Walk don't Run

Sometimes we find ourselves in the places where our journey is limited by space, narrow paths, traffic and natural obstacles. Trying to navigate our way through these times while at full tilt is not only dangerous, but a sure way to get injured. There are those of us, driven by adrenaline, endorphin addicted, who see no fun in the slow process required for safe passage. No, we would rather charge forth, testing our mettle, our thinking ability, our reflexes against the very sharp edged obstacles in our way. The journey is not thrilling if not for the constant ducking and turning.

Yet, what good, is running if you never walk? The knowledge that being safe and not having hurt yourself in your navigation, must always outweigh the urge to run, the desire to hasten through. For that love for the unnecessary bumps, bruises and cuts that leave lingering marks is a dysfunction. It can't be normal, to want to hurt oneself on the journey. The scars remain, calloused and deeply etched, having changed perhaps the very nature of our gait.

In my own life, as I meander through, I have done a lot of running. Sometimes blindly through prickly thorns, ending up with ripped clothes, bloody cuts and painful memories. So somewhere in this journey, I have gained the resolve to walk and not run.

Technology Freak

So my boss walks in the other day and says, "I bought you a Blackberry Playbook," and gives me this little device that's prancing around as a miniature IPAD. So standing there I can't say I was not pleased and yet something in the back of my mind says, "What the heck are you up to?" I mean this is corporate America and quite frankly, there's nothing for nothing. Now the little boy in me is doing loops because I have been scouting IPADs and have been inclined to dismiss that inner voice screaming, "You need this toy!" Of course I have to ignore him, because he's the same fool that has had me have one last drink, buy one more thing, or say one more rude word to the guy three times my size.

I accept the gift and soon realize that its primary function is to be an extension of my Blackberry phone, see now I can do all the functions of my phone on the Playbook, thus relegating my phone to modem status. However, I spend all night and part of my next work-day discovering this. So much for a productive day, well, my boss gave it to me and in my estimation, he's getting his money's worth. So as I scroll, slide and tap on this thing, I realize that my desk is a mass of cables. I have my laptop open and the USB cable for the Playbook connected to it on one port, another cable connected to the other port with my Blackberry charging, as I try to synchronize the media files to my laptop so I can transfer them to the Playbook. There's a cable going to the printer which I can't connect to because I'm using the two ports on the laptop for my Blackberry gadgets and I have to buy another peripheral device so I can daisy chain these things together. I might need Fire wire.

So as I take off my newly bought T1 Bluetooth headset to see if I can synchronize it with my Playbook, realize that it didn't come with a cable that will fit the port on the Playbook and trying to Bluetooth it isn't cutting it. Never mind that the configuration says it's discoverable, I can't get the dang thing to connect and so therefore I have to rely on the Playbook speakers which means I have to fumble around for headphones. The speakers are not too shabby, but what good is this low sound when I'm sure the IPAD has better sound? Anyway, I am quick to connect it to the school network via a request to our resident technician, now the Playbook is usable in all areas of our building, I am in heaven.

I am still not sure why he's bought this toy for me, and I guess I shouldn't ask. My bag is rather full right now, I have two headsets, about five USB cables, a wireless mouse, wireless overhead projector remote control, IPOD, Playbook and all the necessary power cables. The way I see it, I'm just an average guy.I mean don't all guys have all this stuff? How do they survive otherwise? Even though Blackberry have made the device and seem to be lagging on applications, this little thing will do for now. It's really not very much use to me except as a distraction in places where I don't want to engage anyone, like the office. So till I figure out exactly what this bribe is about, I need a bigger bag.

