I am Intern, The Intern.

After my constant nagging of wanting a job, the opportunity finally availed itself and like hell I ran for it. Two days in and I don't want to work no more. Its exhausting. I'm perfectly okay with the entire hullabaloo that comes with working in an office. The drama, gossip, personal relationships between workers. Not too bad. It actually gives some sort of pep and vim to what would otherwise be a reiterative schedule. However...(first time)

Getting home exhausted is, well, exahusting. First thing you want to do is assault your bed and kick off your shoes (in no particular order). I actually miss the boredom that came with staying at home for hours on end, thinking up a good excuse to catch a ride to town once in a while in the hope of meeting up with random familliar faces. Yeah. I was (am) a low life. However...(again) I get to call myself 'The Intern'. Dunno why hollywood hasn't made a film on that one yet. Oh. I think I'll patent it. Put that on my bucket list. I even made myself a name tag with 'The Intern' written on it. Note: we don't use nametags 'at work'. With two workmates, they're kinda unimportant. But mine gets to hang from my neck on a Sponge Bob hangy thingy. I think I'll type that shit out. Put that on my bucket list.

However...(again) being a 'freshman' at work comes with its problems too: mine being being the klutz- if that makes sense. I really get paranoid around clients especially the high paying ones. Random example, yesterday, client transacts with 'The Boss' and I'm supposed to write him a receipt after he pays for 'services offered'. Halfway in, I rembember that I forgot to use carbon paper in making a duplicate of the original receipt- for the purposes of keeping records ofcourse.

Damage control! I end up inserting the carbon paper and retracing my handwritting over previously inscribed words. Client pulls a facepalm stunt followed by a SMH and calls me an amatuer. By now I'm shaking my handwritting appears to be a sketch in abstract art (it always does but that is besides the point).

Today I get to 'work' (yes 'I work' Saturdays as well. Whats that?! Ofcourse with pay, stupid. Do I seem like a Non-profit generating organization to you?! Yeah. Thought so.) shortly before 'Nice guy'- as one of my workmates will hereby be refered. He gives me the keys to the office as he runs a few errands. So I casually walk up the stairs listening to Good feeling- Florida and humming along while at it. I choose a small key and turn it in the lock and turn. It snaps. Two equal pieces. One of which is now lodged in the key hole and the other in my hand. Now I'm screwed. Totally screwed. I can even see the headlines, the tabloids: 'Self proclaimed intern ends his short reign'. I'm thinking I run. Home. Fast. No. Its a law firm stupid! The law will catch up with you. Dang! What to do what to do. I decide to call 'Loise Laine'- my other workmate- for 'Nice guy's' number. Speak of the devil.Enter 'Nice guy'. I explain myself amid hysteria...I wasn't my fault. Honest. It wasn't. It was Flo rida's. Bitch gave me superhuman strength. High on that illuminati shit. However...(again) 'Nice guy' being, well, a nice guy, just smiles, and says its okay, performs some sort of burgle trick on the lock and Presto! we have access. Kinda makes me think of the practicality of his name.

I could go on an on, however (again), I'll spare you the boredom and ask you to take your pococurantism elsewhere.

On to a not so important fact.  Black dress has been defined as a must have in every ladies closet. Majorly because it can (and does) go with anything. In my thinking, the male blackdress is a white shirt, two days of 'work' has taught me that with a white shirt is a must have in a dude's closet. So ladies...*clears throat*.

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Feel my pain.

Up until a few hours ago, I thought advocacy was a limniable proffession. Now? Not so much.

So I woke up this morning with a 'song in my heart and a spring in my step'. Fast forward 12 hours later and I don't feel so bubbly. (and listening to this fake Tinie Tempah Bri'ish accent on radio isn't making anything better)

I will make no attempt to sugar coat this. As is a well known fact, to graduate with a bachelor of laws degree (and I am sure as is the case with most undergraduate programs), one needs to undergo an attachment program for a certain period on time. Attachment, internship, pupilage, call it as you will, I really dont care right now. This is basically intended to expose students to an out of class environment that is somewhat more practicable and relevant to their chosen profession. Unless of course you would want to be a lecturer. LQTM. An attachment, to the best of my understanding, is more or less like a job. You go to work from 8-5, lunch breaks: the works. The differences as as notable if not more profound. Most often than not, you get no pay. You basically work for free; a KYM (kazi ya mikono) if you will. I have heard of cases where you pay your employer for an opportunity to work for him. Funny.

