Shave my legs and call me grandma! ...otherwise known as wow!

The Nigerian music scene has got me dusting up my old dance moves, making me hop, step n twist like never before. Never mind that all these are happening in my head, ‘cos if truth be told, I can’t dance to save my life.

Thank God for Yahoozie! At least people like me can now lay hold on to a dance step – no matter how ridiculous.

Anyhoo, back to my initial line of thought. Omo boys dey hot like fire! I recently laid my hands on some tracks from the yet-to-be-released album (don’t ask me how) of some new dude called M.I, and man...um, man...well, he’s good. He’s got the rhymes, the attitude and the smarts to be 9ja’s next big rap star.

He’s not the only one.

There’s also this other chick called Nyore (fellas, I hear she’s hot!) who’s got me um...dancing (you know warramean). These group of new school artistes seem set to put Nigerian music on the world map, and like never before, I’m proud to be Nigerian!

But the guy that’s got me on a roll right now is that Benin bobo, Oriri! His album, Sisi Eko (which is also the title of his hit track) is off da hooooooooooook! I’m annoying my colleagues right now by playing his album over and over again! LOL!

Oh, and by the way, I started jogging. Yeah! Two days down the line, and I suddenly feel sympathetic towards the poor sods in the military that have to do this every morning. My joints ache like mad, and my thighs and calves feel like Samuel Peters took out his revenge on them. All because the lady doesn’t like the belly that much. What on earth happened to “I love you the way you are”?

Well, here’s a toast to the 9ja music scene, and wishing me speedy recovery (or woreva), cos as God is my witness, come tomorrow morning, I’m going jogging again!

Well, tie me up and call me a puppet.

AND NO! NO POEM TODAY. C’MON GUYS, EVERYDAY’S NOT A HOLIDAY (Asa...).

we who are about to die salute you...

Morituri te salutamus. You probably know this famous greeting ill-fated gladiators made to the Emperor, when he was gracious enough to bestow upon a fight, his presence. Not the most exciting thing to look forward to, I must say. But, hey, they had a job to do right?

In many ways, I feel like a gladiator.

Okay, make that one way. And believe me, it's not an easy way. You see, I'm a copywriter, and my job demands that I come up with creative ideas and strategies that sell whatever message, service or product my client wants to pass across to his Target Audience. It may seem fun at first, but when you get down to the nitty gritty, you get to understand that a lot of brain power goes into producing one single communication material (or ad). Well, then again, a lot of brain power is supposed to go into it.

Here lies my pain.

Today, a lot of the ads on the pages of the papers and on TV make me want to shoot myself. No, really! It seems everyone's doing a wam, bam, slap-it-on kinda job, thinking the rest of us humans out there suddenly developed the intelligence of mules. I mean, who on God's green earth approves the stuff called ads these days?! Who's the sucker that pays for them?

What does my ranting have to do with Russell Crowe and the other half clad men in leather? Nothing. Except for the fact that credible copywriters are fast becoming extinct, and are slowly being replaced by half-baked, 419ing, pretentious usurpers to the ad throne.

E dey pain me oh!

Where are the writers?! Stand up before someone runs us out of the scene, and we become, just like the gladiators, a people of past glory and fame.

We who are about to die salute you.

 

With tears that knew not whence they came,

And laughter that knew not why,

We fought to live, our rage to tame;

In truth we lived a lie;

Only to turn back and reclaim

With heaves and many a sigh;

In death we'll live past this wretched game

For while we live we die.

7/7/2005.