Random Photo Album Excerpts

One of the nice things about writing an amateur blog (yes, this is an amateur blog, hard to believe...) is that you're not beholden to management, readers, the press, HR, the police, Nancy Grace or anyone else. 

You can just do as you please. 

Don't get me wrong, however -- I do feel an obligation to amuse and entertain you, dear discerning readers. 

With the goal of keeping The LG Report fresh, and not caring about starting sentences with prepositions, I decided to grab a random photo album from the bookcase and post some of its pictures with captions. 

We'll see how this idea goes over.  Probably like a Rosie O'Donnell sex tape.  

Please feel free to post a comment with your reactions.  Or comment on something else, anything.  I'm in the market to increase my comment count, it has been sadly lacking.  You can even post a "no comment" comment if you'd like.  As the street beggars will tell you, "Even a penny will help."  They don't really mean that, of course, and if you ever did dare to drop a mere penny into their cup they'd spit hepatitus on you, but it sounds good.

The photo album that I randomly pulled (as audited by Price Waterhouse) contained pictures of a 1987 trip to Greece with my friends Anthony and Mike.  Without further adieu, let's embark on The LG Report's first foray into the world of random photo album posting:

This is Mike, me and Anthony (in that order, coincidentally) posing in front of a police tank in the Athens airport, shortly after arriving.  If I recall correctly, there had been a hijacking somewhere in Europe or the Middle East not long before we arrived, and the Greek government rolled out the tanks to show would-be hijackers that they shouldn't mess with flights in or out of Greece.  How exactly you would stop a hijacking with a tank, I'm not sure (hide it in the overhead, maybe?)  Please note the two Greek policemen in the background, arguing over whose turn it is to get the next pack of cigarettes and soccer score update.

This is Mike in Athens at the Acropolis.  He's standing in front of the Parthenon posing in his Santa's hat.  I'm not sure if this was the first time he did this, but Mike has made it an annual tradition to send Christmas cards with pictures of him (and, later, his family) in unusual locations wearing a Santa's hat.  If you're not on his distribution list....you're not missing much.  This was the best one in my opinion.  We made a tent out of the extra material in Mike's shirt.  I think that may have been a prison jumpsuit tucked into his shorts.  

Surely you're familiar with the guards at Buckingham Palace.  They're traditionally very rigid and straight-faced soldiers who can't be rankled or unsettled in any way.  Greece has an similar corp of guards called Evzones (or Σύνταγμα Ευζώνων for those of you who read Greek; I can copy it from Wikipedia very well.)  Here Anthony tries to intimidate the guard with his massive biceps and intimidating baby blue shorts.  Anthony received a bayonet to the rib cage shortly after this photo was taken.  Man did his rib meat make for a tasty souvlaki!  Fashionistas please note: the guard is wearing the first version of Ugghs ever created.   

 
This was my father's Dodge Caravan (the auto industry's first minivan by the way; so named because it was a cross between a car and a van.)  He had it shipped from the United States to his childhood home, Andros Island.  We joked that it was the largest car in the country because, with gas at roughly $10 a gallon, Greeks mostly drove (and still drive) small, fuel-efficient vehicles.  It was also the only car in Greece with Pennsylvania license plates.  This would not have been a good getaway car in Greece.

 This is a more traditional mode of transportation on Andros Island.  It gets 10 miles to the bale of hay.  If you get cut off, you call both the driver and the vehicle a jackass.

Anthony skips rocks along a secluded beach on Andros.  There happened to be a comely young lady from the Netherlands, Peggy, lying near us this day. Peggy had a Mickey Mouse beach towel.  Anthony used the towel as an excuse to start talking to this hottie about Disney and things American.  Soon, employing very broken and sketchy English, Peggy agreed to go to dinner with us that night.  When we arrived at her hotel to pick her up in my dad's impressive Dodge Caravan, Peggy came out halfway to the car and turned to yell something in Dutch at her hotel room.  The next thing we knew, her mother, Ella, was coming along for dinner.  Peggy then told us that her boyfriend, Dino, would be meeting us at the restaurant.  This story, absolutely true, is a textbook case of a failure to communicate.  Mike and I advised Anthony that in the future, when he asked out a girl, he should  insist that she leave her mother and boyfriend home.  That's a good tip for everyone. 

