Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Holding out for a hero

I love superheroes. The general idea, anyway, that someone is going to save the world from itself, champion the rights of the downtrodden and look really hot doing it at the same time. Someone should really think of making superheroes poster people for deodorants. I’m just saying, all that flying around can’t be sweat-free. Especially when they’re doing it ensconced in leather. But really – how did that whole our-cool-costumes-consist-of-wearing-underwear-over-mantights happen?...

My personal favorite is Batman. He’s so cool!!! I don’t like Christian Bale as him though. I don’t think he captures the true Batman spirit. Compared to the past Batmans (IcyHot Val Kilmer, Suave and EverSexy George Clooney and the timeless Michael Keaton), he kinda pales. WHAT’S WITH THAT VOICE. Ugh. But anyway. He’s my favorite because he could actually happen (I know, I know). You know they actually have built Batman’s car? He didn’t have to sijui be born on an alien planet or bitten by a radioactive whatever to be super. No offence to the above-implied heroes.

Has anyone ever noticed how the stories behind the superhero tend to somehow follow the same general pattern? And then usually they don’t know until some ‘major’ event takes place in their lives (bitten by a radioactive spider/getting really, really pissed/watching some form of human injustice/parents dying/you being blind/being sent an ancient scroll that maps out your destiny/being absorbed into a computer and having your DNA reconfigured/you get the picture) So this is article can also be retitled ‘How to tell if you’re a superhero.’

1. You have some form of martial arts training. Any form, really. Coincidentally bestowed upon you while you were bonding with your father.
2. Your parents are probably dead. Yeah, I know how that sounds. But someone please show me a superhero who still has parents. Batman (dead), Superman (aliens – dead too, right?), Spiderman (dead), Daredevil (dead), Fantastic Four (dead), Chun Li (dead)… do you see my point?
3. Your parents’ death probably inspired you to become a superhero. Probably because you were enraged and are now seeking revenge, or they instilled in you a responsibility to the community. With great power comes great responsibility and all that jazz.
4. You are well equipped to deal in any social situation. You can blend into any street corner, ballroom, African village, Russian terrorist camp or Intel agency.
5. You have a secret talent, like, oh, I dunno, picking locks, being conversant in Mandarin Chinese and Latin among 6 other languages, talking to dogs, supersonic booms, et al.
6. You never, ever, ever get hit by a bullet. Should this happen, you were probably faking it so the bad guys would think you were dead (the ultimate deception), or it doesn’t really hurt and in the next scene of the movie we don’t see it, or you know an old Chinese man with healing powers, or you’re simply not Jack Bauer.
7. You’re hot. Or ugly in a hot way.

Of course, not all superheroes fit into this mould. In fact, one of my favorites has parents, and is more obsessed with himself than saving anyone. A superhero after my own heart. Freakazoid should really be reintroduced on daytime telly. The crap cartoons that they show now…but that’s another article.


Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Prequel: The Mr. T. Chronicles - Friendly Etiquette, obviously

So, humans are…well, human. Obviously. Otherwise they’d be called grass. Or electricity poles. Anyhue. So humans have needs. Groinal urges, if you will. (Teehee.)

To satisfy these urges, a willing partner is needed, obviously. Most people resort to their relationships. When those are not readily available, they resort to their friendships. Thus, the lustful union of a Friends-With-Benefits relationship is born.

The truth is, women are pretty bad at FWB/BootyBuddy/Catchmate (et al) relationships. Again, the obvious reason is because women (ok, many women) associate sex with emotions, and men associate sex with…well, sex. So a physical relationship for a woman almost always results in an emotional attachment.

To AVOID emotional attachment (because men and women think so differently, these things don’t usually end well), there are certain rules that must be followed, obviously. This is for women, because we’re more prone to fall.
1. Don’t text, unless it’s a booty call.
2. Don’t talk to him, unless it’s a booty call. Other than common courtesies. That don’t extend to how his dog is.
3. Don’t start thinking about a possible future with him unless he acts like he wants one. Like texting you outside of booty call hours/conversation, or, you know, asking where this is going.
4. Don’t ask where it’s going. Unless y’all are discussing shower/bed/kitchen options.
5. Ok, I only had four. General guidelines, you understand. Unless it’s about the booty, don’t make the call. If you started at a physical level, it may be a bit difficult to cross the street. Not impossible, though. And if you find yourself getting to that place-that-shall-not-be-named, flee. You’ll only hurt yourself. Obviously.

p.s. The words Booty and Obviously have made several choice appearances in this text. Guess what the main theme is.

p.s. (2) So what happens when you’re following these rules, but the other party isn’t?

Enter Mr. T.


Tuesday, November 17, 2009

The Ratio Principle

Yes, I said it. Mostly because, you know, it’s true. I have observed this truth upon my extensive forays into this wide and wonderful universe (spanning a whopping four countries, one of which I was only at the airport, and another we merely drove through. But I breathed the air there! And it therefore should still count. As well as the states I’ve been to. So we’ll make that a nice, round number 8. 8 countries. Yes.). I honestly think Kenyan men are a pretty good looking bunch - but no one ever says so. Pride, prejudice, or sensibility? Hmmm. Definitely not sense… However, we all must give credit where it is due. Of late, there has been a tentative then hearty appearance of the semi-metro man. He who still does beer and nyamchom with the boys, but will go to the gym after work and wear (ubersexy) loafers on a casual date. Forget McSteamy – McMoto!! Whoopwhoop!!
Like I said, no one admits it, or there’s the other scary section of Nairobi girls who insist I have incredibly low standards. Well, there’s a good side of being easy to please – I see a lot more eye candy. And it is STATISTICALLY PROVEN that eye candy is good for blood pressure, circulation, optical improvement and elasticity (you know, when you’re trying to follow them into the distance), muscle strength (you know, when you’re trying to follow them into the distance) AND it releases multi-endorphins. That’s the special kind.
Anyhue, to prove these naysayers wrong, my girlfriend and I decided to test my theory. (What are they called when they are then proven to be true? Facts? Principles? Why then is it not called the Pythagoras Fact, Or Einstein’s Principle of Relativity? Hmmm.) My theory (I really need a more fancy-schmancy name) states that For everyone five average looking and/or funny-looking male in this city, there is one Adonis. I think those are pretty good odds, considering how we haven’t started on the ladies… *ahem*. Surely both of us can’t have low standards. Plus we usually find very different men attractive, and she’s a diva, so between us we represent the majority of Nairobi females. I think.
So we stood on a corner and counted. My theory was proven resoundingly correct more than once. Talk about reversed roles! Two chicks on a corner, checking out the teeming mass of males streaming before our (slightly greedy) eyes. It was most refreshing. You, dear reader, should try it. It gives you a greater appreciation for humanity. Especially as they walk away. *winkwink*
So, I’m right. I always knew I was a genius. :o)
p.s. Guys on motorbikes…please don’t look so random on your bikes. You bought the bike, so buy the image. I cannot begin to count the number of times I thought the guy driving a Kawasaki should be in a Tuktuk. Don’t tease us like that. Please. Walk the walk – as in, if you can’t hack, walk. Then again… lemme stop being shallow.

Friday, November 13, 2009


In my life
I'm not sure
which is easier to find
or truth.
And sometimes it seems
to be
to me
that these masters of artistry
hide their faces from me.