Listen to internet radio with Soneka on Blog Talk Radio

Rap Response to Zambian Rappers

I can officially say that I have had my fill of wanna-be Zambian rappers with their falsified American accents working so hard to be what they shouldn't. Though I admire their talents, I believe that there is a misguided movement to disrespect our cultural values and inherit what is clearly not even admirable in America. Knowing that sometime in order to reach people you have to use their medium, I have written my response to this musical foolishness as a rap:

Here you again, spouting that stuff
Guys from Chawama, Kanyama acting tough,
like you are kin with Osama.
Trippin of a blunt, acting like a .......
Dag....did I almost say that?
Gotta know this man's supreme,
living true not like you kids spitting dreams.
You flossin' like you be bossin',
your names should be in neon lights right under fakin'.
Tryna be American? How can you, when you squawking like
a doped up Pelican.

Making vidoes where you look like criminals,when the closest
you've been to being a gangsta is when you rode that bus to Mansa.
Claiming to be a Zambian, droppin the LSK in your rhyming,
but we raised you to be classy, not to spew lines that are trashy.
I hear your fake accents, tryna mimic the lines from the US.
Your stuff sounds useless, so weak that all you can do is cuss.
Abana balechinchila lelo inshiku, Yo' mama didn't come from no ghetto.
Note to self, make sure these fake Zambians get the memo.
See we just want you to be original, stop copying stuff you can't follow,
munga dimwe nyama ya mumusebo.

Here's a taste of logic, that makes your inswa eating butts look apologetic.
See I'm not a skeptic, I'm affected, so silence isn't an option, because your actions are spastic.
See I can do this with no effort, spew lyrics like a prophet.
Na bana Mulenga nabaishiba that you're up against my static, about to
be scorched by words that are hypnotic.
You've pissed of someone that is just classic, you're in my house, so get ready for
the fantastic.
I'll reduce your raps to helium, change your voice like back at Jacaranda with Ms. Panambelum.

See I won't stand by, can't stand by, till all you pee-wee rappers say bye, bye.
Seeing as you've chosen to be vulgar, I insist you continue in the vernacular.
Ati nembwa iwutukila amafi, your raps are so whack and raunchy, step back, you got my ears all itchy.
Girls in your videos butt shaking? How you get a Zambian girl to act like a donkey?
Not exactly the call of a rocket scientist, that's actually the move of a prostitute.
You passed the test, you lack finesse, step back, and take a rest.

Let me break it down for you in new lingo, put a small hurting on your verbal ego. The profundity of your erudition so far exceeds my ability to comprehend that it is obligatory for you to elucidate. And with that, I'm done, feel free to enunciate.

What happened to love songs?

So the other day, a friend of mine posted on Face Book, his feelings about a new song by Keith Sweat and Joe, called Test drive. According to him,it's the ultimate ballad. Being familiar with the lyrics for this song, I spent the next few days wondering if for some reason, I had missed the memo on, "How you sweet talk women in the new millennium."

This tune has a very catchy beat and an engaging hook, but the lyrics are awe inspiring, with deep loving and reflective verses like; "Out of all the cars, in the yard. You're the one a player wants. Got a big bank girl, I can buy the parts," Test Drive goes where other love songs fail. I mean songs by Luther Vandross with lines like; "Love has truly, been good to me, not even one sad day, or minute have I had since you came my way," are eclipsed by Test Drive's reflective; "I know you thinkin, I'm talkin about a car, but baby I'm not I'm talking about us."

Evidently there is something us Gen Xer's are missing. The way to a woman's heart in the Gen Y diaspora does not meander through her brain and down towards her heart. It's not captured by the ears and masticated for filtration to be deciphered in code. No, you've got to reach right down and grab her panties. So, saying, "Love has a mind of it's own, it comes at the strangest times, somehow it takes control, so try and try but it won't let me go, no matter what I do or where I go your love's got a hold on me," (Glenn Jones) is inadequate today. No, with today's girls you've got to go for the jugular; "You make me wanna test drive -It's hot up in here I'm a take off your top- You make me wanna test drive - Got my feet on the gas and we won't ever stop- You make me wanna test drive - Just put the roof back and let your panties drop- Down, down, touch the ground." That's the stuff that gets them wild.

