When I first met my mother-in-law, Violet, I was a nineteen-year-old mouse. Very timid and unsure of myself. She towered over me and seemed so elegant and intelligent. I was scared to death of her, feeling so inadequate in her presence. Vie certainly did not make me feel inferior–I made myself feel that way. Early on, she told me her education was from the school of hard knocks (Puzzled, I asked just where that was. Did I also say naïve?) Her house was always spotless, unlike the cluttered house I had grown up in; she cooked three meals a day, while we sometimes had no food in our house; she had time to volunteer at her church and local hospital, rode her bike, played tennis, swam at the local Y, played bridge with her friends, and loved plays, concerts, and art shows; my mother’s time was often spent focused on where my alcoholic father was, and how the next bill would be paid. My husband’s and my lives were at almost opposite ends of the spectrum. He led a “Leave it to Beaver” kind of life. Over time, I came to appreciate the differences between her and my own mother. I came to love her and her joy for life and family. She was the epitome of the perfect wife, mother, and friend.

It is particularly hard to see this incredibly strong and independent woman in the later stages of Alzheimer’s in our local nursing home. It breaks my heart to see her not be able to complete a sentence or form common words. Vie regularly “breaks out” because she has always loved to spend time outside, and just wants to be in the warm sunshine. She often wants to go home, because even though she has lived there two years, she senses home is somewhere else. She instinctively searches for her husband who passed away last year, because they were married 59 years and were each other’s rock, thought, breath. It is pitiful and emotion-wrenching. Some days, I wonder how God can allow such a wonderful person to go through so much.

Conversely, Vie brings so much laughter and joy to her family, it is easy to see why God allows her to stay here. She still has a job to do, and she is totally oblivious to that fact. She still touches the hearts of those around her. Every time my husband (her son), visits her, he turns on the CD player with her old favorites of Glenn Miller or Benny Goodman, and they dance. It is like turning on a switch–she hears the music and begins to bop around like it was the 1940’s all over again –you can’t help but laugh. Sometimes, she indicates he can’t dance correctly. Her facial expressions are a window to her soul. If she doesn’t like something, she will purse her lips and crinkle those eyebrows, pouting. Every time she tastes something sweet, she purses her lips into an “O’ and the eyebrows shoot up, arching upward as high as they can, with an animated look on her face. It is so comical. We laugh, and she laughs. When my sons pick at her and try to annoy her the way they used to when they were little, she still plays back, giggling and shaking a finger at them, saying “Boy!” like she’s telling them she will spank their butts. She seems to be happy most of the time. Visits are generally an enjoyable event, and she usually thinks her son is her husband, so she is very content when he is there. Heartbreaking, maybe, but why not let her think it is her husband?

The whole situation could make a person bitter and full of sorrow. Life is not fair. But she wouldn’t want anyone sour. Vie certainly was not. Instead, we embrace the kookiness. The irony of life. We are so thankful our loved one is still living a happy life. She continues to bring blessings to all of her family, and we continue to celebrate her life.

Before Vie became sick, she would ask where that timid little mouse she first met went, as I began learning to stand up for myself. She never knew how much she influenced me in learning to become a loving, but fair and firm, mom . . . I never took the chance to thank her.

Here I am as I pose opportunity to those people with capital (the ones who are ready to put it back in to the new technology market) with hopes of recovering (that money which has been eaten up in the past 24 months) through high gain investments.

I do believe that the venture capitalist’s theories are fundamentally sound.

I’m most curious to know how many of today’s post trauma investors are confident in the J curve model.

Essentially this relates to companies that just started to plant roots when the economy shifted and have somehow made it this far. Who else sees them as being among the best potential investments in this economy?

I firmly believe that Interactive Advertising Systems is in the trough of such a curve. As the founder I can with absolute certainty tell you that I’ve earned my masters in entrepreneurship if not my PhD from the school of serious beatings.

Our clients are more eager than ever to explore new revenue streams. Our work force component is more eager than ever to recover lost income. Our end users are more eager than ever to maximize value. Amidst all of that our installation costs are 33% of what they were 3 years ago and our technology is 3 times as strong.

My eyes glisten with excitement at what the up shot of this company looks like. I’m back to laying in bed hurting to fall asleep and waking up with energy from nowhere and ideas bursting from my mind as if I’ve been sleeping in an idea incubator.

The future’s so bright, I’ve gotta wear shades.

Following on from Kickgate, it seems that a scuffle among friends is quickly forgotten. Archie has referred to Tom more than once now as his ‘best friend’ and this morning Tom’s mum caught up with me in the playground and said that Tom has told her how he and Archie always play together at break, and would Archie like to come for a playdate sometime? So that’s a Good Thing, not least because I’ve discovered that Tom lives in a hitherto secret area of Crofton Park – a collection of houses that back onto private woodland and tennis courts. A swift perusal of Google Streetview confirms that this is indeed a jammy place to live – an area as big as some inner-city parks. Hurrah! Also Tom’s parents are musicians (his dad plays a bassoon in the BBC Symphony Orchestra and his mum is a viola player) so we clearly have lots in common. Let’s just hope Archie keeps his feet under control for the forseeable future.

We had our bi-annual check-up today, which Archie approached with the blithe disposition of one who has never had a close encounter with the drill. In fact, he was most excited as last time we went he got a Spider-Man sticker.

This time also, there were no tears (last time the very unpleasant new woman dentist jabbed him in the stomach while he was lying in the chair and demanded to know how many times a day he cleaned his teeth.  Her tone was unnecessarily accusatory; I nearly cried myself. I made sure we didn’t get her this time). Instead there was much interest in the dentist’s mask, so much so, in fact, that the dentist gave him one to take home.

