The real deal

There are millions in this country who’ve not seen the TV show, Prison Break. There are many who’ve seen it but they think its not all that. They’ve seen it all; they watched Jack (a guy cautioned by the US military to cut out the torture) fight the whole world and survive in a tired immitation of those old Rambo movies, only with more mature demons. Eventually, many of us got fed up and we collectivelly puked. But by then, the Americans had already nuked blitzed Afghanistan and Iraq and it didn’t matter anymore.

Many like the person whose likeness appears below for the simple reason that he is a pretty boy. Others like him because he does not have a highly developed vocabulary so his words don’t get in the way of the storyline. Others like him because he gives them hearty laughs when he tries so hard (and fails) to be Tim Robbins in Shawshank Redemption.

For whatever reason, we have to admit, there would not have been a 3-Season show, maybe even 4, had it not been for the person whose likeness appears below.

 pix culled from the net

NB. For some reason, my links are not working. WordPress and I are going to have a moment, i think.

Stealing your thunder

          

 obviously, these pics are stolen

 

Mina Suvari is in Uganda. It is one of those hush-hush visits, where a moneyed NGO flies in a big celebrity and makes them swear on their mother’s left ear that they will not attract press attention.

She is the chick who stole Kevin Spacey’s movie. It happens all the time, you know; extras coming from nowhere and stealing your thunder.

It happened with that Osmet kid in Sixth Sense when in one inconsequential sentence about dead people, he forever changed the flick and made Willis a pedestrian.

It happened with that silly Tom Cruise flick, when Cuba Gooding shot his mouth off asking to be shown the money.

Suvari will forever be the chick who became the wet dream of like all the boys who watched the movie plus their friends at school as they told them the story after lights out.

You have probably seen that scene a thousand times. People all over trying to do what she did without an effort; “lying” on the ceiling with not a stitch on in a sea of red petals.

Kajiiko ne sukaali, mugaati gwa bata!

Last night I decided to open up the bottle of D’Avignon that a friend brought home last week. Since Mukyala has decided that she does not want to become an alcoholic and that one drunk is enough for a house the size of ours, I was thinking, “this is the life!”

But alas, it was not all so smooth. I looked around for a cork screw and couldn’t find one. As if one had unpacked itself from the shelf of a shop someplace and taken a taxi to my place. I wanted to drink and I wasn’t getting any smooth answers to the conundrum.

So I got the knife.

Opening a wine bottle with a knife is something I could perfect, maybe, for a later career in the circus. I fought and fidgeted till I had cracked the neck. But not to be outdone, I got the broken piece off and transferred the contents to a Ribena bottle.If you happen to be in my hood sometime this week, around Entebbe ways, look around for a bottle of wine disguised as a bottle of Ribena.

And in other news…

 

Malaeka is growing violent. I don’t know if it means it is time to take her to boarding school yet. I mean, when she’s cranky, she pulls onto anything and no amount of pleading will convince her to release your nose or your ear or your eye!

 

Also…

 

What is really happening with our cops? I watched on TV last week and it was like 1984 all over again and I don’t mean Orwell’s book. In Uganda in 1984, we have been told that that shit with people running from cops was all too real.

 

And I am not explaining that title.

Any given Saturday

Kampala is chocking. There are “new” cars on the roads everyday and the road space shrinks everyday. There are new ‘Bonds’ put up every other week and things are really really going crazy. 

According to the revenue collecting body of my country, 95 vehicles are registered in Kampala daily, bringing the monthly average to 1,900. 

“Uganda had 417,551 cars in 2000 and in 2002, the number shot to 431,213. The upward spiral continued with the registration of 447,727 private vehicles in 2003, while 465,574 were registered in 2004,” some website said. 

You can imagine how many wheels there are in town now. And counting.  Saturday is when everyone wants to show their stones. They bring out the tetanus traps that have been hiding in countless backyards over the week. That means I can’t get to town as easily as I would want to without thinking of the JAM.

I can’t call up my boys and say, “Chi watsup, dudes, are we doing pork tonight at the place?” without thinking, “How the hell am I going to get back to Entebbe before 9 o’clock?” 

Saturday is the worst day to move in Kampala. If you have been cursing the morning gridlock as the kids are driven to Greenhill, Saturday is worse because they have to be driven to KK Club and to Nandos and to Cineplex. 

There’s a solution though; all you Yuppies planning to acquire wheels should just wait for the Mayor’s buses. If they ever come, you can travel to town easily, without having to cap your rage weekly because of idiotic drivers. 

So much for the weekend.  

United Front

 That chick Goldilocks had better think twice about coming up in here and eating any porridge.