When I take my application to a law firm, I go expecting one of two results; an acceptance or a decline which is followed by some clichè excuse which tends to be a lie. The dismay that comes with a refusal, I can handle. After all, its your firm: your choices and your staff. Cool. My problem however is the 'we'll get back to you' shibboleth.

I mean, really?! I want to believe that time and age have prepared me to deal with most dissapointments that may come my way. It has been scientifically proved that the average person will incur more failures than accomplishments in their life. So when I 'seek an opportunity to work under the leadership of a proffesional with impecable advocacy skills which I aim at emulating someday' as is exactly indicated in my application letter, I expect in the worst, a no. Let me know you don't want me instead of letting my person hold on to a virtual strand of hope that is, as has been said, non-existent.

I have no use for pity or sweet nothings from unconfident individuals who cannot master up the courage to tell me that they are not willing to hire.

I personally think its a bargain. Working for free! Heck. I wouldn't pass off that opportunity for anything. Even though I have lost all hope in becoming a lawyer anymore.

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Please read this. Pretty please!

Now that I have your attention (or atleast I think I do), I would wish to engage you dear viewer in todays topic. Pfffft. Loooool.

The title tell the whole story basically. Its beggers oriented. Everytime I think beggars and poor people Oliver Twist comes to mind. The phrase 'Can I have some more porridge?' *insert Bri'ish accent* has been idolized in my head. However I dont think anyone with a British accent would sell the beggar brand in Kenya. So on to the stereotypical rough looking and puppy-eyed clichès that have taken a liking to the murky streets of Nairobi.

Now dont get me wrong. I have nothing aganist beggars. I will go as far as saying that I actually pity them (well atleast some of them). Like this guy who enters the bus. He presents himself as deaf. He has the entire enchilada; a clipboard with papers (yes with an 's')  highlighting his plea to desire to join a certain deaf people's school in the country that I actually didnt know existed up until I read that form thingy, a pen, a clipboard, the puppy dog eyes, pitiful face and a relatively snapy suit. A notable waiver from your typical 'nisaidie' beggar.

As this guy continues to sell (or rather beg) himself to peoples on the bus, the conductor guy comes in and shouts him out. Keep in mind, our guy is as deaf as a doorpost so his assumed refusal to heed to the conductor's instruction is received as ignorance and he is consequently 'manhandled' out.

The kange states his defence as 'knowing' our beggar friend not to be as he says he is. I call him friend because I also got to give him some spare change and sign his fancy form. Apparently -according to the kange, friend has hearing better than...ummmm something that can hear really well.

Dude, whats your problem?! If he hears or not it doesnt really concern you does it?! I dont blame the guy. If he manages to convince guys he's deaf or not, if he actually uses the money he gets for the intended cause or not, hell! I dont care. With this economy...hell! He sure went to alot of trouble to convince us though. If you don't wanna give, then dont. Noone's really making you do it. Same goes to you.

Have a hustle free day.

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I really dont care but hey...

So KCPE 2011 results tolelezead little over a fortnight ago. Personally, what you get doesn't really matter. The only major purpose good results serve is that helping ex candidates go to good high schools.

Now 'good' in this context is relative. In a reasonable man's view; which is deemed to be the most appropriate parameter in determining most issues, a national school is the best practicable school you'd want your kid to go to. Some of us who went to mediocre high schools still made it through. And we felt content with the system...somewhat.

The process of form 1 selection has been revolutionized with reference to current times. Its been (almost)  completely technologized with computers doing most of the work. The old system where folks would go to principals (read blood thirsty leaches) of different schools and convince them to let their children join 'their' institutions.

