Winner!
I am not a winner. I never win anything. Actually, that's not exactly true. Once when I was about 1o years old, I was at a fundraiser for the SPCA, and there was a raffle. There was a huge jar of jelly-beans, and every entry would let you guess how many jellybeans there were inside. My mother, being a teacher, showed me a very logical method for figuring it out. (no, not opening the jar and counting them! Not that logical.) She counted how many there were on the bottom of the jar, and then counted how high they went, and then she did something in her head (I think it was magic), and came up with a number. I don't remember what number that was, but it ended in 20. If I were to take a guess, I think she said 320. Yeah, that sounds about right. Anyway, I thought to myself: "Sure, that fancy magic may get you an actual figure, but that can't be exactly right". I was much smarter than that, even back then. So, I decided to not make it an even number, and I wrote down "316". I felt pretty good about my chances, and sure enough the next day I got a phone-call. Yes, me, a 10-year old got a phone call. It was exciting. It was the SPCA, and they told me that I had won! I was a winner! She told me that my guess was the closest to the actual amount of jellybeans in the jar - 320.
For a while, I wondered what my prize would be. Perhaps a new bike, I thought. Well, no. When I got my prize - the same jar of jellybeans - it sudddenly didn't seem like such a "huge" jar anymore. So that is about the extent of me winning anything, and even then, it was my mother's magical powers that made it happen. She was kind enough to let me keep the jellybeans.
That is why, last week, I was very surprised to get an email saying I had won tickets to see Yellowman. Now, I often enter into a draw for free tickets to concerts through a reggae website in Holland, without much regard to who is playing. But Yellowman I knew through the curse of the compilation CD. Basically, I knew who he was, what type of music he plays, and one or two songs. I am more a reggae kind-of-guy, and Yellowman is one of the legends of dancehall.
Here is one of the more reggae songs from the set he played:
In fact, I won two tickets, and so I posted this message on the facial-books to see if anybody would want to join me:
"Any Elephant Man fans out there willing and able to go to his concert on Saturday in Eindhoven? I won two tickets, is all. Oh wait, I should write this message in cool dance-hall lingo... Big up dem massive! boo-yaka sha! Me dem ere getty dem tickats two ta si Elephant Man! Giv tanks an prase! Holla mi bak."
Did anybody notice something strange here? Yes, dancehall is so far out of my musical range that I got Yellowman mixed up with Elephant man. Silly me, mixing up an albino dancehall star with one who has elephantisis.
Okay, Elephant man does not have elephantisis as far as I know (which obviously isn't a lot), but seriously, Yellowman is an albino. One of his songs, and I'm not making this up, is called "Mi Yellow like Cheese". I have never seen such a wierd looking man. Google image this guy with precaution. He looks like Grendel from Beowulf. As Stewie Griffin once said "I feel bad for looking without paying." And since I won the ticket, I felt bad for looking.
But me going on about his looks is pretty immature and a dick thing to do of me. After all, he is also a cancer survivor. Besides, he has done immense good for our type: albinos. And since he is thought to be one of the most sexist recording artists of all time, I think he is perfectly comfortable with who he is.
So, since I had him confused with Elephant man the week before the concert, I had been refreshing myself with the wrong music, and when I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised at the reggae-ness of the band. See, early dancehall is still very reggae. In fact, such as in the above song, they often use the same song to sing over. I prefer reggae, but dancehall does sound so much better live. And I loved the effort of a 53-year old cancer survivor, with the biggest pelvic thrusts I've ever seen. His 4-piece band was tight, they played a good range of classic reggae (including covers) and dancehall, and even a cover of Fats Domino's Blueberry Hill. It was the best free night's entertainment I've had in a long time. Unfortunately, the concert was in Eindhoven, which was the villian in the story when I fell asleep on the night train. It was a 2-hour train-ride home, and I wasn't going to risk being stuck at a station at night. I left the small concert hall regretfully, as Yellowman was still going strong after 90 minutes on stage. At one stage he said "Yellowman guarantees satisfaction, satisfaction guaranteed" and "The reason I was put on this earth is to make sure you all have a good time." After what I saw, I believe that he believes that.