If you're old enough to remember 1987, you may recall that Calvin Klein was running ads in those days featuring models in weird poses looking away from the camera.  This attempt to mimic that genre was really and relevant in 1987.  Yes, I know, it's no longer 1987. 

Yes, look closely, there is indeed a fish at the end of that line. It was Mike's biggest catch while in Greece.  This occurred on my father's last boat, a modest one, as detailed in My Old Man and the Sea.  I don't know what that weird red splotch was on Mike's left thigh but he's still kicking so it wasn't anything serious.  And, no, a long-sleeved dress shirt and tropical bathing suit would not the traditional garb for a Greek fisherman.  Wouldn't you think he'd at least roll up the sleeves?  Mike's foot, as you can see, is nature's water ski.    

I honestly wish that I could say that this is a photo of something other than Mike protruding from a sewer pipe but, unfortunately, I can't.  Yes, this is the kind of photographers, and nutty people, we were.  And still are.  But hey, at least not fecal discharge is visible! (not counting Mike...)  

Here we're seen posing on our rental mopeds on the island of Santorini, one of the most beautiful places in the world (in my biased opinion.)  Mike would later skid out on his (or "lay the bike down" as we biker-types say) but he was unharmed.  Greeks may have invented a lot of things, but political correctness is not one of them.  On a 1990 trip with another group of friends, a moped shop owner on Mykonos admonished us to make sure that we locked up the cycles wherever we went because "...there are a lot of Italians on the island right now."

This is one of my favorite all-time pictures.  We were on a ferry between Santorini and Crete, just enjoying the sea breeze, warm weather and sunshine.  Also, some Greek bread and feta cheese.  The Greek Tourism Authority has my permission to use this photo in any upcoming tourism campaigns.  Of course, if they're actually reading this blog, then they're pretty hurting and might as well just throw in the towel.

 
Here's a view of Santorini's capital, generically called "Thira," from the small village of Oia, which is further up the cliff.  Just off the coast of Santorini and its beautiful black-ash volcanic beaches, is, according to legend, the Lost Continent of Atlantis.  If you'll look closely, you can see our hotel in this photo, it's the white building.

I have much better pictures of sunsets in Greece than this, but not in this particular photo album.  So, adhering to the strict-yet-arbitrary rules laid down by The LG Report earlier this evening, I will use this photo to close today's posting.  The uninhabited island in the center of the photo lies just off the coast of Santorini. 

So that's it, our first foray into a random photo album posting.  Leave a comment if you're so moved.  And, as always, thanks for reading The LG Report!

My (Current) Beefs with Corporate America

The subtitle of The LG Report is "Injecting a bit of humor into your day."  This post would be more accurately subtitled "Injecting a bit of vitriol and grievance into your day." 

Sorry, but sometimes we have to go off script.

Corporate America is really getting under my skin these days.  Here's why:

1. Bank of America: I have a BofA Visa card, which I only use when an establishment won't accept my American Express card (no, it's not a Black Card, although I've been tempted to spray paint it...)  The other day, totally out of the blue, I received a new Bank of America credit card to replace my existing BofA Visa card.  However, it was a BofA American Express card (a new invention, I believe.)  I already have, and don't want another, American Express card. 

Where does BofA get off unilaterally deciding that I need/want an American Express card?  When I called to voice my displeasure, the customer service rep told me that I was being "upgraded" to the new card.  This is not by any means, to me, an "upgrade."  An equivalent of this, in my view, would be having your cable company telling you that you're being upgraded from The Playboy Channel to The Lifetime Network.  An "upgrade" is in the eye of the beholder, but this was clearly a screw job.  I've requested that my Visa card be restored.  I would've stayed with Jennifer Anniston too.