But there are those well off blokes who can afford to pay millions in the name of education for their deliquents in private schools. Lucky bastards!

Back to the main issue. So KCPE has literally  become an actual life and death issue for candidates these days; seeing the number of students that committed suicide after they got poor results. Pity. That a 14 year old would kill themselves because they thought they were failures.

Folks take their kids to private schools because they want them to yield the best possible results as opposed to the crowded and poorly funded public schools. Its not that they have that much money to waste on those overly expensive schools. No. If the standard of education in public schools would slightly appreciate, private schools would lose business faster than you can say 'Nyakemincha'. LQTM.

This is why I think the PS of education this Ole Kiya-what his face chap should be taken to court for favouring pupils from public schools at the expense of those who hail from private schools with regard to selection of form ones.

I am no math guru but here are the figures...I went to a provincial school in the heart of Central province and now specifically Kiambu County that admitted 180 form 1 students annually. Now the government recently promoted 30 provincial schools to a national level bringing the total number of national secondary schools to 48. Now assuming that the standards of national schools are by far higher than those of provincial schools (now refered to as county schools), they will obviously take more form ones. For the purposes of easier calculation lets assume 200 as our starting point.

Thus;

48x200 is 9600.

Meaning atleast 9600 students will go to national schools. Got it?! No?! Start all over again stupid.

Now according to statistics given by the Ministry (feeling all Harry Potter and sh*t), 5806 children got 400 marks and above. Meaning that all these should go to national schools plus a residue of 3794 tois.

So you understand my frustration when a kid with 410 marks from a private school goes to a county school and another one with 383 marks from a public school goes to a national.

Unfair doesn't even begin to explain it. The government should up their game rather than dissapoint efforts of kids from private institutions.

But I really don't care.

Blessed Sunday.

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Bro...STFU!!!

He makes decisions he may not always be proud of. He does it on impluse. Maximizing on present emotion without due regard for consequences that may stem from his actions. One would expect that this is a phenomenon that he has gotten uses to by this point in his life; what, with all the poor appreciation of fact and the exclusion he has evoked from his friends. However in actuality this assumption is dissentient from actual truth.

He pushes those closest to him to the far end of the room and goes further to give no thought or consideration to their feelings. This is who he is. Noone else matters but him. He is left standing at the centre of the room crowded with solitude. The worst part is, he is not in the slightest, remorseful for his deeds. His rationale?! Que sera sera as the relic Spanish melody goes, whatever will be will be. Once it is done it is done. Noone, not even him can change the past and there is definately no use crying over spilt milk.

It is only those decisions that he makes in the present that count. The decisions that he can carefully assess. Critically think about. He however does not realize this and he goes back to a status quo. Covering past solecism with decisions aganist his better judgement (that is if he knows of anything of the sort).

His problem is one that it quite apparent to him. But what options does he have?! He can't stop (or atleast that is what he thinks). His attempt to rectify his misfortune are futile and will more often than not lead to more harm than good.

So where does it stop?! When does this whole frenzy come to an end?! Does he just sit and wait for something to go completely and irreversably wrong? A decision that will bring a stop to everything?! How many hearts have to be broken before its over?! How many tears should be shed for him that have not been shed already?! How many more souls have to undergo sleepless nights just for his sake?! How many must he take down before the curtain is drawn?!

Whoa. Dude! I think you've had enough beer for tonight bro. STFU!

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Got ink? o_O

Er...hello. Its me again; and yes I'm bored. Too jobless if you ask me. There has to be some law againist this kind of laziness. I have to warn you though. If you are not articulate or fluent in nonsense, please stop here. Its not going to get any more intresting than it already is. Thank you. And don't come back either.