So while it wasn't exacly my thing, I saw a living legend in the Jamaican music scene and had a genuinely good time, and I learned that perhaps albinos can be winners after all.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Walk a Sham
As you may recall, for those of you playing at home, my bike was stolen from the station a few weeks ago. I thought some drunk person and/or homeless person had stolen it in a random incident, but now I think there may be a conspiracy against me. Someone -or something- is dearly against me riding a bicycle. I am not a superstitious man, but consider these cold hard facts of the last few weeks.
These last few weeks- and until the end of the year, I am working incredibly hard- working hard beyond recognition. (i.e. it is very unlike me to work this hard.) I go to school every day to write my thesis, and do my homework for my other class. I also still work 12 hours per week earning actual money, as university "credit" doesn't actually get you anything except disdain from people with actual full-time jobs.
Be aware that every single day that I don't have a bike, I have to walk a half hour to town, and from there another 10 or so to school. There is a bus, but it often comes only once an hour, and sometimes it comes early, so on top of the 7 minutes it takes to walk there, you have to be 10 minutes early, and then, it might come very late. It is often worthwhile to just walk. On the way home, I usually took the bus.
My bike was stolen on a Wednesday. I waited until after the weekend to get a new one.
The Tuesday after my bike was stolen, I went to the bike store and asked what 2nd hand bikes were available. I found one that I maybe wanted, but decided to think about it for a day, and maybe compare prices.
Thursday. I was going to go to the bike store to buy it. Only, the shop had a small sign on the window saying his daughter was sick at the hospital, so he was closed all day. It would be a dick-move to complain about this. So I won't.
Friday. I went back, and told him which bike I wanted. He needed to fix it up a little beforehand, and he couldn't make it ready for me today. Also, since he is closed on Mondays, I told him begrudgingly I would pick it up on Tuesday.
After a whole week without wheels, I was getting pretty sick of walking.
Week 2
Monday. The bike store is closed.
Tuesday. There was another sign on the door that said he was closed from 2pm. It was 3pm.
Wednesday. I finally could pick up my bike. Wow, this time I have an old racing bike, and damn it goes fast. I was so happy, that feeling felt like it would last forever.
Thursday. I finished all my study and errands in record time, and I had energy when I got home. I made plans to get up early and do it again the next day.
Friday. As I was about to leave for a jam-packed day of study, I noticed that my front tyre was flat. Shit! After some swearwords, I put out my left foot and took the familiar walk back to town.
Week 3
Tuesday. I wanted to let him fix the tyre properly while it was still under moral-warranty. I was expecting this to be the last time I had to walk to town. So I walked to town with my bike, and went back to the bike shop (because he is closed on Mondays). He was sick again. Fuck. So I locked up my bike outside his shop and left, knowing that I would have to walk to town again tomorrow.
Wednesday. There was a sign on the door saying he was out picking up new bikes until midday. I had work at 2pm. There was no way he would be able to fix up my bike within the first hour of his working week, so I told him I could pick it up the next day at 5pm- at his closing time, and the time my class finishes.
Thursday. I had to wake up very early, and it was raining very hard. Unfortunately, the bus was early and I saw it fly by before I got to the bus stop. So I walked. In the drenching rain. At the end of the day when class finished I walked as quickly as I could to the bike store, arriving at 5:05. I saw him, busy putting all the bikes on the street into the tiny store. He saw me and said, "I'm sorry, your bike is right at the back of the store, I am not going to get it out now."
As he said that, a part of me died inside. Truly. My feet were dead tired, and my mind destroyed. I mean, I had been working so hard these last few weeks, and this let down was almost my breaking point. I loped back to the bus stop...
Friday. Finally, my bike. He didn't charge me for it, which is nice. I mean, I like the guy, but circumstances have been so against me lately, it brought me to the edge of despair.
