Do You Remember The Time?

I do. It was a year ago, I was at a college do – I was supposed to be dressed up as a Moulin Rouge courtesan, but I suck at dressing up on a budget.

I looked like Mary Poppins.

Boredom was starting to set in quickly (with a dash of ennui) as I lazily watched my friends sip on their drinks.

The lead singer of the tribute band grabbed the microphone and yelled into it “Any Michael Jackson fans here?!”

I perked up. Maybe they would do a cover. Hopefully, it would be a good one.

“Well, he’s dead!”

I shook my head in disgust and disbelief. Why would he say something so drastic?

So terrible?

So untrue?

But eventually, as I packed to go home the next day, as I wandered around campus and visited my daily sites, it was reinforced that yes, this fact that had been so harshly delivered, was true.

Michael Jackson was dead.

But how could this be? My aunt had just bought tickets to see his show in London that everyone had been talking about – I’d seen him on the TV over and over, telling the world that ‘This is it!’

The irony weighed heavy on my heart.

To me, it had seemed inconceivable. He had been a shooting star, a legend… immortal.

Like many, I had adored and been brought up on his music.

I remember my teacher using ‘The Earth Song’ as an example for us to remember how ‘th’ sounded when I was 5.

I remember being scared stiff at my first viewing of ‘Thriller’, shrieking and hiding behind my hand when I was 9.

I remember nodding my head along to ‘You Are Not Alone’ when I felt miserable, pretending that he was speaking directly to me, my first emotional connection to any piece of music.

I remember watching the hysteria at one of his concerts, as fans screamed and cried and fainted and thinking to myself “What kind of man makes people feel that way?”

And then later on came the plastic surgery rumours, the child over the balcony, the documentary, , the accusations, and the court case.

The smear that came from having gone through such events didn’t seem like it’d ever come off.

But now the world was being forced to remember his genius when it was no longer available – to look back and realise all that he’d done, all that he’d achieved.

For those that knew, they remembered.

For those that hadn’t, they realised.

He had been a trailblazer, overcoming the horrifying abuse of his father to become an artist in his own right, extending the civil rights influence to the music industry, and raising environmental issues long before they were in vogue.

I think we all know by now that there will never be another one like Micheal Jackson.

And for those that somehow managed to escape this knowledge, I hope you realise how much he literally Rocked Our Worlds.

Forgive me my reminiscing. I know that mine is only one of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of Michael Jackson related posts on the blogosphere.

For a more touching and eloquent tribute, read Afrobella’s tribute here.

For a more hysterically hilarious view on what Micheal Jackson is the G.O.A.T (Greatest Of All Time) I’d advise you to look at Awesomely Luvvie’s page here.

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Happy Father's Day!

So today, in the United Kingdom, it's Father's Day! Yay for daddies! All over the country (and in the world) fathers everywhere will be woken up by lovingly made breakfasts of sugary cereal or fry-ups and a drink of coffee or orange juice.

It's a bit of a nightmare buying presents for Dads unless they're really heavily into something, like football, or golf.

When I was younger, I used to *HATE* commercialised days like these - and I still have some serious feelings that cause me to despise Valentine's Day with a serious passion (that rant should be exciting).

Buuuuuut, in cases of Mother's and Father's Day, I think it serves as a way to remind people to appreciate their parents - especially little kids, who tend to forget how amazing their Mummy or Daddy actually is (especially if they've just gotten in trouble for doing something silly, and sulking).

My Papito is amazing and quiet and loving. He is our superhero and my siblings and I love him very much!

Happy Father's Day, Pappy!

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Football Fever

Not only have Google changed their icon but Youtube has too. Therefore, I think I can officially say that World Cup fever has hit.

I went into a local supermarket and it seemed every magazine had 'Come on England!' splashed on the cover.

In the toy section, England flags hang proudly for the patriotic youth of today.

There were even Pringles signed by Peter Crouch (a footballer whose existence I'm only aware of because newspapers keep referring to him being lanky and dancing like the archetypical embarrassing father).

Et tu Pringles?

No, but seriously.

PRINGLES, for goodness sakes?!!?

Not even my crisps are safe!

Oh, wait. Apparently, there's an advert. See it here.

The BBC estimates that about £1 billion is about to be wagered on the World Cup - one guy has even wagered £200,000 on it.

Really?!?! He could have bought me a house for that amount (especially in this economic climate). Or a car! Or a new wardrobe. Or a house made of cupcakes. Mmmm....cupcakes....

There are some positives - I mean, it's the first World Cup to have been held on the continent of Africa! So much excitement...I...can....hardly...breathe! *grasps chest*

(I lie. I'm not really that bothered). A lot of people I know are hoping that this being the first World Cup to ever be held on African soil means that the African teams will get some sort of Motherland football boost, helping them soar across the grass, as fleet as foot as is superhumanly possible, blasting the footballs into the back of the net with no hesitation or obstacle!

Orrr....not? (Sorry Dad. But I gotta keep it real).

On the negative - it's South Africa. The media (*coughBBCcough*) present the World Cup as a positive that outweighs and negates the infamous negatives of apartheid and xenophobia that plague the country - just like the story shown in the movie Invictus, of the country united by the Rugby World Cup, under the green and gold.

This was the first major sporting event that the South African national team were allowed to take part in, only after negotiations were made to dismantle apartheid.

But will the World Cup serve only to unite this country permanently, or only for its duration?

Local businessman Lesego Segoe sums it up when he says, "We are excited about the World Cup because we will see international players but what happens after the World Cup? What happens to the poor, what will the World Cup do for them?"

