and celebrate life every single chance you get!
As was said by Steve Jobs:
'Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice and most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.'
Salutations to you February-borns; we rock!
Friday, February 04, 2011
The Schitt History
Attributed fully to the Jujubean herself...
Who is Jack Schitt you ask? The lineage is finally revealed. Many people are at a loss for a response when someone says " you don't know jack schitt." Now you can intellectually handle the situation. Jack is the only son of Awe Schitt and O Schitt. Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married O Schitt, the owner of kneedeep N. Schitt, Inc. In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt, and the deeply religious couple produced six children: Holie Schitt, Fulla Schitt,Giva Schitt,Bull Schitt, and the twins, Deep Schitt and Dip Schitt. Against her parents' wishes, Deep Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a high school dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced.
Noe Schitt later married Mr. Sherlock, and because her kids were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name. She was then known as Noe Schitt-Sherlock. Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt and they produced a nervous son, Chicken Schitt.
Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt were inseparable throughout their childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony. Thewedding announcement in the newspaper announced the Schitt-Happens wedding. The Schitt-Happens children are Dawg,Byrd, and Horse. Bull Schitt, the prodigal son left home to tour the world, and recently returned from Italy with his new bride, Pisa Schitt.
So now when someone says, "you don't know Jack Schitt", you can correct them.
Who is Jack Schitt you ask? The lineage is finally revealed. Many people are at a loss for a response when someone says " you don't know jack schitt." Now you can intellectually handle the situation. Jack is the only son of Awe Schitt and O Schitt. Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married O Schitt, the owner of kneedeep N. Schitt, Inc. In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt, and the deeply religious couple produced six children: Holie Schitt, Fulla Schitt,Giva Schitt,Bull Schitt, and the twins, Deep Schitt and Dip Schitt. Against her parents' wishes, Deep Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a high school dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced.
Noe Schitt later married Mr. Sherlock, and because her kids were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name. She was then known as Noe Schitt-Sherlock. Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt and they produced a nervous son, Chicken Schitt.
Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt were inseparable throughout their childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony. Thewedding announcement in the newspaper announced the Schitt-Happens wedding. The Schitt-Happens children are Dawg,Byrd, and Horse. Bull Schitt, the prodigal son left home to tour the world, and recently returned from Italy with his new bride, Pisa Schitt.
So now when someone says, "you don't know Jack Schitt", you can correct them.
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