In the end all was fine, no problems for mother or son. And there was even a Star Wars sticker on the way out. Archie got one too.

As I dropped him off at the classroom a little girl gasped in delight and said, ‘It’s ARCHIE!’ which he didn’t notice, being far too distracted by where to put his drink bottle, but I did and immediately got all proud and emotional that someone was pleased to see him.

A mixed week this week. There were school photos on Thursday, which I had completely forgotten about until one of the other mums reminded me, and so had to scramble into the school after him to lick-finger-wipe at the congealed yogurt and Marmite round his mouth (yes, I should have cleaned it off anyway, photo or not, but you know, some mornings are less organised than others).

This week also saw the advent of ‘Kickgate’, in which Archie came home with tales of having been punished for kicking another boy, which seemed insansely out of character. A phonecall to his teacher revealed that in fact they were play-fighting (at Transformers, apparently, according to a chastened Archie), but AFTER they had been told that play-fighting wasn’t allowed. And the punishment? Two minutes off his break time. Which is, of course, like a serious stretch in the clink for a four-year-old. Oh, and a sad face next to his name on the board. Hardly Britain’s Most Wanted, but still, I think he’s learnt a lesson.

In other news, rhyming seems to have been mastered, and games of I Spy may start to prove slightly less tedious now that he has started to understand not only how to identify the beginning sound of words, but also that you actually do have to choose something specific when you’re the spy, and not just let your parents guess randomly for several millennia.

My very first job was as a steward at some newly opened restaurant in New Delhi. I was given 3500/- of salary for that. I did not feel satisfied with that kind of work. So I left that job and started working as a salesman for Chandigarh branch of Standard Chartered Bank. My salary was 2500/-. Again I was not satisfied. So I left that for the new job as an Insurance Salesman for ICICI Prudential. Again I wasn’t satisfied , so I left ICICI Prudential and joined a Call Center. Time and again, I always missed something , there was something I deeply felt being missed, what was that. After I watched movie Hackers on HBO in January of 2005, I decided to become programmer (or Hacker as they call it in the movie). Now I am working as a System Programmer for Phonologies India (Pvt.) Ltd and I get 8 times I what I used to earn earlier. The list of my jobs is just half yet. I have joined and left a lot of companies because all I wanted from my work was peace of my heart, a satisfaction in my heart while doing my work and I still have not gotten it today.

One day I watched The Protector of Tony Jaa and I was blown and immediately I said to myself, I never saw anyone fighting like this. The only man who ever fought so real like this was Bruce Lee and this is what I want to become. An actor……. geee… no. Everyone wants to be an actor. I want to become a Martial Artist. Hardcore practitioner of Kung-Fu, a fitness fanatic, a Martial-Artist maniac whose punches tear the bones apart, the man with 15 hour of workout schedule. I found the aim of my life, I found my love, I found the peace of my brain and complete satisfaction of my heart. But is this another post about my love .? .. No.. I will end it right here. Its about the deepest regrets of my life. This is the place where I spent 3 years:

Unbelievable….. isn’t it ? Just on the lower right corner of that photo is my bed (which you can’t see because I have not photographed it but it does exist on the lower right corner of this photo ) where I slept after my work and I used to get up and then work on the computer. I used to take my breakfast and lunch and dinner on my computer. Years from Feb of 2005 to March of 2008. I learned a lot in this, one of the best learning I got from the School of Hard Knocks, and I learned that all from my bed to my computer, the distance between them was hardly 2 feet. I have lived 3 years of my youth (younghood, as I call it) from my computer to my bed, without talking to anyone, without making any new friends, without any love for anything. I had nothing. These were the most painful years of my life. What do you expect a 25 years old son to do when his Father is on the edge of last days of his job and that lower middle class family have to wait for 10 years before they can buy a new fridge. Do you expect that son to be happy ? Do I regret that those were painful years or that I was sad ? of course not, the sadness, that pain had taught me a lot of things and developed the common-sense of my brain which I can never forget, no one ever can. What do I regret that I wasted a heck lot of time. I had 24 hours to myself and I wasted a lot. I learned a lot, I used Linux a lot, I played with BSDs hell of a lot, I searched the Usenet newsgroups a lot, I post and read GNU, Linux and Open Source mailing lists a lot but even after that I still wasted a lot of time. I could have enjoyed it but I did not, I could have listed to my favorite songs but I did not, I could have learned to do one hand push-ups but I did not, I did waste a lot of time. Now sitting my office working from 9:30 AM to 7 PM at the age of 28 I can not get that time back. I can no longer appreciate the greenery of my home place. I can not get back those green grounds and dark green fresh leaves with rains drops failing on them, I can no longer get back the spellbound sound of rain falling at my house when I was 25, I watched it, I loved it but I wasted so much of it. Now even today, I waste a lot of time and I see it is such a common habit of all the people. And majority of people do not want to talk about it, they get mentally disturbed and sad when I talk about why did they waste time and how do they feel about it now. Do they not want to change this habit ? Do they not want to use as much time as possible ? Do you think you can get the age of 25 back ?