I will not take my bike for granted. Because there is one thing I have learned from these last three weeks: Even though it is man's primary form of locomotion, I fucking hate walking.
As you may recall, for those of you playing at home, my bike was stolen from the station a few weeks ago. I thought some drunk person and/or homeless person had stolen it in a random incident, but now I think there may be a conspiracy against me. Someone -or something- is dearly against me riding a bicycle. I am not a superstitious man, but consider these cold hard facts of the last few weeks.
These last few weeks- and until the end of the year, I am working incredibly hard- working hard beyond recognition. (i.e. it is very unlike me to work this hard.) I go to school every day to write my thesis, and do my homework for my other class. I also still work 12 hours per week earning actual money, as university "credit" doesn't actually get you anything except disdain from people with actual full-time jobs.
Be aware that every single day that I don't have a bike, I have to walk a half hour to town, and from there another 10 or so to school. There is a bus, but it often comes only once an hour, and sometimes it comes early, so on top of the 7 minutes it takes to walk there, you have to be 10 minutes early, and then, it might come very late. It is often worthwhile to just walk. On the way home, I usually took the bus.
My bike was stolen on a Wednesday. I waited until after the weekend to get a new one.
The Tuesday after my bike was stolen, I went to the bike store and asked what 2nd hand bikes were available. I found one that I maybe wanted, but decided to think about it for a day, and maybe compare prices.
Thursday. I was going to go to the bike store to buy it. Only, the shop had a small sign on the window saying his daughter was sick at the hospital, so he was closed all day. It would be a dick-move to complain about this. So I won't.
Friday. I went back, and told him which bike I wanted. He needed to fix it up a little beforehand, and he couldn't make it ready for me today. Also, since he is closed on Mondays, I told him begrudgingly I would pick it up on Tuesday.
After a whole week without wheels, I was getting pretty sick of walking.
Week 2
Monday. The bike store is closed.
Tuesday. There was another sign on the door that said he was closed from 2pm. It was 3pm.
Wednesday. I finally could pick up my bike. Wow, this time I have an old racing bike, and damn it goes fast. I was so happy, that feeling felt like it would last forever.
Thursday. I finished all my study and errands in record time, and I had energy when I got home. I made plans to get up early and do it again the next day.
Friday. As I was about to leave for a jam-packed day of study, I noticed that my front tyre was flat. Shit! After some swearwords, I put out my left foot and took the familiar walk back to town.
Week 3
Tuesday. I wanted to let him fix the tyre properly while it was still under moral-warranty. I was expecting this to be the last time I had to walk to town. So I walked to town with my bike, and went back to the bike shop (because he is closed on Mondays). He was sick again. Fuck. So I locked up my bike outside his shop and left, knowing that I would have to walk to town again tomorrow.
Wednesday. There was a sign on the door saying he was out picking up new bikes until midday. I had work at 2pm. There was no way he would be able to fix up my bike within the first hour of his working week, so I told him I could pick it up the next day at 5pm- at his closing time, and the time my class finishes.
Thursday. I had to wake up very early, and it was raining very hard. Unfortunately, the bus was early and I saw it fly by before I got to the bus stop. So I walked. In the drenching rain. At the end of the day when class finished I walked as quickly as I could to the bike store, arriving at 5:05. I saw him, busy putting all the bikes on the street into the tiny store. He saw me and said, "I'm sorry, your bike is right at the back of the store, I am not going to get it out now."
As he said that, a part of me died inside. Truly. My feet were dead tired, and my mind destroyed. I mean, I had been working so hard these last few weeks, and this let down was almost my breaking point. I loped back to the bus stop...
Friday. Finally, my bike. He didn't charge me for it, which is nice. I mean, I like the guy, but circumstances have been so against me lately, it brought me to the edge of despair.
I will not take my bike for granted. Because there is one thing I have learned from these last three weeks: Even though it is man's primary form of locomotion, I fucking hate walking.
Monday, November 02, 2009
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