Ok. On to today's not so random topic... Tattoos. Beautiful expressions of body art...or are they?! I once saw the defination of a tattoo as 'dermatological graffitti'. Lemmi break it down for yall. The tattoo artist has this pen looking thingamajig with a needle sharp tip, that he uses to draw or rather 'express his artistic prowess' just beneath the skin of the subject i.e. the idiot gettin the tattoo. Needless to say its a beautifully painful experience. Key word. Painful. If you however don't have the stomach for it, don't. Please don't. Or else you'll find yourself wincing in pain in a darkly decorated room with demonic pictures furnishing the walls like yours truly. Hint *not pretty especially if you're a guy with a chic watchin*

They range between 1500 and infinity Ksh depending on the size and detail required. A waste of hard earned cash if you ask me.

Well although the tattoo may be greviously painful, it does not remotely compare with the torment that comes with its removal. Those of you with relatively creative imaginations may make reference to the above displayed portrait. Yeah. Its that bad. The rest...what are you still doing reading this post?!

My opinion is that tattoos are 'graffitized' (told you twas stupid) on three kinds of peoples as discussed below;

1) Peeps with strong emotional imbalances. These are the kind that find solace in consoling their emotions (most oftenly anger) with some form of pain. Where the average human will curse their mouths dry, these lot will sit there and feel the pain (and probably curse as well) to feel better. A SMH wouldn't be enough for these ones. A palm meets face...maybe.

2) The ordinary bloke who sees everyone else inked up and wonders what it would feel like to get one. To you I say, ignore all my advice about the pain. Heck! Go get a tattoo!! After all, everybody's doing it! Whats the worst that can happen right?! You won't die...you'll probably get killed but who knows you might get to be wiser in your next life.

3) These is the second offenders category. Inspired to get their first tattoo because of the first two reasons but have come back for more. Reasons,

a) They came back for an 'adjustment' of their current tattoo. Relevant examples are engraved names of ex-lovers (WTF were you thinking).

b)Peeps may also come back because they just love the pain. Reference for this section shall be made to all painted hiphop rappers and Vybz Kartel.

c) Or you're just a darn right retard. Hang in there maen. Jesus loves you. But you're still going to hell.

Yup. Thats basically it. I'm not going to detail the kind of tattoos that peeps have these days. Crazy times we live in. You'd be shocked.

So if you're a spoilt brat with loads of money to blow, go get an eternal expression of art on your skin. At least you did something with your life.

Just incase yall is wondering, yes I do know the guy that owns that contraption in the picture. Name's Bill. Really nice guy.

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Two days too late.

☆☆☆Not so Happy New year★★★

I'd like to start off by saying that blogging never really was my fortè. It is among one of the items on my bucket list- a craving if you will. Why? For no apparent reason. Two posts into my first blog and I was quite exhilarated about my new venture. However optimisim can only take you so far if you have no subject matter to talk about. So I decided on a subject matter that would always give me content for my blog. And what better subject matter than me?! Or rather the person that was Blodwyn Byar. Thus this blog was created. (Though I'm thinking about starting a photo blog really soon)

Generally the posts revolve on his personal life; girlfriends, daily occurences and what not. Whether these will continue to form the basis of future posts only time will tell. Although I'm shifting to more nonsensical and meaningless topics-just to confuse my enemies. LQTM.

Okay. So its a New Year which means new expectations, which consequently conjure fresh dissapointments. Now I am a pessimist, and unlike other pessimists who think the worst of every situation, I see all the positive outcomes but choose to expect the worst. That is majorly why I have a problem with today's up and coming religious institutions. This year is your year of prosperity; *enter new year* will be a year of Finacial Breakthrough; these songs sung every new year have become quite the clichè. Don't get me wrong, I am the staunch Christian (more in word than in deed- which is regardless of the point) but I can't sit and take in the bullshit that quack religious leaders push down our throats.

2011 was one of the toughest years I have lived through. Prices of every single commodity shot up, confectionary included. By the end of the year, things were looking to take a positive turn with petroleum prices minimally going back down. To say that the new year is to be an improvement from the last would be a fraudulent misrepresentation.

Which is why my 2012 is going to be the worst year yet. Sure I'll hope for the best. But you can only go so far with hope.

My advice; have a not so happy new year. You can never go wrong with no faith.

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