Saturday, January 31, 2009

MUSIC MEMEMEMEMETHINGY

In the very early 70's, the above album was the lifeline to cling onto the hippy days. I remember saving every penny of my pocket money to buy 'hippyish' clothes. I probably looked a right twat. In '71 I went to Romania to see my dad, as he was working there on single status. I came back with an 'Afghan' style embroidered jacket, which was made of some form of geep & smelled just as bad. I still have this album, albeit in the form of a CD. It brings back some pretty good memories of my early teens. It's also a favourite of Hubs, so we both reminice whilst warbling to Mama Cass singing "Dream A Little Dream". I no longer have my Afghan jacket, thanks to some fuckin head-wobbler nicking it in 1983.

My early teen years were spent listening to the likes of Alice Cooper, T-Rex, Status Quo, Elton John, Rod Stewart, Ian Dury & The Blockheads, Wings etc but I avoided that shite defined as disco music. I wasn't much of a Motown fan & still cringe when I hear the likes of the Stylistics or Three Degrees - eeeeek. Tony Orlando made me want to puke every time I heard Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree. Radio DJ's in the 70's committed the same sins as they do now, by playing a song over & over again until you're sick to bloody death of it. In 1974 my parents dragged me away from England, to start a new life in South Africa. At the time I wasn't impressed, but I soon got over it. The last song I ever heard in England was "I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul & Mary. Most appropriate methinks.


Now I know it's terridly sad to admit it, but until hooking up with Hubs (all those hundreds of years ago) what I knew about Bob Dylan was - in a nutshell - fuck all. For whatever reason, Mr Zimmerman did not offer a hint of a blip on my musical radar. I swear I must have been comatose. And so it came to be that Hubs, in all his wisdom, introduced me to the brilliant Bob Dylan. I remember hearing (the late) John Peel on Radio One gaaning on about this fabulous live album called At Budokan. I fell in love, despite wishing Bob would get a sinus washout. Many more albums kept me suitably in awe of his pure genius, but then he went off the rails for a few years, trying to find his religion or whatever. The man is timeless & it's nice to know that even the young 'uns of today can appreciate his music. Spadge used to moan like hell every time we'd listen to a Dylan CD. Nowadays, he begrudginly admits the man is 'pretty neat'.

And whilst on the subject of Spadge, he in all his wisdom, introduced me to Faithless. He listened to some right crap in his yoof, but I have to admit I took an instant liking to both Sunday 8pm & Reverence. (As I type this, I'm lissenin' to 'God Is A DJ' & am bopping away in my chair. My husband is giving me some very strange looks.) Together, Maxi Jazz, Sister Bliss & Rollo manage to produce a truly unique sound - from upbeat to spiritual. Spadge also introduced me to Nirvana, which I tended to listen to when I was either on a downer or on my way to the shrink. I can handle the occasional track from the MTV Unplugged in NY, but after ten minutes I'm ready to blow my brains out.

Over the last couple of decades, my music taste has broadened quite a bit. I can quite easily go from listening to Guns 'n Roses to Garth Brooks. In the latter part of the 80's, I was based on a construction camp in the Sondu area of Kenya. I had a 2 roomed wooden house & the misfortune to live next to a Portuguese couple who earned their nicknames of Mr & Mrs Poison Dwarf. They 'grew' pigs in their yard, which they duly slaughtered - on their front stoep - when sed piggies were fat enough. They were strange days, spent trying to avoid strange people from strange parts of the planet. I tended to lose myself in my music - it was either that or lose myself in the bush. My poor little laptop was bulging at the pop-rivets with Dylan, Bette Midler, Live!, Skunk Anansie, Jill Scott & the one & only Dolly Parton. She went back to her roots with the album Little Sparrow & I still rank it as one of her best albums to date. The music & lyrics range from tear-jerking to good 'ol country boy stuff & I personally think it kept my insanity intact whilst Poisoned Porras & slant-eyed little yellow people (with bad breath & disgusting table manners) created havoc. Ahhhh, those were the days...............

Eva Cassidy, Norah Jones & Wynonna Judd are another trio of female performers I listen to, especially when I'm in the 'stop the world, I need to get off for a while' mood. Whilst living in the Magic Kingdom (where nothing is real) I tended to listen to the likes of Mango Groove & Johnny Clegg, in an effort to remind myself that I would not be sucked into the 'When We' Limey brigade that seemed to suffocate western compounds. Bleached blonde hags who drank copious amounts of home-made gut-rot wine during the day, would rabbit on about seeing Hoolio Igglayssyuss the last time they were in Bolton/Skegness/Dagenham. In times of desperation (purleeez, I don't fucking care if you saw Donny Osmond in Brighton!) I would lock the doors of the villa & play a favourite Don Williams CD. Funnily enough, I always seem to achieve a sense of calm when I listen to Country music. I'm weird, I know, but as my header says - check the worry in my eyes!