You see what's most frustrating is that a lot of today's young crooners have these magnificent voices, Tyrese, Tank, Joe, Avant, Ginuwine; and yet their choice of material continues to perpetuate the unsophisticated palate of Ghetto romance. In Tyrese's immortal words, "You know we be tearing it up, breaking @#$% that Ghetto love. So, how you gonna act like that?" I mean how could Teddy Pendergrass even think of singing, "Think I better let it go, looks like another love TKO?" When girls today are scrambling for songs that talk about; "I'm what you need, you need a lift girl, I'll be the seat. Come on and sit on it, ride on it, but don't you move from it."

I feel like I'm in a Barry White time warp. Caught up in his line, "Tell me a secret, I just don't wanna know about any secret but I wanna know about that special secret." I'm still glowing from knowing that, "Love won't let me wait, because the time is right, to spend the night, in a wonderland. So move a little close to me, you owe it to yourself." That's what I remember trying to conjugate as I navigated my way around a woman's head. Where did those words go?

Now, we are bombarded with; I keep it comin so my wood-grain telling me to go North, go East, Go West, Go South, down. Ridin in your Cadillac,keep your feet by the brake if you ain't ready yet." Lord, you took Luther away for some reason and just when we thought Brian McKnight might help us with, "My shattered dreams and broken heart are mending on the shelf. I saw you standing close, holding hands with someone else," money took his creative spirit and made him sing rubbish. Please help us, because somewhere, even my brothers that I grew up with, those who should remember what a true love song should be about, are now touting Test Drive.

Dating in the new millenium!

So the other day, driving to work, I'm listening to Steve Harvey like I usually do (don't judge me!). He's always good for a serious laugh before one walks into the jaws of the mundane. There's a segment they do that's similar to 'The Dating Game'. A man or woman has three possible dating choices. The decision is based on basic information provided during a questioning period and after the prospect has viewed a profile. You get the picture.

Well today I listened as a man with the help of the presenters questioned three women. Turns out this fellow is about 50 years old and a widower, looking for a love connection. As he navigated the road of initial courtship on national radio, asking these women things like; "What do you like to do for fun? Can you cook? What are you looking for in a man?" I couldn't help but think that none of his questions were sparking the kind of information that men are interested in. He was asking the typical things that give you a general view of someone and really didn't seem to have any eliminating capabilities. In my mind, this means that he'll quite basically look at the profiles and go with the woman he believes best physically represents what he is looking for.

So as he continued his downward plod, I started forming my own series of questions in the back of my mind. His line of questioning was leaving me unfulfilled and empty and thus I felt compelled to step in on his behalf. There are just some things that most self-respecting men would need to know prior to a date with any woman, let alone a 40 plus year old.

Not having been in the dating game a while, I started putting together some poignant questions. My list may appear somewhat superficial and not be exhaustive but you will have to excuse me, I am a man. I believe that some, if not all of the following should be addressed;

1. Are those your real eyelashes? If not, do you intend to grow any and if so,
when?
2. Are you using any control top garments and upon removal, will I have any shocked
reaction?
3. Do you have any fake teeth? This includes bridges, crowns, or any other
reconstructive dental surgery.
4. Are you wearing any shape enhancing devices that squeeze and change your natural
shape? Once released
5. Is that your hair? If not, how many other people can you be in a month and will
you be surprising me often?
6. When you take off your hair, will I prefer that you didn't?
7. Do your kids live with you and if so are they rug-rats or delinquents? How old
are they and if any is older than 18, why are they not in college or out of the
house?
8. If you claim you are a Christian woman, why are you on Steve Harvey show looking
for love?
9. If you are such a catch, how come your last husband left you and your kids?
10.Are your eyes really green or will that change like your hair?
11.In your response to a perfect Saturday date you said something about waking up to
a late breakfast. How quickly do you get to third base?