2. Verizon Wireless: Last week I "upgraded" (note: "upgrade" is Corporate America's codeword for "administering a screwjob") my Blackberry's software to a newer version.  This was at Blackberry's insistence.  Immediately thereafter, my Blackberry's battery started dying halfway through the day, whereas previously it lasted more than 24 hours on one charge. 

I called Verizon Wireless's technical support line.  They told me to go to a Verizon Wireless store to "have the battery tested."  The technical rep on the phone told me that if it was defective, I'd be given a new battery free because it was under warranty.  He said the software "upgrade" had nothing to do with the battery's sudden inadequacy.

I went to a Verizon Wireless Store today and took my deli-counter-like number and waited approximately 15 minutes (it was a slow time) to see the "tech support" genius.  I gave him my story.  He replied "We have no way to test batteries.  We never have.  There is no such thing for Blackberry batteries." 

Me: "Well, your Verizon Wireless technical support on the phone told me to come here and have the battery checked.  Don't you think that's a bit F-ed up (I used the full word)?" 

Mr. Verizon Clueless said "Sir, please don't curse." 

This guy appeared as if he had done some hard jail time.  He had a tear-drop tattooed on his upper cheek (look that up on Google if you don't know what it means), and HE was telling ME not to curse? 

"Ok," I said, "Just give me a new battery, this one must be defective." 

I'm surprised he didn't make me pay for it with my Bank of America Visa card.

I have two more stories, one involving the first time in my 25+ years of using an ATM card during which the machine shorted me ($20), but I'll skip them for now. 

I will tell you, however, what happened to me at Shop Rite tonight.  Shop Rite is a grocery store chain based in New Jersey.

I waited for over 15 minutes while the women at the head of the line, who was two people in front of me, wrestled with the cashier over what she claimed to be a free turkey that she was entitled to based on a certain number of dollars spent.  This turkey was about a quarter of the size of a regular Thanksgiving turkey, hardly worth the trouble.  But this woman persisted, and a manager was called and bar codes in a three-ring binder were scanned and another manager was called and this whole circus took over 15 minutes to play out before the resolution was reached: the woman had, indeed, earned a free turkey. 

The customer immediately ahead of me in line was now at the front.  She, too, had a mini-turkey that she claimed should be free based on doallars spent or points earned or something like that.  By now, however, the cashier had this routine down, and it only took about 3 minutes to arrive at the conclusion that this turkey, too, was free.  Free-range turkey?  I don't know...but it was definitely free.

Finally, after 15+ minutes in line, I got to the front.  The cashier scanned all of my items (I SWEAR this is true) and added everything up.  As I' was forking over the dough -- in cash, not with my BofA American Express card -- she ripped off the register receipt and studied it carefully.  "Sir," she said, "You've earned a free turkey!"

 I took a pass and high-tailed it out of the store before she would've been forced to ask me not to curse.....

 

Why My Neighbors Hate Me

There are probably a number of reasons as to why my neighbors hate me, but time constraints prevent me from discussing more than two in this posting.  Sorry.

THE FIRST:  I live in a 124-unit coop building in Manhattan.  About four years ago, I posted a phony memo, appearing to be from the building's management company, in both of our elevators.  It was shortly after midnight on April 1st. 

Full disclosure: I believe that April Fool's Day should be a national holiday, except it's generally more fun to prank people at work (bigger audience), so I wouldn't want anyone staying home.   

The memo said that due to the inconvenience of residents having to walk their dogs in inclement weather, the building was setting aside 25% of each elevator's floor space as a "doggie bathroom."  Dogs would be permitted to "do their business" in this area.  "But don't worry," the memo said, "the elevators will be amply deodorized and cleaned hourly."  It also mentioned that there would be a one-month trial period, during which residents could leave their comments about the new policy with the doorman -- provided they were typed using Times New Roman 14-point font.  Comment sheets not conforming to these requirements could not, unfortunately, be accepted, the memo said. 