Here is what these people, the general public likes:

• Hey.. NOKIA has launched a new mobile. Lets have a look. I heard it has mp3 player, a faster Internet connection and a video player, you know you can watch a video in a quality higher than today’s mobiles.
• Shahrukh Khan’s beard in Chak De India looks great. I will grow that kind of beard, just like Shahrukh Khan.
• wow.. what a hot chick that is. And then they keep looking at her for a good amount of time. Most probably they will follow her for another good amount of time.
• Your bike looks nice. Do one thing, remove the mudguard from the real wheel and put on a tire with a broader wheel base, not for a good grip but to show other people. When mudguard is no longer there, people can see you have a big tire. Then everyone in that groups of nomral people says.. now bike looks great (because they say I am abnormal, hence they must be normal because they are opposite of me).
• I will buy chocolate Horlicks , not the one Arnuld drinks. Arnuld buys foods with no flavor, no preservatives and no colors. He always jumps to ingredients when we advise him some food. Its stupid and its wastage of time, why will you eat a food without taste. What they don’t see is I am eating for my health, not for my tongue.
• Arnuld, why don’t you talk about good things in life ? See how much Coca-Cola tastes better with a Pizza. Look at that funny advertisement where Dhoni kicks ass.

I can not take back my younger years. I can not go back in time and live that part of my life again, I can not even get that amount of time I wasted. Whatever I have is the present day, the hours I am putting in now, they matter. People talk about actor’s beard, or big bikes or tasty but nutritiously empty food. They eat junk and call themselves normal people. I don’t understand how is it abnormal to read ingredients and eat food rich in nutrients. I found that Scooby does the same, is he abnormal like me ?

Whatever time I have wasted, there is no point in repenting it. The only thing anyone can do is not to waste present day, the hours and minutes he has. When I live with the kind of people who talk of these things I feel I wasting my precious time. They are the people who just want to have big bikes or cars, then have a wife and a kid and then they will go to an expansive shopping mall, where an executive (whose financial condition is same as me) will smile for them and say “Hello Sir, how can I help you”. Then they will shop around with the their small kid and meet some of friends and laugh and come back home, run over a smoke after dinner and then screw each other and finally sleep. Is there anything wrong with that kind of lifestyle ? Of course not, what is wrong that they will never spend any single minute of their life on solving a problem like how a man can get rid of his old habits. or How to build a better government or How come Scooby
created such a great body structure without any professional degree or training from someone ? or Why their kids reading the books from the education system which was founded before 1947, in times of slavery ? or Why he richer is getting richer and poorer is getting poorer in this Monetary Based Economy or Why government opened so many engineering colleges in India, so many that every year thousands of engineers don’t get any kind of work but there are only tiny amount of medical colleges and that make people perish in diseases because there are not many doctors available in India.

They don’t think like this and the ones who do are either abnormal, stupid or mad or need a psychological analysis. The time I waste today with these kind of people is what hurts me most, so I have stopped talking to the people unless they are intellectual. This world does not have Poverty and Slavery problems, this world does not have economic crisis or war crisis, what this world has is an intellectual crisis and I regret the time I have wasted by adopting some of their habits. I will not waste no more time.

Copyright © 2008 Arnuld Uttre, #331/type-2/sector-1, Naya Nangal, Distt. – Ropar, Punjab (INDIA) – 140126

Verbatim copying and distribution of this entire article are permitted worldwide, without royalty, in any medium, provided this notice, and the copyright notice, are preserved.

If you have read the previous posts you know my frustration over (a) being in a position for which my training is all “school of hard knocks” with little formal training, and (b) a certain personnel issue that has threatened to blow up our little organization here.

Good news – finally.  My boss has listened carefully to my concens (whining?) and hooked me up with a couple of retired guys.  One was the VP of a large bank, the other a CFO.  Holy cow, amazing what a little MBA training and life experience will teach you.  They’ve been able to put their fingers on some key issues here, and have offered concrete advice to help deal with the issues in front of us.

I’m extemely thankful these guys have had pity on me.  Still lots to learn, but it has demonstrated the immeasurable impact of having a mentor walk along side me.  Yeah, formal training would be great, but the reality is that isn’t going to happen in the next 90 days.  Budget crisis will.  And while I love formal studies, I think we too often discredit life experience and insight.  Thanks N and R for being there to pitch in!

TONY
“Did I ever tell you about my friend where his wife smacked him in the head with a rolling pin? I probably did but it’s a good one so I’ll tell you again …

“They’d never even been angry with each other before then and they’d been married for eight years. And then she hits with a rolling pin, one day, and I’ll tell you now, he deserved if you ask me. And so he gets taken to the hospital where you know, he can’t even recognize me, his buddy. He got better eventually but it was scary for everybody, if you know what I mean.”

PHILIP
“What about his wife, what did she do then?”

TONY
“She was just balling her eyes out right there in the hospital room. I don’t think she’ll ever use a rolling pin again, even for baking, if you know what I mean.”

Children’s Week achievment School of Hard Knocks taught me two things….

I HATE PVPING…….well I don’t actually….I just thought that trying to get that achievment from PvPing was RIDICULOUS!!!!

So, I have decided to take my secondary talent spec and create a PvP spec. Something I can switch over to when I want to enter a Battleground or Wintergrasp. I have also decided to get some PvP gear. I have over 40k honor….I should be able to buy something right? Right? Plus I do not need my Keeper’s Shards and Emblems of Heroism so the more PvP gear the merrier. The nest post I give should be an indication of my new PvPing talents or at least my new tree.

P.S. I hate rogues…….

P.P.S I hate paladins…..

P.P.P.S They must die…..

P.P.P.P.S. Unless they just PvE

well ,, I love Hip hop

The right wing Republican members of the Idaho Legislature take pride in their lack of formal education.

Ask a good portion of the Idaho Legislature about their alma mater, and they’ll give you a stock answer that could resemble a school fight song.

“I went to the school of hard knocks,” said Sen. Shirley McKague, R-Meridian, one of Idaho’s legislators without a college diploma.

She isn’t alone.

Nearly 20 percent of Idaho lawmakers don’t hold four-year college degrees, according to interviews with legislators and the Idaho Blue Book, a 400-page guide to government published by the state.

