Things about me that I would put on Wikipedia

I have a speech writer on staff, so everything I say every day is actually scripted. If I pause and look like I’m listening to you, if you look very closely I have a tiny ear piece in my ear and I’m just waiting on my next line. It doesn’t work well if I get out of range that’s why I say stupid stuff sometimes.

Before I came to University, I came up with an idea for “hand de-sanitizer” for our government and other important people. So if our leaders were meeting with people they didn’t like they could “germ ‘em up”. I apparently brought this up to the wrong member of my city council.

I actually had such long legs as a child that my parents took me to a specialist in Prague and had them shortened. So technically I am 2 metres tall.

I once solved 99 problems in under a minute and in fact none of them were a bitch.

One time a cab driver told me that I was the most interesting person he had ever met. So interesting in fact that he not only said “hey this rides on me”. He’s now my butler and driver and all I have to pay him is in interesting stories. I ran out of stories but he’s old so I’ve just been telling him stuff from Indiana Jones movies for the past few months.

I invented the term “Pardon my French” accidentally when I ordered in French at a joint in Italy. Quite embarrassing when I had to re-order in Italian and then explain the whole ordeal in Japanese to my friend.

Robert Pattinson is based off me. No, not the character from the movie. I mean him the actual human being. I don’t know why people don’t notice my sexy accent or height or perfect cheekbones. It keeps me up at night.

My cellphone isn’t even connected to anything. Anytime I’m talking on it I am just recording my voice so I can have a conversation with myself later.

By some weird birth defect my body is made of 30 percent beer. So when I had house parties when I was younger I never had to get a keg, I just spit in my friends mouths. Kinda also accounts for my constant haziness and sluggish way of life.

I don’t really know how to play the sax. But I’ve just about gotten the hang of how to hold one.
“I don’t own 800 hoodies. I actually have them on loan. I rent them. Call me frugal.

I once blew a breathalyzer to perfect pi 3.1415926- the officer was so impressed that we had a drink and then i drove home to someone else’s house.

“Yesterday I was backing out of my driveway, and a dog ran over me. He told me he had insurance but when I called the number, it was for a pizza shop. That motherfucker.”

I’m not Jamaine Chiwaye, I just play him on TV.

I’m not Jamaine Chiwaye, I just play him in real life.

The actual Jamaine Chiwaye died on February 13th, 2006. The current is a scene kid who was heavily drugged and forced to undergo plastic surgery to resemble Jamaine Chiwaye. His days are spent in agony, his nights crying plastic tears.

Times like these

I love sport. There is no secret there and most people who know me are well aware of that fact. I watched Wimbledon, follow Lewis Hamilton, support Manchester United, love the All Blacks and I just watched as England (who I was supporting) celebrated winning The Ashes Series. Big range huh? Unfortunately for me, sporting season last year was cut short by injury. Thus I was only able to play a few months of basketball and then watch from the sidelines, in my final high school year, as rugby was played. I wasn't allowed to play - doctor's orders. That's what tearing a tendon in your knee and still playing high level sport gets you! No regrets though!

Then 2009 arrived. Comeback year for Jamaine Chiwaye was on the cards. Bloody hell, it is very hard launching a comeback. To be honest there were a few times when I gave up, only to wake up the morning after hating myself. One of my greatest fears is looking back at what I've done (or haven't done) and wonder "what if?". by doing that, I will be accepting the fact that I didn't do myself justice and there was the possibility, however slim, of something great happening only for me to be afraid of the path to it. Greatness or whatever I could be aiming for is not guaranteed, but the fact that I did get up and run up that hill towards it ensures my raging conscience will be satisfied in knowing, beyond all reasonable doubt, that I tried to get there.

Now, looking back it is easy to say I'm glad I made an effort. I'm far from where I want to ultimately be, but I'm too far in to give up. Therefore I keep going. 'It's times like this that you learn to live again.' I now know that there is never a time I should shy away, failure will happen and it will definitely come. However, it is not an option for it is an occurrence that happened after all was tried and given towards success. Times like these call for character and heart. I believe in living life with no regrets. No "what ifs". It is too painful to think of what could have been. I will therefore walk up to that girl and say I like her, I will run up the hill no matter how hard it hurts. Just for the simple fact that I can, I should and I shall. No regrets... NEVER!!!