I also went to the trouble of marking off approximately 25% of each elevator's floor space with masking tape.

That morning, as people were leaving the building for work and seeing these notices, they began accosting the building superintendent and doormen with their complaints about the new policy.  Finally, the staff figured out what was going on and removed the notices.  Later, when I admitted to being the culprit, they all had a good laugh.

THE SECOND:  Having let my fellow residents enjoy four peaceful April 1sts in a row, I felt that it was time to fire up the prank machine.

No, I didn't do that (I just liked the picture.)

Shortly after midnight last night (April 1st), I planted this phony memo in both elevators:

____________________________________________________________
Blue Woods Management Group, Inc.
TO: All COOP SHAREHOLDERS
FROM: A.J.R., Senior Account Executive
DATE: APRIL 1, 2010
RE: AMERICA'S BEST DOORMAN
_____________________________________________________________

Many of you have read in the New York Post, and elsewhere, that our building has been fortunate enough to have been chosen by Lion Television Productions as the site of the new Discovery Channel series "America's Best Doorman." To compensate us for any inconveniences associated with this honor, Lion Television is donating $35,000 to the general operating fund of the building. Obviously, this is a much-needed and welcome addition to the cooperative's financial resources!
However, as you might expect, there will be some inconveniences associated with this privilege. Film crews will be outside the building continually (and occasionally in the lobby) from the period of April 12th to May 21st.

We have been assured that the producers will tape down all wires and keep cameras, lighting and other equipment as far out of the way of residents as possible. Just look where you're walking and you'll be fine.

On certain days, our doormen will be required to be shirtless and wear Speedo bathing suits while on duty as part of the show's "Best Body" competition. This has been pre-approved by the building's Board of Directors. The doormen will also be required to wear tuxedos on four days and engage in a "hot-and-steamy dancing" competition in the lobby with select building residents. If you are interested in applying to be a part of this competition, please leave your name, unit number, a recent full-body photo and a brief description of your dancing qualifications at the front desk before April 10th. Please specify which doorman you'd like to dance with in the competition and name two alternates in order of preference. Sorry, but Miguel has already been booked solid.

Thanks for your indulgence in this fund-raising exercise, it's for the good of the building, and please remember to enjoy your April Fool's holiday!
__________________________________________________________
By early afternoon, both notices had been removed from the elevators.  They may have been removed early in the morning, I'm not sure.  I wasn't monitoring the elevators (I was busy resting up from the exhausting activity of creating the prank. Whew!)  Later, I learned that none of the doormen, nor the super, had removed the notices, thus telling me that vigilante justice was afoot.  My best guess: a coop board member did the deed, not caring about spoiling a bit of April Fool's fun for others (and, more importantly, me!)  

It just goes to show that there are some fun-squashing curmudgeons in this world.  I hope they all step in a big, steamy pile of dog poo sometime soon.  In fact, in the elevator would be nice...

Chris Floyd: Bitter Laugh

I haven't been able to blog lately and I apologize for my absence. I still can't blog much but I wish to share with you the newest music video from Chris Floyd -- "Bitter Laugh" -- which has entered my Top 10 list at Number One.

Bitter Laugh

Death the great deceiver
Whispers to the soldier
That the love he bears his comrade
Is the greatest he will know
It sets a mist around him
A force field of emotion
A cloud of blood and hormones
That makes monstrous the foe

And when his friend is wounded
When his life pours out in battle
And his spirit leaves his body
Like smoke rising from a flame
The soldier's gripped by madness
The berserker rage of Ares
And he swoops down like a fury
To savage all within his aim

Then falls the grieving mother
Then falls the aged father
Then fall the little children
Who cannot escape the blast
And when the fever's broken
And the soldier stares in horror
He can hear the ghostly echo
Of the Deceiver's bitter laugh

Now far-off stand the leaders
The commanders in their glory
With the profiteers who ply them
With the gold they wring from blood
But alone you'll find the soldier
In a labyrinth of sorrow
In a never-ending darkness
That has drowned him in its flood

If the embedded video above won't work for you, try it at at youtube.