Here are a few courses that were not available to the graduates of the University of Hard Knox: Natural Science 101, thus, they know nothing about Evolution; Physical Science 101, thus, they don’t understand climate change; Economics 101, thus, they don’t understand Kenynesean economics; History 101, thus, they fail to learn from the past; American Government 101, thus, they fail to understand the role govenment should play in a participatory democracy.

The unfortunate irony is that when times are good, we can survive the incompetence of the Hard Knox grads. But when times are really hard, the Hard Knoxers have no answers. They fall back on the “take a bite out of govenment” and “no tax increases ever” ideology that makes for good rhetoric to the folks back home, but is disastrous in a crisis that demands real leadership.

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Lies from Reclink, lies from Fremantle Media gurus, lies …

Money from the public, according to the Hard Knocks Home Page, simply recycled back into the Choir. Well, the money DIDN’T go to the Choir members, that’s for sure. The brutes controlling the whole tearjerker show gave the talent stale sandwiches & cakes while the money from ticket sales, CDs and even government grants went AWOL.

So let’s “Keep the Dream Alive” (a la Alan Bond, Christopher Skase, Steve Vizard), shall we? Lest we forget corrupt broadcaster John Laws and keep his ‘cash for comment‘ dream alive .’

Read it yourself…

Your support…

Don’t forget, you can support the Choir by purchasing our products. All proceeds from the sale of the Choir’s CD, DVD, book, t-shirt & cap go back into the program, to keep the Choir performing and to keep the dream alive! Go to our secure on-line merchandise page to place your order now!

Reclink and other thieves, you have diddled the public.

Any ‘reasonable person‘ (legal definition) would assume the moneys were going back into the Choir and aimed at improving the lives of Choir members. You have failed on this point.

Significantly, you have failed dismally to produce any accounts.

Continuing the theme of “OMG!”, I found a great book called The Ultimate Chocolate Book at the Co-op Bookstore yesterday. Written by Robert Lambert, and obviously published in 1988 (as you’ll see from the photos below), this book is straight-up hilarious. I bought it mostly for the introduction, wherein the author states:

Once asked by a wealthy matron client what cooking school I attended, I hastily replied “L’Ecole aux Frappes Dures”, my high school French for an approximation of “The School of Hard Knocks”, to which she responded, “Oh yes, that’s in Montreal, isn’t it?”

LOL! Okay, so maybe it’s mostly funny to me as a Montrealer, but still, the point is that the guy has no formal training, and yet produces beautiful chocolate desserts for rich San Franciscans. How awesome is that?

I also bought the book because of its great 80s photography, featuring items like this Lightning Bolt Dacquoise:

Truly, truly, truly outrageous, no? (photo: Patricia Brabant)

The gold, the colours… it’s just so 80s. I mean, I still want to eat it, but my god, people, what were we—collectively—thinking back then? The design world was simply ridiculous. Had we all just discovered Photoshop or what? Anyway, awesome flashback photos aside, I really bought the book because I wanted to learn how to make this Mexican Chocolate Custard Cake:

One word: YUM! (photo: Patricia Brabant)

I mean, really, how could you say no to a plate of that? The recipe itself is a bit weird, calling for tequila, blanched almonds and ground orange peel (among all the usual suspects), but doesn’t look too complicated. You’re meant to serve it with a dollop of whipped cream or crème fraîche and dusted with cinnamon, which I’m thinking of doing for my husband’s birthday next week. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

As a final “OMG!”, I can’t believe there’s a recipe in this book for “Joan Collins’ Broken Heart,” complete with oozing raspberry “blood”!

So elections are upon us again. Thinking about the glorious year, 1994, means you have to think back 14 whole years. I remember being nine years old and enjoying every minute of the campaigning and going to the polling booth. My parents were both VERY involved with the elections and my mum was actually an officer at a polling booth. She was the first person to vote at that station mind you. I also remember actually being allowed into the polling booth to actually seeing what goes on. I had that whole ink sprayed on my hand (it had quite a nice taste if I remember correctly) and those UV machines were mind-blowing! It would seem that as a nine year old, most of it would have gone over my head but alas, I wasn’t the average nine year old. My knowledge of politics then is probably greater than most peoples’ knowledge today and these people are going to be the ones determining who runs our country! More election stories later – let us go on with what this blog is really about – one PIW (President-In-Waiting) Jacob Zuma.

So much has been said about Mr. Jacob Zuma (Who I’ll refer to as JZ from now on – that will be explained), our apparent heir to the presidential throne of the country. The mere fact that he has been nominated as the preferential candidate for the ANC has caused ripples locally and internationally. Unlike Thabo Mbeki, JZ comes from a completely different background. Yes, he was a hero of the struggle but unlike Mr. Mbeki, he didn’t end up going to university to plonk out a few pieces of paper. Instead of being a diligent student that ate a roti roll every Thursday because the Indian vendor on campus made this delicious beans curry, he instead went to what a t-shirt I have refers to as “The School of Hard Knocks.” He also doesn’t smoke a pipe – well not the European styled one at least! Whereas a proper president like George W Bush has a single wife who he loves and cherishes, he prefers to spread this love around collecting a wife every twelve months or so. He also seems to spread his love hygienically with his use of a shower after any love spreading sessions. He also had a “generally corrupt relationship” with convicted corrupteer Schabir Shaik. He also has a voice that’s better than any of the Idols contestants. Quite a colourful individual don’t you think? Almost as colourful as a guy who is anti-establishment, was once a boxer and even divorced his wife and married the ex-wife of a friend of his – wait, that was another president of ours!