Nowadays, I feel like I've come full circle with music in some respects. I love the music of the late 50's & 60's sung by the likes of Robbie Williams & Michael Buble. The Three Tenors brought a whole new fan club into the world of opera in the 80's & I joined. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would ever listen to opera, but here I am, enjoying (albeit) modern opera music. I'm can't say that I rank any of the guys from Il Divo as being anything to swoon over because they're supposedly so handsome (they are???) but I simply love their voices. Many a time you'll find me slaving over a hot iron, warbling away to various tracks from Il Divo on my iPod.

I enjoy my music.

What about you?

* My brother
**My mum
***My dad

Posted by Jayne :: 15:26 :: 17 Had Somminc To Say

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Monday, January 26, 2009

COMPETITION

Right then folks, which golf course was this shot taken on?

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1st Prize

A week in the Empty Quarter

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2nd Prize

Two weeks in the Empty Quarter

(with a moonlighting Abu Dhabi taxi driver who hails from Afghanistan, but really doesn't smell too bad)

Posted by Jayne :: 20:17 :: 17 Had Somminc To Say

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Saturday, January 24, 2009

LOCAL NEWS UPDATE

Labels: car parking for imbiciles

Posted by Jayne :: 20:54 :: 13 Had Somminc To Say

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Thursday, January 22, 2009

A LITTLE BIT OF USELESS INFORMATION & A BOTTLE OF BEER

ON JULY 20, 1969, AS COMMANDER OF THE APOLLO 11 LUNAR MODULE, NEIL ARMSTRONG WAS THE FIRST PERSON TO SET FOOT ON THE MOON. HIS FIRST WORDS AFTER STEPPING ON THE MOON, 'THAT'S ONE SMALL STEP FOR MAN, ONE GIANT LEAP FOR MANKIND,' WAS TELEVISED TO EARTH AND HEARD BY MILLIONS. BUT JUST BEFORE HE REENTERED THE LANDER, HE MADE THE ENIGMATIC REMARK 'GOOD LUCK, MR. GORSKY',

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MANY PEOPLE AT NASA THOUGH IT WAS A CASUAL REMARK CONCERNING SOME RIVAL SOVIET COSMONAUT. HOWEVER, UPON CHECKING, THERE WAS NO GORSKY IN EITHER THE RUSSIAN OR AMERICAN SPACE PROGRAMS. OVER THE YEARS MANY PEOPLE QUESTIONED ARMSTRONG AS TO WHAT THE 'GOOD LUCK, MR. GORSKY' STATEMENT MEANT, BUT ARMSTRONG ALWAYS JUST SMILED.

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ON JULY 5, 1995, IN TAMPA BAY, FLORIDA, WHILE ANSWERING QUESTIONS FOLLOWING A SPEECH, A REPORTER BROUGHT UP THE 26-YEAR-OLD QUESTION TO ARMSTRONG. THIS TIME HE FINALLY RESPONDED. MR. GORSKY HAD DIED, SO NEIL ARMSTRONG FELT HE COULD ANSWER THE QUESTION.

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IN 1938 WHEN HE WAS A KID IN A SMALL MIDWEST TOWN, HE WAS PLAYING BASEBALL WITH A FRIEND IN THE BACKYARD. HIS FRIEND HIT THE BALL, WHICH LANDED IN HIS NEIGHBOR'S YARD BY THE BEDROOM WINDOWS. HIS NEIGHBORS WERE MR. AND MRS. GORSKY. AS HE LEANED DOWN TO PICK UP THE BALL, YOUNG ARMSTRONG HEARD MRS. GORSKY SHOUTING AT MR. GORSKY:

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'SEX! YOU WANT SEX?! YOU'LL GET SEX WHEN THE KID NEXT DOOR WALKS ON THE MOON!'

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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And on a lighter note, this young lady has demonstrated just how easy it is to hold a bottle of beer whilst riding a Harley.

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I gave the above manoeuvre a trial run on my exercise bike - before attempting to do it on Tallulah - but the bottle of Jack Daniels (Hubs choice of liquid refreshment) just didn't sit comfortably, despite being propped up by my spare tyre. If only they made Uncle Jack in round bottles..............................