As you can see, this line of questioning will very quickly eliminate quite a few women. Like I said this list is not exhaustive and can definitely take a turn here and there. However, on a radio show, these questions provide critical guidance and direction for the man with an eye to maximizing his potential to find the perfect mate. We need some men who can keep it real! I'm just saying!

Ghana's World Cup

Ghana's eventual loss today was devastating. All of Africa was tied into this, our freedom moment. Uruguay was never a colonizer but somehow, just by their origin, they represented more than just football opposition. Deep down inside we were tying them to the colonizers and oppressors who have tread on our soils. Their South American connection felt repetitive of past World Cups and this, this was Africa's moment.

As Asamoah Gyan stepped up to take the penalty today in the waning minutes of the overtime game against Uruguay today, hundreds of millions of people were holding their breath. If you're like my wife and I, then you barely sat down for a minute of the whole game, stealing occasional glances at the television, while seemingly trying to do innocuous tasks around the house. For the millions of us rooting for Ghana, the only remaining African country in the 2010 World Cup, it more than intense. Luis Suarez, whose handball created this opportunity for Africa to unite in one shining moment, was making his way back to the locker room weeping desperate tears. After Gyan sent the shot hard against the crossbar and over the goal, the camera showed Suarez in exasperated relief, realizing that his very life had been saved. My own laments come to my ears as I questioned God's loyalty to our cause.

There was just this prevailing feeling that this was the year that an African country would break the jinx. This confirmation that we would finally lose the moniker of 'potential' bridesmaid and actually become part of the bridal party. The Black Stars were showing the world that African football has finally arrived at the highest level on the world stage. It took me about six hours to calm down today, eventually needing to go to a garden store to buy some flowers and do some subsequent planting. Therapy, I needed therapy.

Ghana has nothing to hang its head down about, nothing to be ashamed about. Mightier teams have fallen, and earlier in this tournament. Italy, England, France, and Brazil all have made their exit. Ghana put on valiant effort and unlike Luis Suarez whose handball made him an unlikely hero because of the outcome, reminding us again that Africa continues to knock on the door of greatness. This was just not a game, it was our continued strive to forget colonialism, Apartheid, neo-colonialism, elitism and racism. All these seemingly unconnected things are the subliminal, unsaid things that these games represent to us. Uruguay may not have been a colonizer, but their origins allow us to use them as a symbol of all we have fought against.

I want to shout, "Our civil rights were violated, this is racism!" I can't because, this is football and FIFA is doing all it can to send the message that this game transcends race, color, creed, economics and nations. This is the beautiful game - that one game that is truly a world sport. What transpired today was just what Asamoah Gyan said, "It's hard luck. You know, we had opportunity to win this game," Gyan said, "but unfortunately, that is football for you."- (Associated Press http://soccernet.espn.go.com/report?id=264116&cc=5901&ver=us)

Today, we witnessed why this game is so great, why even after losing a job almost a month ago, I have been carried through what should have been a difficult period with nothing but memories of the opportunities to watch each and every game. With my first day of new employment coming next week, Ghana's exit could not have come at a better time, somehow Uruguay, Netherlands, and whoever wins tomorrow, don't raise my gander. I'm really not interested anymore and will watch only because football is my religion. I will not worship at the altar because my favorite African preachers have left and the choir isn't singing any of my favorite songs.

As for Asamoah Gyan, my hats off, much respect. Stepping up to that penalty kick, he carried the weight of all of Africa. His shoulders should have been sagging as he stepped up to that ball. We were all riding on his shoulders, offering advice on how he should place that kick, how hard he should kick it. His miss was our miss and as Ghana's fortunes go, so went Africa. We are reminded however, in Asamoah's statement about the resilience of Africans, we never dwell on the pain, but recognize that our success is in the fact that we're still standing here today. Ghana played beautiful soccer and Africa rejoiced, Ghana lost and so did Africa, but that was only today. Tomorrow will come.