This rainbow of colour has meant that a whole bunch of disgruntled disgrunts have a huge problem with him assuming the throne to rule our glorious land. His lack of moral culture is not what our country needs – we need a president that will have a perfect moral standpoint to guide us through this troubled time where the world’s economy has collapsed and whilst trying to boost the calibre of our country, we need measures that will keep the country from collapsing. Basically, a NEPAD on steroids that will allow South Africa to gain a mythical status of a country that left the Third World and entered the First World in under 20 years. I think somewhere included in these hopes is details on how to build an anti-gravity machine and start a colony on Europa.

So, a man like JZ can’t do this? Why can’t he? Is it because he sings and dances after each speech he makes? Is riling up a crowd not allowed? Does a good president just nod and accept? Or does a good president merely make up a catch-phrase that drives people to sing and dance? Wait…hmmm, that’s not right. It’s quite clear – JZ is a people’s president. Much as Barack Obama has won the hearts of everyone around the in his country, JZ does the same in South Africa. He is a populist and he is there to give the people what they want – wait, not want; need. And he is doing this using techniques used by a lot of successful people – he is selling the JZ brand. Let’s look at the simple abbreviation of his name. Although it has no connotation to the rapper, JZ is catchy and easy on the mouth no matter what your mother tongue maybe. Instead of using his name, he has a nickname – much like so many famous people e.g. Bono. His lifestyle is analogous to so many rich and successful people – so many corporate moguls and royalty lead a hedonistic life filled with pleasure yet they quite successfully are able to run countries and companies that are several times the size of small countries. His entourage is made up of the latest Black BMW’s which is THE car of choice of the hub of Africa – Gauteng. He has his own theme song like a wrestler does and his speeches mesmerise much like a preacher. He is a brand and people like brands – deep down, you want to be like the head of, let’s say a premium-watch brand and have a yacht in Monte Carlo and a llama farm in Peru. You also want the house that you see on MTV Cribs and even deeper down, you would love throwing a party for your 16 year old like the one’s they throw on “My Super Sweet 16.” He’s not going to turn down anything materialistic like Ché Guevara did. So why question the moral fibre of someone who is merely living that dream?

Another issue around JZ is the apparent hunger for power as perpetuated by our national jester, affectionately known as JuJu. Back at the famous ANC National Convention in Polokwane held just over a year ago, Thabo Mbeki was ousted from the leadership. A few months later, he was removed from the presidency. This was hailed by critics as a low-point in our democracy. It’s so unprecedented that your president is removed from office. It’s a disgrace! What was clear was that the ANC took a hard-line on hunger of power and not conforming to what the policy for the country was. Back in 1994, the ANC promised a “Better Life for ALL,” which has turned into a better life some, albeit a rather huge “some” and a life still filled with poverty for others. Post-1994 has brought a life that is magnificent for this “some” – the sheer choice that we as South African’s have is astounding. We have one of the world’s most progressive constitutions. Career wise, we can become whatever we want and excel in it. We have the world’s best cricket and rugby teams. We have access to countless services offered by Europe and America. We can buy the latest and greatest in technology and some of our leading technology companies are consulted with before products are given the green light for the international market. We have been given the freedom to become insanely rich. So rich that members of the South African public are able to buy Aston Martins and make South Africa the third (or is that second) largest market for Aston’s in the world.

However, we also have one of the fastest growing rates of discrepancy between the have and the have-nots. We have an economy that brings such luxury to the high-classes but at the same time means that more and more beggars appear at the robots at your favourite intersections. The economy has built a hugely successful middle-class that can excel and quickly move to the lower rungs of high society but this has not filtered down into the townships on the edges of the city or the rural settlements in Limpopo. I’ve seen with my own eyes the closing down of so many “corner shops” run out by small-to-medium enterprises. Drive to a small town in Mpumalanga and you probably will end up eating at a Nando’s or Mochacho’s chicken outlet. The local shops don’t exist anymore and neither do their suppliers as the contracts for materials provided to these chain stores are coming from another enterprise that’s selling products nationwide and making a huge profit. Although these enterprises provide work, the workers are paid a pittance and the owner is the one that is benefiting the South African dream. And so the knock-on effect goes on – as there are none of the local shops open, people aren’t given a choice of where to buy and they are now forced to buy from a chain store with inflated prices. But this pittance of a salary is nowhere close to allow them to have a decent life. As a result, the person stays in below that poverty line even though life has been made “better.”

What JZ is bringing, with help from the SACP and COSATU, is a hope to the downtrodden people. It’s a way to undo these wrongs brought to these people that weren’t actually brought about apartheid but brought about through measures to better the county. I’m not saying that the policies since 1994 haven’t been good – au contraire, they’ve allowed our country to bloom like nobody could have predicted (not even Eskom!) It’s now time for the country to bring everyone that promised life.

Let me just digress and give you another election story. During the last elections, I was an observer at a polling station near my residence in Durban. A couple walked in along with one of the couple’s parents – an elderly woman. This elderly woman wasn’t really clued up about politics and basically was there to just cast her vote (as a real citizen should) as a way to vary her day. Listening to her being so non-coherent about the ballot and not even knowing what was on the ballot made me think to myself – democracy is a farce. Here I am, with so much more knowledge about making a choice on that ballot paper yet my vote counts exactly the same as hers. That seems like a terrible injustice – placing the fate of our country in the hands of someone that obviously knows nothing about it.