Labels: Harleys, nice knockers, Uncle Jack

Posted by Jayne :: 07:41 :: 19 Had Somminc To Say

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Wednesday, January 14, 2009

ANGER MANAGEMENT

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone,
don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know, but you know deserves it.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make.

I found the number and dialed it.

A man answered, saying 'Hello.'

I politely said, 'This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?'

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear 'Get the right f***ing number!' and the phone was slammed down on me.

I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude.

When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits. After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled 'You're an asshole!' and hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word 'asshole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer.

Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, 'You're an asshole!'

It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced,I thought my therapeutic 'asshole' calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, 'Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?'

He yelled 'NO!' and slammed down the phone.

I quickly called him back and said, 'That's because you're an asshole!' and hung up.

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for.

I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me.

I noticed a 'For Sale ' sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had is number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too.

I said, 'Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?'

He said, 'Yes, it is.'

I then asked, 'Can you tell me where I can see it?'

He said, 'Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd , in Fairfax . It's a yellow ranch style house and the car's parked right out in front.'

I asked, 'What's your name?'

He said, 'My name is Don Hansen,'

I asked, 'When's a good time to catch you, Don?'

He said, 'I'm home every evening after five.'

I said, 'Listen, Don, can I tell you something?'

He said, 'Yes?'

I said, 'Don, you're an asshole!' Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.

Then I came up with an idea.............

I called asshole #1.

He said, 'Hello.'

I said, 'You're an asshole!' (But I didn't hang up.)

He asked, 'Are you still there?'

I said, 'Yeah!'

He screamed, 'Stop calling me,'

I said, 'Make me,'

He asked, 'Who are you?'

I said, 'My name is Don Hansen.'

He said, 'Yeah? Where do you live?'

I said, 'Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd , in Fairfax , a yellow ranch style home andI have a black Beamer parked in front.'

He said, 'I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers.'

I said, 'Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole,' and hung up.

Then I called Asshole #2.

He said, 'Hello?'

I said, 'Hello, asshole,'

He yelled, 'If I ever find out who you are...'

I said, 'You'll what?'

He exclaimed, 'I'll kick your ass,'

I answered, 'Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now.'

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd , in Fairfax , and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover.

Then I called Channel 7 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree Blvd in Fairfax .

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax .

I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew.

NOW I feel much better.

Anger management really does work.

Posted by Jayne :: 20:25 :: 22 Had Somminc To Say

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Saturday, January 10, 2009

CHOOSE ONE

1st Scenario

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You enter a well signposted ministerial building, divided into several sections. You find the one you need, take your electronic number & await your turn in what appears to be a busy queue. Your number is called & you seat yourself in front of a ministerial employee, who seems terribly efficient. You make your request for a visa extension & hand over your passport & assorted documents. The employee smiles at you, checks the necessary documents, puts some information into a computer & within 2 minutes, puts a small sticker in your passport. Sed sticker states that your visa has been extended. You thank him & leave, thinking silently to yourself that it was a rather quicker-than-anticipated stress-free process.

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2nd Scenario

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You phone a friend to ask where this ministerial building is. She very kindly offers to take you, as she also needs to go there. At the entrance to the building, you ask a policeman - who is manning a counter in a helpful way - where is it that you need to go. You are directed to a nearby building, which upon entering, seems to be filled with people. You notice that there is an electronic number system, so you do a visual 360 degree check to find out where you can obtain a ticket, as there is no sign or indicator to tell you where it is. You see a desk in the corner, with a man behind it & you approach. You tell the man you need a visa extention. He punches a small machine, which spews out a little ticket. You take your ticket & wait small. Then you wait small for a bit longer. Your 'series' of numbers doesn't appear to be moving very quickly. Eventually, your number is called & you approach an official as his designated counter. You tell him that you need an extention on your visa & hand over your passport. He looks at it, punches in some information into his computer & then tells you that you need to get the application form (which is in Arabic) from the 'typist', plus a photo. Once both of those items are obtained, you're instructed to come back to him.

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You note that there are A4 sized bits of paper taped to various walls, stating 'Typing' & an arrow pointing which way to go. You follow the directions & come to another building, which lo & behold is the 'Typing' place. There is no electronic numbering system. You approach a counter & a seated individual asks "typing?". You nod & he waves his hand in a dismissive manner, indicating the far end of the room. There are 3 abaya clad females, whom you assume to be typists. You take a seat & await your turn. One typist disappears after a few minutes, which leaves 2 to help an ever increasing amount of people, who want the same as you do.