You can see the post in its original context here. You might consider leaving a word of thanks for the artist, and/or throwing a coin into his virtual hat.

In my opinion you should bookmark Chris Floyd's blog site, Empire Burlesque, and visit it often.

In my further opinion, you should also check out Chris Floyd's music page, where you will find some very good material. I don't think any of it is as good as "Bitter Laugh", but that would be almost too much to ask ... even of Chris!

I hope to be able to blog again soon, even if only a little bit.

Best wishes to all my online friends.

And thanks again to Chris Floyd, for telling such horrible truths in such beautiful ways.

Ricky Martin met fin aux rumeurs

Après des années de rumeurs, Ricky Martin l’a enfin annoncé officiellement sur son site web, lundi 29 mars 2010 : "Je suis fier de dire que je suis un homosexuel heureux." "C’en est assez, écrit-il. Il faut que ça change. C’est mon heure, mon moment... Toutes ces années de silence et de réflexion m’ont renforcé. Elles m’ont rappelé que l’acceptation doit venir de son fort intérieur."Fruit d’un "intense processus", son coming-out arrive alors que le chanteur, révélé en 1996 par le tube Maria (Un, dos, tres), planche actuellement sur ses mémoires. Il explique avoir gardé le silence jusque là en raison de mises en garde de ses proches qui lui prédisaient des conséquences négatives sur sa carrière. "Que va-t-il se passer à présent ? Cela n’a pas d’importance, conclut le bel Hidalgo. Je dois me concentrer sur ce qui se passe déjà aujourd’hui dans ma vie." Depuis 2008, Ricky est en effet l’heureux père de deux jumeaux nés d’une mère-porteuse.Si cette annonce peut sembler tardive, on peut comprendre les appréhensions de ces stars qui se refusent à vivre leur sexualité au grand jour. Une discrétion bien légitime et souvent entretenue par les maisons de disques, effrayées à l’idée de perdre une partie du public féminin.

My Trip to Pariiis and the French Riviera - Part Two

[Note: If you missed Part One of this posting, click here to access it.]

Before expounding further on the financial gouging and other annoyances of a trip to France, I’d like to point out that there are some very friendly, hospitable and generous French people. The generalities mentioned herein are drawn from a single trip. To throw in some standard product disclaimer language, individual results may vary; past results are not a guarantee of future performance and consult your doctor before taking any medication.


Case in point: my friends Mary and Jean Marc met me for lunch in Pariiis. Jean Marc was born and raised in France and Mary, my friend from law school, married him and lived for 13 years in France. I was in their wedding party many years ago. You couldn’t meet two nicer people. They picked me up at my hotel (with no meter running!) and brought me to the restaurant where President Obama had brunch with some friends on his first official visit to Pariiis. It was excellent. They also presented me with a welcoming bag filled with savory French delicacies and a bottle of great wine.

And, on top of all this, they provided an abbreviated tour of the city in their car (we both had places to be.) So, in short, yes Virginia, there is a nice Frenchman. Many actually – although most reside outside of Pariiis. But writing about the nice ones is not nearly as much fun as posting a diatribe, so let’s get back to that…











Travel Advisory: If you’d like to order a drink at a Pariiisian restaurant, you’ll need to call your accountant first to make sure you can afford it. Once you see the cost of a single drink, you’ll need another drink to calm your nerves. A rum (or “rhum” as they misspell it) and Coke comes with two separate components to the bill…how charming!  First, they gouge you $16 for the rhum (I think they even charge you two Euro for the extra “h” in the spelling.) Then there’s a separate $10 fleecing for the Coke.  Not bad, $26 for a drink at a regular restaurant (we’re not talking gentleman’s club here; male readers know how pricey that can get…)  And it really burns me that the Coke is an American beverage.  I can see the Frogs gouging us for a rhum and Perrier, at least Perrier is a French product.