My election story above was what I thought about when coming up with the ideas for this blog. Why democracy works is because it takes into account every soul in this country. Even the elderly lady without any political knowledge is amounted the same rights in this country. She may not be able to comprehend the magnitude of what it is to vote, but she does deserve a life with access to clean water, a pension to survive on and the right to live in a dignified way. What you make of that life beyond that is dependant on you and is helped out by all the favourable laws passed since 1994. However, there are still people who are not living a dignified existence. THAT is what JZ is bringing to the table – a right to a dignified existence. Actually, it’s not JZ, but the ruling party, the ANC. We’ve seen it happen that Mbeki was ousted for not acting in a way that is good for the country so there is no reason that JZ could be ousted if he strays too far from this path (Maybe I’m wrong but I really do hope I am right on this!!!) The ultimate aim here is to have a country where the ALL people are happy. It’s not only the people that shop at Woolworths Food that must be happy. It must encompass those workers from Woolworths Foods, their extended family and the communities of their extended families. The unions are up in arms with news of the countless retrenchments in the resources industry because this is denying people a right to a dignified existence. Yes, big business needs to take whatever measures required to avoid bankruptcy but this MUST be balanced by the cost it has on people. It’s also why the unions are at war with Trevor Manual even though so many businesses love him. The upper classes, classes that sometimes believe that they have rights outstripping those of the lower classes, have been amazingly catered for in the last 15 years and now, it seems it’s time for the lower classes to have their day.

Now, if you remember the beginning of this blog, I detailed how JZ is a rock-star with questionable morality. I can’t agree with him on the moral grounds – it really is impossible for me to do so. But being that rock star that he now is, is so important – he commands the worship of a rock star exactly the way you may idolise a real rock star. He is the rags-to-riches hope that millions of South Africans need to allow them to believe that tomorrow will be a better day. He may be a flawed individual but at the end of the day, he is going to deliver just as you know that your favourite band will deliver when you see them in all their glory on stage whilst doing what they do best.

So it has been six years since an eventful night in my life.  I can still remember quite well.  I was living in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles at the time.  For three years, I was hitting the pavement in hopes of being a known musician.  But something knocked me down.

What knocked me down was a robbery.  It was in my Los Feliz apartment.  The place was ransacked and trashed and death threats were written all over the walls.  Why did it happen?    Because of shady contacts.  Yep!  Los Angeles has quite a bit.   The cops were called and the chips fell.

I was not in the apartment at the time of the robbery but had been there right before and left to go to a hotel in Pasadena because of a funny feeling.  I thought about taking my guitars but I didn’t and so three were stolen.  My apartment was broken into and a 12 String Guild acoustic, Electric Fender B-Bender and a Fender Jazz Bass were stolen. 

I was betrayed in a big way.  I now forgive the people that were responsible.  I never got the guitars back.  They may be around Los Angeles somewhere.  My Rickenbackers survived the robbery.  I guess they are a bit holy. 

It is good for you to be stripped of your possessions at times.  What is it anyway?  Property and meaningless.  I picked up my guitars again after recovering back in Texas from the whole ordeal.

 The door was busted open and it said something like “West Side Gangsters” written on the inside of the door.  Straight into the apartment ahead was my bedroom, the door was shut but hanging on the door was a note of some kind saying something like, “We know where you are and will kill you.”  My entrance was the second door on the lower level as the picture will show. 

Los Feliz, Los Angeles, California

 I remember rightfully being paranoid while inside and found a suspicious looking thing that I didn’t know what it was.  It almost looked like a handmade bomb.  I called the police out again and this was in 2003 you know and the cops came out with their dogs to see what it was.  It was nothing.  They taped off the whole street and I sat on a wall down the street and played like I knew nothing.  It was embarrassing.  Old ladies were being escorted across the street and I just said, “must be a terrorism scare or something” when people would ask what was going on.

So for a week, I stayed at the Westway Inn across from the Pasadena City College.  It was a new low and I wondered what to do next.  I had actually put a down payment down on a new apartment that was cheaper and in Van Nuys, California.  When I got on the phone with mom, she said it was time to come home.  I got a U-Haul and got out of there.   I maxed out my Discover Card and lost the deposit on the both apartments.  I hadn’t even moved into the second one.  Let’s just say I was depressed as everything.  

Back in Texas, I didn’t pursue charges.  It wasn’t worth it.  I had been through enough and so had the person I was trying to help.  God knows what happened and I let it go.  I think I made the right decision. 

The Pasadena Westway Inn

 I wrote a song around this time about the thing I was dealing with.  It’s called “Confusion, Lies, Guns, and Drugs.”  The song is country-rock and I was listening to a lot of Johnny Cash at the time so it came out this way. 

 Confusion, Lies, Guns, and Drugs

The lyrics are:

Confusion, Lies, Guns and Drugs

I woke up this morning half past two.
My only problem is where are you.
You ran off with another guy.
I don’t know why.

Confusion, Lies, Guns and Drugs. 2X

We’ve been through this many a time.
It’s starting to be a crime.
Give up the jerk with the gun.
Let’s have some fun.

Confusion, Lies, Guns, and Drugs 2X

I just don’t know what you see in him.
It seems like it’s just a whim.
He doesn’t like you for who you are.
It’s just a game.

Confusion, Lies, Guns, and Drugs 2X

Ya gotta clear your mind, choose the Way.
It’ll be a brand new day.
Give up the junk and soon you’ll see.
I promise you.

No more confusion, lies, guns and drugs. 2X

Feel free to download my “California Daze” album for free that I did in 2002 here:
California Daze

I have been seeing surgeons, physiotherapists, acupuncturists, herbalists, and my own doctor -for the last six weeks-and trying to deal with their recommendations.  I have been told that I will not get full range of motion if I don’t have surgery.  In fact I won’t get 50% of motion back, if I don’t have surgery.  While surgery is a risk to my guitar playing – I won’t be able to play at all, without it.  