Several individuals hover behind people who are being attended to.They ignore people who were there before themselves & at the first opportunity, make sure they are in fact attended to before other more patient people, like yourself. After this happened 3 times, you get up & stand so close to the female that is currently being attended to that you can see her dandruff. You stand, arms crossed & put on a 'don't fuck with me, cos I've had enough of you lot' face & silently dare someone to try & push in ahead of you.

Eventually, the woman in front of you completes her transaction & you get in the chair faster than greased lightening. As your bum hits the chair, a man approaches from the left, shoves a wad of papers at the assistant & rabbits away in Arabic. She in turn insinuates that she cannot help 2 people at once & whom must she see? He begrudgingly allows you to state your case.

"I need a visa extention" you say.

"?" she replies.

You hand over your passport & again say that you need a visa extention.

"?"

She either cannot or simply refuses to speak English. She turns & assumedly asks her fellow worker something. Sed fellow worker looks up from her keyboard, flicks her hijab & says "What you want?"

At this point you're so sorely tempted to ask her for cod & chips twice, with mushy peas on the side, but you think she wouldn't 'get it' & so for the 3rd time, you said very politely that you want a visa extension.

The penny finally dropped with the cretin employed as a typist. She takes your passport.

She was a single digit typist.

After every single letter that made the connection between her one finger & the keyboard, she looked at the monitor of her computer.

It took just over 20 minutes for her to type in a name, an address - consisting of a P.O.Box number - & a telephone number. The telephone number was repeated at least 4 times because somewhere between her brain & the keyboard, there appeared to have been a missing link.

After an agonisingly painful 20 plus minutes & numerous interuptions, you're finally handed the necessary computer generated application form, to take back to the first building. But you need photos too!! You ask an official passing by where can you obtain 'passport photos' & you are informed 'outside - maybe 10 minutes walk away'. Blinding. You exit the whole ministerial complex, in search of one of the many fast-foto shops. One fag & 4 passport type photos later, you make your way back to the ministerial building.

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You enter the '1st' building, take your electronic ticket & wait small with an air of superiority, because this time, you know you have everything possibly required. Your turn is announced & you hand your passport, your photos & your application form to the official. He grunts, punches in the information into his computer & flicks through your passport. Not satisfied, he flicks through every page, again. And finally, again. A little sticker is spat out of a machine. The official places the little sticker on the same page as the last visa, which took him 4 attempts to locate - either that or he was interested in where you'd been in the last 8yrs. He slides your passport back across his desk at you, along with the 4 photos, which he tells you, weren't necessary. Your visa has been extended for 30 days. You leave the ministerial complex after a couple of hours & wait in line for a taxi to go home.

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Someone tries to push in ahead of you.

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You tell them to fuck off & at the same time, get some manners.

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Now, which do you think was my scenario?

Posted by Jayne :: 11:06 :: 14 Had Somminc To Say

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Saturday, January 03, 2009

A SMALL FAVOUR

Today, I did a small favour for Lulu, a good friend of mine. A few weeks back, Lulu asked me if it would be possible to organise a ride on a Harley for her sister Deborah, who was coming to Abu Dhabi for a short holiday. What a pleasure said I, no worries - it'll be organised! Hubs most kindly volunteered & just for the hell of it, I asked 'Big Mike' if he'd come along as well. Two UltraGlides are better than one anytime!

Lulu has gone to great lengths to ensure Deborah (plus brotherbylaw) have a good holiday whilst they're here. I think that on the day she arrived, Lulu's sister hit the Big Half-Century & so Lulu bought & wrapped 50 individual presents. Day trips including dune bashing, the Ice Cafe, dhow dinner cruises, swimming with dolphins & the car museum - to name but a few - have all been on a packed list of Things To Do.

This morning, Deborah was told she would be doing "something different" but was given no more information. She had NO idea what Lulu had in store for her. We agreed to meet at a local golf club at a specific time & as we arrived, Lulu must have heard the bikes (such a sweet sound, even if I say so myself *coff*) & promptly ushered her sister outside. We parked the bikes & Lulu simply said "Well sis, here's your ride!" Apparently Deborah had always wanted to have a ride on a Harley & so today, her wish was granted. After a cuppa coffee & chat about what to/not to do as a pillion passenger, we kitted Deborah out with my jacket, gloves, helmet & face-mask. She really looked the part as she 'climbed aboard' behind Big Mike. Ernie - her husband - took his seat behind Hubs & away they went..................gudugudugudugudug...........roarrrrrrrrrrr!

It felt good to do this small favour, but it felt even better knowing that someone else really understands just how amazing it is to ride a Harley.

Do yourself a favour; put it on your list of Things To Do!

*contented sigh*

Posted by Jayne :: 16:50 :: 18 Had Somminc To Say

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