...oops.

That quickly took a ranting turn.

So....on a lighter note....Clouds, maybe?

You know what, no.

I'm still bitter that guy didn't buy me a house.

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What-da-fish is natural hair?

In my last post, I mentioned that I was an advocate of natural hair, and I'm aware that some people may not be aware of what this means. Maybe the first image that came to mind was someone who had hair completely made of flowers, in that 60's, boho-hippy-back-to-nature style

So, let's do a little exercise.

Think of hair. Just any hair.

You may have thought of yours. Or the hair of somebody you admire. Maybe it's long and silky and straight, or maybe a little bit curly, or even in tight corkscrew ringlets.

Right.

So now, think of black hair. Just any black (I use this in the social, rather than political, manner) person's hair.

Perhaps you thought the infamous swinging blonde weave of Beyoncé (I think, by now, it must at least be it's very own cognisant being). Or maybe Angela Davis' afro came to mind. Or even the trademark dreadlocks of Bob Marley.

Now, I want you to think of a black person you actually know (if any). What does their hair look like?

Does it look straight and overly shiny and silky? (That's a weave or a wig).

Or straight, and a little dull, that sticks up in random places if they're not careful? (That's a relaxer, or a 'perm').

Is it big and curly? (Hello, weave. Or a wig).

Is it in braids all over their head that reaches at least to their shoulders? (Braid extensions, where extra hair, that can synthetic or real, is added to their own to give the desired look).

Have you ever wondered, just for a second, what the hair that grows out of their actual scalp looks like?

.

.

.

.

Yeah. Exactly. Amongst black women, getting your hair 'relaxed' is extremely commonplace - I used to have it done. In fact, when I was little, I used to think if you were black, it was compulsory by law, or something. because I was never really given a choice. My hair was too thick to manage - so it got a relaxer

In a nutshell, the relaxer is applied to the hair and then the chemical agents within the relaxer break the protein bonds between the hair that give it the tight curl or coil, to straighten it.

People who don't do this, who don't apply relaxers to their hair, are known as 'having natural hair'. So if you see a girl with hair that looks fluffy, fro-like, or even in dreadlocks, then they would be termed as 'natural.'

It's strange, isn't it? That those who leave their hair alone, just as it grows out of their scalp, are the ones in the minority. An excellent essay that gives a brilliant analogy just to show how deep this mentality goes within the black community worldwide is here. It's called White Women Dyeing, Black Women relaxing: Why it's not the same thing.

Even the mainstream has jumped on the bandwagon. When I was saw a brand of relaxer called 'Dark and Lovely' in Boots, I paused for a second and mused whether this was a step forward or a step back.

This is barely scratching the surface concerning the issues black people have with their hair - Chris Rock even made the film 'Good Hair' about the obsession black people have with their hair.*

My feelings on this are lengthy. I won't post them here. But they'll become apparent over time.

*I think this film is available online to watch...not that I'm advocating you do that. Just. You know. For those of us abroad, who couldn't get our hands on it no matter what we tried, it's a useful thing to know!

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*Insert Superhero Music Here* My mission is...

..or rather, what the flip is this blog all about?

Well, it was originally to be called 'Sane, Silly, Serious' and I would post within those categories. But then I had too many 'Random' post ideas that didn't really fit neatly within any of them, so that idea was scrapped.

The theme of this is almost the same as my friends 21st birthday, which was "Help me find morals and an agenda" and included 10 bars/pubs/clubs.

Ah. The Youth of today. We give you hope :)

So it's called 'A Bountiful Thing' because I do a lot, and...um....I have a bountifulness of social activites.

I do so much running about I should really have some sort of collective, overall activities scholarship. (I like to play sports)

I work my hook and needles like there's no yarn tomorrow! (I also knit and crochet)

My fro is cool. 'Tis official. (I am an advocate of 'natural', non-relaxed hair)

My cornbread brings all my friend to my yard! (I like to bake. And cook).

I eat and love and and try and be green and I think (therefore my brain hurteth) and draw and talk others to insanity.

Don't be deluded into thinking I actually do any of this well.

I just do them.

Thing I don't do include fashion and make up, as I literally cannot afford to be that trendy, and heavy metal rock music.

What? I have sensitive ears!

I'm A Simple Thing because...well....I'm a bit on the simple side. This is a fact pointed out to me by my very own mother who, I think, despairs at what she thinks is my lack of ambition.

I have ambition. Just not a lot, okay?

Then again, I'm simple according to the meaning of the word according to the original Latin word 'Simplex', meaning 'straightforward'.

So, uh, what exactly are you trying to get at? T_T What's the point of this blog?

Ah. If only it were that simple. There are many points and purposes: A sanctuary for my incessant rambling, to ease the burden on my beleaguered friends; Somewhere I can look over my past (non-)achievements and hopefully see an improvement of some sort.

Also, when I am old and grey, I will give my grandkids this link, in order to be able to say "Yo! Look, your Grandma was hip and cool! I was down widdit!" And possibly do the hand cracking thing, depending on how bad my arthritis/osteoporosis is.

So I will hopefully be getting a camera of some sort and adding pictures (because if a blog has no pictures...you may be forced....possibly....to read! Perish the very thought! Also, I have a short attention span, so I will get bored halfway through writing it and that just smacks of irony).

Ahem. So. Yes.

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Starting Out

Well, lookey here....I finally got my butt around to creating a blog, which I have been telling myself to do for ages.

Now to crack onto learning HTML to jazz it up a little...It'll only take me, what, five more years?

I feel I should paste a pending sign here, or something.

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