Hailing a cab on a city street? Next to impossible; buy a lottery ticket instead. Going to the Louvre? Get ready to stand in a long, slow line to pay about $18 U.S. Once inside, you may be lucky enough, as I was, to have some personal interaction with the staff. A museum guard yelled at me for talking too loudly in the crowded and noisy room leading into the Mona Lisa. He didn’t (or wouldn’t) use English of course, but rather pointed animatedly at a brochure which contained a depiction of people talking too loudly. One of them, coincidentally, looked like me.

The people who speak the best English in France, I find, are the ones who are charged with taking your money.

I’ll spare you the rest of the Pariiis complaints. It is, however, undeniably a beautiful city with many interesting and enriching sights and you could easily spend weeks exploring it and still not have the full picture. Of course, you’d also be bankrupt by then.

By the way, I spell Pariiis with three “I’s” because I believe that you need to be prepared to experience the three “I’s” when you go to France. Despite all of its beauty and grandeur, you’ll be Inconvenienced, Ignored and Insulted. If you’re lucky, that will be the worst of it.

From Pariiis, I took a train (the TGV fast train) down to Cannes on the Riviera. Stupidly, I paid for a “first class” ticket thru the internet, which included a meal for an additional US $47. I got a ham sandwich for that $47. Only if that were the worst rip-off of the trip, I’d be happy.

While I consider myself fairly intelligent in the United States, I found that most of the choices that I made in France were stupid and costly.

My hotel in Cannes was splendid, an elegant place called the Majestic Barriere. It’s right across the street from the beach and half a block from one of the main sites of the Cannes Film Festival. George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Julia Roberts and The LG Report have all stayed at this hotel at various times. There are photos of three of the four hanging in the hotel. The fourth has his name written in Sharpie inside a dresser drawer to prove he was there. Guess which is which.

Unfortunately, the pool at the Majestic Barriere was being renovated, so my main option for relaxing in the sun was the hotel’s private beach. It only cost $50 (US) per day per person to use this private beach. I thought that included oil drilling rights, but it didn’t. Once again, France was sticking it in my Majestic Derriere.

Upon checking into the hotel I asked the concierge about renting a car for 24 hours. He pulled out a book labeled “Elite Rental Car,” and I knew instantly that I would be taken for a ride in more ways than one by Elite.

The English-speaking (and money-accepting) concierge quoted me a price of $400 US for a one-day rental of a Cooper mini. To be clear, that's one day, not one week.  Being the smart American that I am, I made up an excuse for needing to get back to him later while I pondered my options. The next morning, I hoofed it back into town to find the Hertz location that I had seen on the way in from the train station.  Being an American company, I hoped that Hertz would take care of an amigo from the good ole US of A without such a rip-off price.

After getting lost and wandering around Cannes for an hour, I finally found the Hertz office and approached the French woman at the counter (I was hoping that they had imported their employees from New Jersey, but no such luck.) She coldly informed me that if they had a car available for the day that I wanted – and there was no guarantee – it would cost $560.  Again, for the DAY, not a week.

Ouch.

It was back to the concierge and the Cooper Mini for $400 a day.  It seemed like a bargain-basement price. Yipee!

One of my shirts needed laundering before I could wear it for the fifth time on this trip (just kidding, only fourth.) I checked the laundry list in the closet (I noticed Ricky Martin in there, come to think of it…) and was by this time only semi-aghast to see that it cost $18 US to get a shirt washed and ironed in the hotel. Back home in Manhattan it costs $2. Who’dda thunk that Manhattan would have such low prices?

Again, being the smart American that I am, I hid the shirt in a plastic bag (I didn’t want to appear to be a cheap-ass while carrying it thru the plush lobby in search of less expensive laundering) and marched into town to find the Laundromat that I had seen while wandering a day earlier.  Eventually I found it, after getting lost for another hour.  I was downright steamed to learn that this establishment charged $16 per shirt - and without delivery.   Off I went back to the hotel, tail between my legs, to take advantage of an $18 shirt washing.  I was being taken to the cleaners again.