The fracture is an impossible one.  A 9 mm piece of bone splintered off the elbow joint -displaced itself, and then found its way back into the joint (but pointing outwards).  Which means that its stuck.  So even if the pain wasn’t so terrible, I couldn’t move my arm all the way, because the bone splinter is blocking the joint.  

I am not going to show you the xray for the simple reason that it would probably make my weak stomached readers vomit or faint dead away.  It’s that ugly.  The ugly fracture simply means that there is a super excellent chance that I will be going into the hospital to have an operation.  I have suffered some nerve damage- not a lot, but there is some damage to the ulnar nerve, that has caused me to lose feeling in 2 fingers on my right hand.  For the guitar fans out there, one of these fingers is known to you as “a”.  

While I have it on good authority, that not a lot can be done for nerve damage-this doesn’t mean that I won’t ever play guitar again.  My fingers move, and for now that is a great sign.

To motivate myself (after I heal), I have booked a hall to hold my “school of hard knocks graduation recital” for Feb 13, 2011 at St Faith’s Anglican church in Vancouver.  I can’t guarantee fantastic musical entertainment.  However, I will promise you that a lot of  ”blood, sweat, and tears” will be put forth towards preparation.  Nothing makes me want something more, than to be told that I can’t have it.  So I am just going to go for it.  The only way I can be called a failure, is if I let this injury beat me.  And I just won’t do that.

 I do hope you will mark Feb 13, 2011 down in your calendars, and make every possible effort to come.  It will be a really important day for me.

For those of you that have a sensitive gag reflex – I won’t post the after surgery x-rays here either.  But I bet my elbow will have a lot of screws in it.  It’s kind of exciting knowing that I am going to be the new bionic woman.  I wonder if Steve Austin is still available.

the power couple

*picture source- flickr

The late Paul Arden, former creative director of advertising giant Saatchi and Saatchi, once gave Neil Perkin (pictured below) the following guidance:

This sage advice has guided me in my career, though I was heretofore incapable of articulating this belief.

The image comes from Someone Once Told Me (opens new window), a website wherein each day a new image shares thoughts ranging from poignant to  macabre to lascivious.

It is Saturday morning . . . the sky is that whitish back shade that let’s you know the day is coming. My husband has left to take the LSAT . . . for the second time . . . and the kids and the dogs and my brother and his wife and baby are all still blessedly asleep. The house is quiet. The mountain hovering over our neighborhood of houses on the hill is motionless waiting to watch the bustle of the day. I am calm. There is no phone, no instant messaging, no emails. Only the written voices and posted faces of friends and colleagues on Facebook to distract me if I wanted to dive into social company at this early hour. I choose instead, for now, to write. Lately I have been in the school of hard knocks. It has been a period of time that has containted death , destruction and almost every trial in between. A period of time I have not been able to title til last night when my husband suggested that we were in some sort of training ground, not ulike a college education process . . . thuse the school of hard knocks came to my mind as a perfect title. A way to put a name of the un understandable fates that have plagued me. I won’t bore you with the details of loosing loved ones, businesses, pain, and suffering, you have those details of your own. Maybe not in the time frame of the last few years but you have had them. And I am sure as you have struggled you have struggled with the faith to believe that there is and end. I have daily gotten out of bed, prayed for that day to bring a solution, a light, a reminder of miracles and still the suffering continues. On some days hope will spring in the form of a friends suggestion, a song on the radio, a positive opportunity, a hand out of love, and then some days there is nothing but the trudge through hours. People say, “look on the bright side” “the glass is half full” “there is a silver lining” and “the hour is only darkest before dawn.” I hear this and I believe it was for them and others in this world, but I still wrestle with the hope that it applies to me. Does the Lord grow tired of listening to pleas? Did they call the line just before me? I guess I worried about that til we came up with the title for our period of duress. the school of hard knocks. If your life is almost unbearable and things for now are out of control and hard to understand then I suggest doing what I have done. I am pretending I am enrolled in a course, in my case a hefty college course. My education includes experience learning to turn grief, loss, scarcity, lonliness, sadness, rejection, being squased, effort resulting in nothing, hurtfulness of others, effort returning exhaustion and nothing else, pain (yes, all of that) into the title of education. Yes, I am experiencing a world class education from which I will graduate someday . . . soon I hope. As I go through the school of hard knocks I only advance each course as I do my homework, complete my assisgnments and pass the test. I learn what I learn and then advance. Each course is a hardship which I must live through and overcome. I must learn something and apply it to my life. My attitude as I go along affects the outcome of my grade, like the citizenship grades of the past. If I handle myself with good grace my grade is better. Some of my classes have lasted longer than a semester and some of my classes I have had to repeat. Obviously not learning the first time what I needed to learned I was flunked and sent through course D of hard knocks again. Some courses I aced immediately, painful or not I recognized the subject lesson and passed the test. Now as I write this the pink shades of dawn have stretched out over the sky turning it from whitish to pale blue and I see why so many people find the dawn worth waiting for. It is lovely. Lovely like graduation day from the school of hard knocks. Now, if you like me worried that that school of hard knocks was a life long education, never fear, it is not. Just like the series of educations you receive through life it comes in a time period which has a beginning and an end. Think of elementary school, high school . . . it seemed to go on forever but when you had learned what you were meant to you graduated, triumphed and gloriously went on to the next phase of your education or your life. The school of hard knocks come to those who need pass through a deep education before going on the next stage of their life. Unlike a college education you don’t get to choose when you take it, the school of hard knocks enrolls you when it’s time. Sometimes this education starts simply and almsot without notice and then sometimes you are enrolled into the toughest classes, like calculus was a nightmare for me, immediately. I was enrolled in the school of hard knocks a few years ago, the first lessons were loss and death. (Yes I started with the tough classes. I guess someone thought I needed to get those classes out of the way.) And I have gone on to take others in love, life, busimess, pain and stress. A few of my classes have been fun, like the elective classes you get to choose. I have learned sharing, art, and even scuba. Yet now somehow I feel my education is nearing completion. I don’t know how I know but something inside me, like the beginnings of the dawn outside, tells me that this round of education in the school of hard knocks is nearly complete. I will graduate soon (I hope) to experience a time of joy, success, advancement. After school comes the application process, learning what I have applied and proving my teachers right or wrong about whether or not I was ready to graduate. When I graduate from the school of hard knocks there won’t be a cap and gown, pomp and circumstance, no ceremony. I will know I have graduated when bit by bit I can breath again, when success comes my way and allows for relaxation from worry, and rooom for overflowing joy. Remember the heavy class loads of each semester in school and the relief that comes with passing the final test in each class? Now compare that to the real final relief of graduating! Leaving the education behind. When I graduated from high school I knew I had college ahead, but to finally be done with the series of lessons learned and some of the teachers was an incredibly freeing feeling. Sure I would miss the friends I made there, but I didn’t have to leave them, I could take them with me as I carried off my diploma! Graduating finally from the school of hard knocks doesn’t mean there aren’t other education series’ ahead of you. It just means you passed this one. It means you learned what you had to learn in that part of your life enough to graduate and move on! Like the dawn after a very dark hour, you realize again that all is right with the world and that you have the tools to live well with. You have the education that showed you that you could survive the experiences. You now can move on. You have graduated. If I have learned anything from the school of hard knocks I have learned to appreciate abundance. The abundance of opportunities to smile with you kids every day to the abundance of real financial freedom to the abundance of dawns that keep coming, morning after morning, enrolled in school or not. When I graduate I will let you know, because I am going to throw a really really big party! Kim Power Stilson