Top track: Times like these by Foo Fighters

I wish you knew

So I don't have a great deal of content on offer for this week. Rather, decided I would just post up a poem of mine and I do really think it will suffice. Hope you enjoy it and it makes you think.

I wish you knew

How could you have made this any different?
A way to pull me from this torturous lament
How could you have told me my tears were wrong?
Find a chord to change my sad and defeated song.

It could have been easier if I told you face to face
Then I would be promptly engulfed by your embrace
What if by seeing me, my eyes gave away too much
For you to then question why you care as such

I told you of façades and how false they may be
But without it you will see the broken and destroyed me
You begged and begged me to give up my heavy load
To open my locked heart, to break the code

Perhaps you were right, it is easier to tell
By doing so the looming waves would quell
Someday I will open and speak of my burdens in queue
But until that day I just wish you knew


*To all those who are ‘fine’, ‘great’, or just ‘ok’. The façade is always there to save, but the one to save you may be fooled by your façade.

Tri-Var playlist

Officially, it is just another week at school. Really? No. This is Tri-Varsity (Inter-Varsity sounds boring and weird) build-up week. All across Rhodes, overalls are being written and painted on. Hair is being dyed purple, floors are getting blotches of purple paint and fingers will be stained purple for a very long time (No ulterior connotation there, dirty mind!!!). All the bottle stores are going crazy stocking extra cases of beer, promo girls are getting out their short shorts and heels (yes please!). What is the best way to build-up excitement to an event other than a playlist of some awesome tunes? Thus, ladies and gentlemen, Rhodents and mere mortals, I present to you Jamaine Chiwaye’s Tri-Var Playlist!

I love college – Asher Roth
Viva - Euphonik
Ainit no party like an alcoholic party - DJ Kicken vs. Mc-Q
Boom boom pow – Black Eyed Peas
Crack a bottle – Eminem ft. Dr Dre and 50 Cent
I don’t care – Fall Out Boy
In public – Kelis
Evacuate the dance floor – Cascada
Feel free – Ricky Blaze ft. Ron Browz
Rockin’ that shit (remix) – The Dream ft. Ludacris, Juelz Sanatana, Rick Ross
Open Happiness – Brendon Urie, Patrick Stump, Cee-lo, Travis McCoy and others
Mpitse – Hip Hop Pantsula (HHP)
On Fire – Da Les ft. Bongs & Mags
Fort Knox - Goldfish
I like you so much better when you’re naked – Ida Marie

Viva la Strike Action

Ah! The strike. Working class South Africa’s most favourite and prized pass time. Orchestrated to inconvenience the innocent , grant the strikers a few days off work and hit the vile employer where it hurts most – the pocket

Unfortunately, I, alongside thousands (if not millions) of others were part of the mass of innocents who have to suffer due to a labour dispute. Brought on via a chain effect from the doctors earlier this year, the municipal workers all over South Africa decided (after much bickering behind doors) that strike action was necessary. Then came the logic lacking of it all. As part of their strike plans, the bright sparks took to the streets and opened up rubbish bags and spread their contents on the streets. The catch? It’s their job to clean it! Why give yourself more work? If you are that desperate you can prostitute yourself at night! That will be more profitable and will leave the streets clean, well, sort of. Besides, they won’t be paid extra for cleaning up the mess they made! I highly doubt it is a pre-requisite of a civil-service job to have to be a blithering idiot who can’t think with any sense.

Then the chain’s link extended its rust link to the lower income members of Rhodes University’s staff. The price we have to pay is a dirty campus (municipal worker style) and horrible food. In earnest, I do abhor most strike action because it is irritating and looks horrible. However, I do know that strikes have to be granted by a labour judge and that is after repeated breakdowns in negotiations. Thus, if it were not for the fact that I get hideous dog vomit trying to pass as lunch, I would support the strike. Yet, because I do, please stop and get back to work! The terraces are dirty, the toilets smell and the food looks like it belongs in the toilet.

Post Scriptum: The title should be said with a French accent. Get it?