There was no winning in this country, not for me anyway.

One night I went into one of the local casinos to sample the gambling scene.  In casinos in Vegas and Atlantic City and almost everywhere else in the States, they ply you with free drinks for as long as you’re gambling.  Here, it was $14 US per drink while you lost your laundered-for-$18 shirt.

A club sandwich beachside was $27 US.  One night I went into Monte Carlo for dinner.  The restaurant, which you know wasn't cheap, so I won’t bother to say it, added a 19% “service charge” onto the final bill and in very large lettering stated that “This 19% service charge DOES NOT include any tip whatsoever.” Normally, the “service charge” in Europe serves as the tip, as you probably know.

I'm going to stop here. This posting may sound bitter and angry.  If that’s the vibe you picked up, congratulations, because it is! You are an astute reader.

France is a beautiful and cultured nation with many splendid attractions.  It’s well worth a trip if you haven’t been.  But, in my opinion, if it were populated by warm and friendly people from, say, the American Midwest, it would be even better.   But that's just me.

Brats and brie anyone?

"THE LAST SMILE" is a my special poem. Today the whole world shall be switching off all lights for an hour in an effort to conserve the Environment.

"THE LAST SMILE"

To mark this auspicious day and make a contribution to Environmental Conservation, Two Hours Before has posted the poem 'The Last Smile'

NOTE: This is an ORIGINAL work and reproduction in any media is STRICTLY PROHIBITED without prior permission from the Author, Mwangi S. Muthiora. Reproduction permission can be obtained from the author through: fafdays@gmail.com or +254 725 385 654. or his Attorneys on: luciandibs@gmail.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 2010


"THE LAST SMILE"

Do not remind me of the last smile
That giggle
The tough laugh
Let me remind you of the danger ahead
Do not remind me of the yesterdays
When i delved in my innocence
Do not remind me of the gone purity

Do not remind me of my lost fortune
When you freely explored
My physical anatomy
When you smiled, laughed and giggled
All this time, licking my innocence
But you have finally made me a nuff

For centuries
I have restrained myself from madness
I want to go mad, i have to
I want to regain my smile
That you smilingly stole from me
Yet you still gives me a smile
A pretentious laugh

Your dirty breath has choked me
My lungs are now ruptured
And my skin scorched
And my hair? its also long gone
Smilingly you have proclaimed my extinct
Yet, giving me a last tough laugh

Look at my bald head
All my hair is gone
Smilingly you have chopped and chopped
A hair after the other
Leaving me as bald as the plains of Kalahari

Look at your cruel cruelty
Yet you give me a smile?
I will not let you lungula me again
I will roar, shout and wail
I will erupt, scorch you, and drown you

Its only then shall I feel contented
And then give you the last smile
Hosting your lifeless you
In the depth of my earthly faculties

The waters of El nino shall flood your grave
And the midday sun shall scorn your kids
Thats when I shall have a reason to smile
The last smile


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 28TH MARCH 2010
MWANGI S. MUTHIORA

Today, 28Th March 2010, the entire world shall observe an hour of nonessential lights off. This is an effort geared towards marking "The World Earth Day" Its expected that lights in major cities and towns across the world shall go off simultaneously and remain off for a record 1hour. While as the Governments across
the world have been desperately trying to cut down their green house gas emissions, touchable achievements are yet to be realized. By arresting and reversing the upward trend in greenhouse gas emissions that started in several countries 150 years ago, the Kyoto Protocol promises to move the international community one step closer to achieving the Convention’s ultimate objective of preventing "dangerous anthropogenic [man-made] interference with the climate system".

Simon Mwangi Muthiora
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
TWO HOURS BEFORE
fafdays@gmail.com
+254 725 385 654
www.twohoursbefore.blogspot.com