As an entrepreneur, I never aspired to go to school to learn how to operate my own company.  In high school while most of my friends prepared to go to college after graduation,  I was preparing to throw myself into independence and figure out things as I went along.

So far so good.  From experience I’ve been taught the art of sales, customer service, finances, real estate business, company structures, owning my own business, journalism, fashion business, international sales, the music business, networking, and modeling,  Just to name a few things

I did go to school for a few semesters but dropped out after I realized that school was someone’s hustle and they were cleverly gettin me for my money.  Not to say there is no benefit of going to school, I’m just sayin that for me, it never felt right.

Whatever it is you choose to do, I wanted to share a story with you so you can use it to put things into perspective. 

A very good friend of mine went to school to be in the medical field.  After 8 plus years in school she graduated and was able to get a job making over $100,000 a year.  Very decent money especially for entry level.  The catch?  All those years in school added up in student loans.

She has something like close to $100,000 in loans to pay back.  Every month she nets over $5000 BUT pays $2500 in loan payments which means that she is only bringing home $2500.  Putting that in perspective: most jobs that anyone without a college degree can get pays about $2500 a month. 

So was school worth it?  I guess it would be if you could only do a job if you had the degree.  But to me, as an entrepreneur in an industry that thrives on who you know, I have found that the knowledge I get from being in the game is just as valuable if not more than sitting in a class room.

The other thing worth mentioning is that no matter how broke you become or if you ever need to file for bankrupcy, you can never get rid of a student loan debt.  The government does not play when it comes to their paper!  Most other debts can be charged off, but not this one.

Tiffany Janay

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD HARD KNOCKS – SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS

Hardknocks consist of Hardhead (rapper) & Stoneface (DJ), with assistance from producers Noonie and The Spear Chuckers, and are the creators of one of the most acclaimed “street” records in hip-hop history. That is, if you’ve been lucky enough to ever hear it. In fitting with Wild Pitch’s early 1990s theme, Hard Knocks were criminally overlooked, and in fact are known to only a small proportion of hip-hop heads, including the bona fide “real” gang. Fortunately, the album was re-relased in 2008 as part of a comprehensive Wild Pitch re-issue drive, and is now readily available for collectors (hit up Amazon).

Some critics have consistenly compared Hard Knocks to Gang Starr, yet it must be bore in mind that Hardhead’s flow is somewhat more quicker paced, and dare I say much better, than Guru’s. Stoneface’s production, whilst much weaker than Primo’s, is rather scratch-heavy, though.

It is difficult to pick a hightlight track from this album, as each is solid within its own right, but I’d narrow my top three down to “Dirty Cop Named Harry“, “Nigga for Hire” and “Opposite Side” as they give a good cross-section of the album, incorporating all of its street vibes, emotionally-charged lyrics, scratch-heavy deejaying, and often political, soul-tinged tones. “Ghetto Love” is verging on the wrong side of corny, but what’s an album without some love shit? The anti-rape anthem “Hands of a Stranger” samples Southside Movement’s “I’ve Been Watching You“, better known as the bassline used on Cormega’s “American Beauty“, to a wonderful, soulful effect.

The album’s signature single “Dirty Cop Named Harry” was in fact previously released under the alias 3′Da Hard Way on Noontime Records (brainchild of Noonie), some two years before the Wild Pitch LP proper hit the shelves. The 12″ also featured “Strictly From The Bronx” as a B-side, which remains intact on the 1992 album, yet the track “Ladies” remains confined to Noontime Records‘ shallow archives.

- Click here to download “Ladies“

- Click here to download “Dirty Cop Named Harry” (Noisy Edit)

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD HARD KNOCKS – SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS