The English Language

                      I am no expert in the English Language. That said, one must admit that English has to be the most difficult language to understand. Even for those whose first language is in fact English. I was reading a newspaper headline the other day which read: 'Police shoot man with cutlass.' I thought to myself, 'how on earth can the police do that?' 'Is this cutlass a new weapon now being used by the police force?' Then there was this headline which was real funny, even if the alleged incident itself was not. It read: 'Impotent man freed of rape charge. Evidence couldn't stand up in court.' The more one studies the English Language the more and more bewildered one can become. One example of this is when it comes to plurals. I had always wondered why the plural of mouse is mice but the plural of house couldn't be hice. I'm sure many non-English speakers are wondering the same thing. If the plural of man is men, why can't the plural of pan be pen? It has always been quite confusing. Have you ever wondered what it feels like for a Spanish speaker who is learning English for the first time to understand that?  Another thing that can be quite bewildering too is the amount of words that mean almost the same thing. They are called synonyms. So one particular word can have multiple synonyms.

                     So the word 'big' can have numerous words that also mean big. Huge, enormous, gigantic, stupendous etc. Puzzling isn't it? One other observation about the English language is the amount of foreign words that get incorporated into the language that you just have to remember to pronounce the proper way. Like the word rendezvous. Well everyone knows that its a French word that is pronounced as 'run day voo' and of course it means to meet at an agreed time and place. So in other words I must also learn French in order to understand English too? Then there is the added confusion with words starting with 'F' and 'PH.' Why can't the word 'pharmacy' be spelled as FARMACY? After all, isn't the word farm spelt with an 'F'? Then we have this thing called homophones which are words that are pronounced the same way but are spelt differently and have entirely different meanings. Like 'there' and 'their.' Growing up as a young boy and doing English in school, I was always at pains deciphering when to use which 'there.' Or is it 'their?' You see the problem? Even native English speakers like myself are at pains to fully understand the concepts of the dreaded English language.

                   Apart from the above mentioned problems regarding the homophones, there is also the additional pain of which type of spelling to use for other words. Should I use the British spelling or the American spelling? The British spell fibre F I B R E whereas the Americans spell it as F I B E R. Even when I wrote the British spelling for this post, I was 'corrected' by the spell check for making an 'error.' So you see I really can't blame foreign speakers for having problems with the English language. It is certainly the most difficult language to understand. So the next time someone tells you something in plain English that you couldn't quite grasp the first time and they ask sarcastically if they were speaking Greek, a clever response would be, ' I'm sure the Greeks say something similar about English.'

                 

Hospital Stay

                                 Back in 2006 I got selected to start recruit training in the Trinidad & Tobago Fire Service having successfully applied. I was very excited about it because a few months before my younger cousin had also been selected and recently had his passing out parade. Everyone in my family was happy for him and were now looking forward to me getting in. A whole weight of expectations was now on my puny shoulders. On the morning of May 1st  I left home to start the recruit training. I was a bit of a sad occasion for my family, for I had never been away from home for more that two weeks and on that occasion it was by close relatives. This was different. I would be around a bunch of strangers who I don't know anything about but who I will have to accept as "family" for the next thirty days. I would also have to be engaged in tough training and take put up with difficult recruit trainers who wouldn't be afraid to give me the needed cuss word or relative physical punishment in the form of rigorous exercises if they thought I needed it. I was nervous as hell as I pondered what it will be like going through the tough training. I tried my best to remain calm as my driver, Roger tried to talk to me reassuringly and tried to take my mind about what the next four weeks will be like.

                                 I carried two bags with me. One contained personal items like clothes and basic toiletries. The other one contained my books for the theory work which I also had to do. Inside that particular bag also contained a pack of disposable contact lenses and the solution to go with it. I remember arriving a the training camp and a sense of fear came over me. There was a fire officer who greeted us and showed us to our respective dorms. He introduced himself to us as Officer Mc Intosh and he made all of us sign out names on a roll. he showed us how to fold our blankets and make up our beds the "proper way." On the first day of our say there, we didn't do much as regards to the actual training. We were just given our respective recruit trainee numbers and we were assigned to our respective squads. They was the M Squad, N Squad, O Squad and the P Squad. I was in the latter. We had to make friends quickly. As the days past though, we gradually started to get into our groove with regards the actual training. Being short sighted I wore my glasses. I hardly even used my contacts. One day though, an officer scolded my for wearing my glasses. I was in the mess hall having breakfast and he decided that he should give me some push ups to do because of it.

                              I then decided to use the glasses only when I had theory work. One fateful Friday evening though, an incident happened which would change my life forever. It was only the third week and we hadn't even started doing actual fire drills as yet because it was important that we master how to master the art of marching.  I wore the contacts the marching drill. The sun was extremely hot. I was just hoping for the session to end soon so that I can go back inside and have a good shower. Lo and behold I realized that my eyes were feeling irritated but I thought that it was important that I stick it out and finish the exercise. Big mistake. I so developed a severe eye infection. I didn't even know how serious it was at the time. I thought that it was pass soon. Unfortunately it got worse. My comrades in the dormitory alerted the senior officers of my plight and phoned home. A few minutes later my bother came to pick me up accompanied with my mother. My dad was at work at the time. I couldn't see a thing. All I saw was darkness. I was literally blind. I arrived at home and my brother helped me out the car as he guided me inside. He told my mother what was wrong and she was very worried indeed.  I have to admit that my brother couldn't seem to care less about my situation. My mother though, was most concerned. Naturally.

                            Both my mother and brother accompanied me to the hospital after, as I pondered my future. I told myself that I'll only spend a few days in the hospital and that I'll be back in training in no time at all. I couldn't be more wrong. I was taken to the doctor's office for him to examine me as my mom waited anxiously outside. My heart began to beat quickly as he inserted some sort of instrument in my eyes. He then shone a light in them as I struggled to open me eyes. The pain was excruciating. He then called the nurse and told her to bring the forceps. I started to pray in my mind. 'God please just let everything go all right and let me recover from this soon.' I was told to look up as he took the forceps and carefully pulled the contacts out of my eyes. All the time I was hoping for the moment to end soon. To me it felt like eternity. It was getting late so I had to be warded. My mom and brother had to leave. A sense of sadness, hopelessness and despair came over me. I had moved from a potential firefighter with a bright future to a helpless blind man at the mercy of other people. All at the ripe old age of 25. What was worse was that I didn't know  how long I would have been in the hospital or if I was ever going to resume my recruit training or even see for that matter.

                        I lay in my bed in ward 16 that night and cried. Sometime after though, in the middle of the night as I finally faced the reality of my seemingly hopeless situation, a young nurse came to tend to me. I could tell that she was young by her voice. She was very friendly. She told me that her name was Alana and that she was very sorry that such a young guy like me was in such a situation. She tried her best to cheer me up as she administered the drops to my infected eyes. I thanked her care and attention as she moved on to another patient. The days went by slowly. Thankfully though my mom, dad and aunt visited me every day of my stay. By about the third week of my stay I began to see slightly better. My mom had brought a small transistor radio for me so that can listen to some music. The World Cup Finals were coming up and I was very excited because Trinidad & Tobago had qualified and were we scheduled to feature in the fourth match of the tournament. I was allowed to into the nurses' station to watch the game because I was a well-behaved patient.

                      The younger nurses on the ward had taken a likeness to me because I was the only young male adult on the ward and I was around their age. I was also keen to answer any question on football on which they asked. The second day of the World Cup featured Trinidad & Tobago and Sweden in the second match of the day in a Group B encounter. I was so excited that day. It was the 10th June 2006. It was a very historic day in Trinidad & Tobago sporting history. Trinidad & Tobago was making its World Cup debut as the smallest country to play in the finals. I remember the pride I felt when I heard our National Anthem playing at a World Cup for the first time. I never gave us a ghost of a chance to get any result from that game with the Swedes. I said to myself that if we can keep the Swedes to under four goals it would be a great achievement indeed. Lo and behold Trinidad & Tobago were able to hold the mighty Swedes to a 0-0 draw. It was such a great feeling of excitement and satisfaction when the final whistle was blown and we had secured our first World Cup point in our very first match.

                       As the World Cup continued I began to feel less and less depressed. No longer was I thinking about how long and awful my stay was. I was gradually beginning to see better. The nurses were doing a fine job. Of course there were the nights that were very annoying. Like when the mosquitoes were feeling hungry and my blood was on their menu. Or when the grumpy doctor who tended to me at the hospital threatened to take me to the operating theatre for not 'opening my eyes' wide enough. The most devastating time of my hospital stay was when Mr. Gopaul, the head of the fire school came and told me that I couldn't resume training because I had missed too much and it would have been impossible to catch up with the rest of  the trainees. I was very upset but I took it in stride. 'Maybe its for the best.' I said to myself. After six weeks my ordeal was over. I will never forget that day. June 30th 2006. Although I still needed a few more months before the scarring on my eyes due to the infection fully healed, just hearing the doctor say, 'You are free to go' was one of the best moments of my life. I waited for my mom to pick me up. As we went home that day I couldn't wait to turn on the TV to see the World Cup quarterfinal between Germany & Argentina. After almost two months virtually away from home, I had finally returned. Sure, I wasn't going to be a firefighter again, but at least I was in the best place that I could possibly be  - Home sweet home.

                     

                             

Acting Engagements

                                       I had never really considered myself an actor. Somehow or the other though, people seem to think that way. Personally speaking, I never thought that I had the talent to play a character as realistically as possible. The first time that I acted in my first play was in 1990. It was a school play called Say No To Drugs about a young boy who goes to a party and his "friend" introduces him to marijuana. I get high on it and then become addicted and then face an uphill battle to come off it. After my performance I was given many kudos by my classmates and teacher. After that I never did much acting again until many years later as an adult. It was as recently as 2013. I received a call at home. Lo and behold it was the First Lady of the church which I attend. She informed me that they were having a play for Easter and that they were looking for a person to play Jesus. I paused for a moment as I thought about it. 'Did she say she wants me to play Jesus?' She then went on to say that I had the right look for the role seeing that I was the only guy in church who had a beard. 'How does she know that Jesus had beard?' I thought to myself. Then, without thinking, or perhaps not wanting to appear unwilling, I accepted the offer. She informed me of the day of the audition and at what time I was to come.

                                       'What on earth did you just do John?' I thought to myself. It was too late now. I had to go ahead with it. The name of the play we were doing was a very popular one. It was called Heaven's Gates Hell's Flames. For those of you who don't know what its about, its about Jesus' suffering and Crucifixion and rising from the dead and the consequences you face if you reject him as Lord and Saviour. In the first scene Jesus is carrying the cross down the aisle while Sandi Patty's Via Dolorosa plays in the background. He is then taken by the soldiers and crucified while Satan comes on stage and laughs as Jesus dies. Jesus of course, rises from the dead goes into hell (or to the hell box as it's called in the play) and comes back as the triumphant king. He has Satan crawl to him and he snatches the keys of hell from him, stomps on his back and then casts him back to hell.  Well not exactly. I just gently put my foot on the actor playing Satan's back. All this happens while He's Alive is playing . After Satan is defeated, Jesus ascends to heaven and then a series of short scenes involving people who make choices which either lead them to heaven or hell begins. The Friday before the play, all the 'actors' who were called to star in the production were requested to the church for a rehearsal and given their respective scripts to learn. As Jesus I had no lines but I still had to remember where to stand on stage and where to go to and when to go. It was  important that I gave a great performance because I didn't want to disappoint the church. Especially my Pastor and the First Lady.

                                   After the rehearsal, all the cast members felt satisfied with their respective performances. The big day was in two days time. Easter Sunday. The play was carded to start at six that evening and we were all very excited. I remember feeling nervous that day. Even through morning service all I could think about was the big play late in the evening. After service, Shawn, the stage director had a quick briefing with the cast members about what we had to do later on in the evening. We all left feeling confident that we were going to get everything right later on. After I had lunch and a quick nap that afternoon, I took a cold shower and headed to church to prepare for the play. I have to admit that I really enjoyed putting on my costume and having the 'wounds' painted on my hands and feet. Soon it was show time. I stood at the top of the church aisle as I spotlight shone on me while the rest of the church was in darkness. Then Via Dolorosa started playing. This was it. No room for error. My heart started beating fast as I felt a little nervous. I said a little prayer in my mind so that all fear and apprehensions would be removed from me. Then everything started to flow. I started to become confident. I graced the stage with poise and a sense of boldness overcame me. Soon everyone began acing their parts brilliantly as the audience grew more and more satisfied by what they were seeing and enjoyed every moment.

                                  At the end of the play the cast received a standing ovation from the audience. For some strange reason I received the biggest cheers. When we got out of our costumes, the church members began referring to me as 'Jesus.' I was congratulated by the Pastor and the First Lady for the job I had done. I tried to sound as modest as possible by stating that everyone involved in the production, including the electricians, sound engineers and musicians made it possible. And that was true. Unfortunately though, since the play I am now the 'Official Jesus' in the church and it has been stated that my services will be required in the future. In fact on Easter Sunday this year I had to play Jesus again in another production. Talk about deja vu.

Circus Trip

                               Back in 1999 when I was still a teenager, during the summer vacation, a circus from nearby Venezuela decided to come to our shores for some performances. I saw the commercial promoting the circus on TV and couldn't helped but be mesmerized. Not by the antics of the clowns of course, but by the sight of the gorgeous, curvaceous and alluring Venezuelan girls in their next-to-nothing leotards. "Wow!" I said to myself. "Those girls are so hot." "If only I can be at the circus to see those girls perform." The star of the circus was not a girl however, it was one of girls' brother. He was a twelve year-old boy by the name of Jonathan who they claimed was the world's youngest tiger tamer. The price of the tickets were fairly cheap. Thankfully I hadn't spent the money which I had gotten as a present for my birthday a few weeks before. I thought to myself that the money would come in handy for my trip to the circus. The official name of  the circus was El Circo Magico which in English translates to The Magical Circus. I made sure to double check the local newspapers for the exact time which the circus shows were to begin. There were two performances a day. One at 5:00 in the afternoon and another show at 7:00 in the evening I decided to go to the earlier show though.

                            On the big day I was so excited. I finished all of my chores early and had a nice big lunch which my mother had prepared. I took a short nap afterwards. When I awoke I took a cold shower and got dressed. On my way out I kissed my mom goodbye and told her that I would see her later. She didn't know though that I had hidden her camera in my pocket. The purpose of my carrying the camera was to see if I could get a picture with one of the hot circus girls. It was a gamble that I was willing to take. I hoped that it was going to be my lucky day. On my way to the circus I was constantly hoping that my little knowledge of the Spanish language would be enough for at least one of the girls to understand me and grant my request of a photo. Finally the taxi that I had boarded had arrived at my destination and I was elated. As I entered the big tent, I tried to see if there were any of the girls around. The first person to greet me though was a clown as he took my ticket which I had bought at the nearby booth and tore it in half giving me the stub. Suddenly though I saw a pretty girl there selling balloons. I gave her a friendly wave and she happily waved back. I asked her her name in broken Spanish and she responded, "Carolina." I kindly asked her for her a photo but she told me that she was busy at the moment and that I may have to wait.

                               I was in no mood to wait. The show was about to start in fifteen minutes and as  every second went by my chances of getting a photo were getting slimmer and slimmer. I then decided to go to another area to purchase a hot dog for I started to feel peckish. Lo and behold I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was the sight of a gorgeous, curvy Venezuelan girl in a revealing blue sequined leotard. "This is my chance." I said to myself; as my heart began to beat faster. She was the most beautiful girl I had seen in my life. She had big brown eyes, fair flawless skin and long brown hair. I called out to her in my limited Spanish, "Senorita!" To my surprise she responded to my call. Perhaps she was surprised that a local was conversing with her in Spanish. I told her good afternoon in Spanish and introduced myself. She told me that her name was Gina. I then asked her if it was okay if I can get a photo with her. She responded with a smiling "Si." "No problema." I thanked her immensely and then we both decided to look for a convenient location where we can get the photo taken. By this time I had forgotten about the hot dog.

                                I then noticed that there was a section where some other people who were not exactly circus performers but were still involved in some way as far as the technical aspect of the show went, were setting up some lights. I kindly asked one of the guys in Spanish if he can kindly take a photo of Gina and myself. He obliged. I remember standing with Gina in front of a table and my arm going around her waist. Her arm also went around my waist. My heart thumped harder and harder as the blood raced quickly all through my body. All Gina did during that time was laugh as I kept on hoping for the moment to last forever and the typical teen-aged boy's fantasies about girls raced through my head. After I had the photo taken, I thanked her again as she quickly hurried off for the show was about to start. It was an evening that I would never forget. Yeah, the show was okay. But frankly speaking, tigers and clowns weren't exactly my thing. Thanks to Gina though, I had an unforgettable evening.

The 80's

                                I am a child of the 80's. "That's the best decade ever." I always say to myself. It was the age when my family had no cable TV, no VCR and of course no computer. If you asked me at that time what the internet was, I would have probably thought that you were speaking Greek. However, in spite of the numerous limitations entertainment-wise, I still did manage to have lots of fun. Saturday morning cartoons was one way in which I had fun. Every Saturday I can remember my brother and myself sitting down around the old Philco black & white TV that my dad had bought, to watch cartoons. It was one of those rotary TV's with no remote. So you had to change the channel by going up to it and turning the dial. For the volume control, you did a similar thing by turning the little knob which was also the main control which turned the TV on and off. One thing that I remember about that TV was the length of time the picture took to come on whenever you turned it on. You would just have to pull the main control knob and even though you knew the TV was on because you would hear sounds, the picture didn't come on until about ten or fifteen seconds later. It was kind of annoying for me because if I ever got up late on a weekend I stood a good chance of missing precious seconds of my favorite cartoon.

                                 

                              It never mattered much to me whether or not I didn't know the real colours of TV's most famous cat and mouse duo - Tom & Jerry at the time. All that mattered was that I got a good laugh. In those days cartoons to me were the best. There was Tom & Jerry, He-Man, Superman & Friends, The Flintstones, Scooby Doo just to name a few. I know that some of you who are reading this are probably saying to yourselves that the only TRUE 80's cartoon I mentioned there was He-Man, right? I know. But I can't help it if that was what was shown on TV at the time. So I had the impression at that time that they were all 80's. There were many others of course which  might be too much to mention. To me though, the one thing that really made the 80's decade stand out was the music. No other decade can better the 80's in terms of  music. Now I don't expect everyone to agree with me. Especially those of you who grew up in the 60's, 70's or even the 90's. 80's music was something special. After the cartoons were over on Saturdays, the other programme that I always looked forward to watching was America's Top 10 which was hosted by none other than Casey Kasem. It was during this show that I learned about those legendary artistes of that time like Michael Jackson, Madonna, Prince (or whatever he calls himself now), etc. I could remember watching in awe and being mesmerized by the dancing ability of the King of Pop. Almost everyone wanted to imitate the musical and dancing genius in some way. Be it through learning his songs like Beat It or Billie Jean and his other hits,  imitating his dance moves like the Moonwalk or copying his style of dress. And then as a young boy, you couldn't help but have a crush on Madonna as you watched her sing and strut her stuff in her latest music video. Be it Like a Virgin or Like a Prayer.

                             In those days you would be ridiculed by your classmates in school if you didn't know the lyrics to Michael Jackson's latest hit. Or rather what they thought were the lyrics. Apart from the many hits from Michael Jackson and Madonna which dominated the airways, there were also those songs that I truly enjoyed called New Wave Music. Even though frankly speaking, there were times when I didn't know what on earth the artistes were singing about. If it weren't Video Killed The Radio Star from Buggles, it was She Blinded Me With Science by Thomas Dolby. Although those songs would appear somewhat 'silly' by today's standards, to me they were something special. It represented the childhood in which I grew up and enjoyed. It entertained me and brought a smile to my face whenever I felt depressed. I may not have known at the time what the Cold War was or what the acronym USSR stood for, but at least I could have recognized a good song when I heard it playing on the radio, and that is why to me the 80's will always be the best decade ever.

                                

Math Problems

                              In school I was never good at Mathematics. I never knew why, but calculating numbers, remembering formulas and even applying them, always gave me problems. In primary school while Math class was in session, I would always try my utmost to listen attentively and follow very closely what the teacher was doing but somehow I couldn't comprehend what was going on. I would cross my fingers, say a prayer in my mind and hope that the teacher would not call upon me to work out any problem on the board in front of the whole class. Sometimes the prayers worked, but on other occasions it didn't and I would be called up in front of the board to work out a sum. I would tremble like a leaf at the thought of the teacher dropping the guava whip on my back or legs. I would be lost in thought, utterly embarrassed and clueless about how to do the Math problems. 'I guess that's why they are called problems.' I often thought to myself. While I stood there trying to figure out what to do, the teacher would get annoyed and shout at me. If that was not enough, the guava whip would come down on my back with a vicious blow. Whoop!

                               I would writhe like a snake and try my hardest to fight back the tears. 'Why do I have to go through this torture?' I would say to myself. I can recall a time when I was nine years old and in standard three, I was having great difficulties doing long multiplication. What made it worse was that I was the only child in the class with that problem. Yes, the pun was intended. The teacher who's name I will not call, decided to 'help me out' by having me stand at her table while I did nothing but long multiplication for the whole day. The other students would get to do the other subjects like English, Science, Social Studies, including Mathematics. Poor me though would have Mathematics forced down my throat from roughly 9:00 am to 3:00 pm in a vain attempt to 'help me.' A problem would be given to me to do by the teacher after she showed me an example. I would then have to figure out the problem while she taught the rest of the class in front of the board. Ever so often she would check on me as I struggled desperately to come up with the correct solution to the question. It would be a futile battle for me though, as my brain seemed to be incapable of fully grasping the concepts of Mathematics.

                             My problems would continue into secondary school where the Mathematics became more difficult.  One of my teachers was a middle-aged, grey-haired man by the name of Mr. Hackett. Unlike the teachers in elementary school in my days as a student, the teachers in secondary school never punished you physically for getting the problems wrong. You would however get embarrassed verbally in front of the whole class for failing an exam. I remember one time getting an Algebra exam back in 1992 and a few days after Mr. Hackett corrected our papers. During his next class he asked me to stand up. After I did as commanded. Mr. Hackett proceeded, 'Hi class, please meet the egg-farmer Mr. Salazar.' Of course everyone knew what  'egg-farmer' meant. I had gotten a big, fat ZERO in the exam. The whole class blurted out laughing. I however, was not amused but rather embarrassed. Naturally.

                            I tried all sorts of methods to overcome my mathematical struggles. Even the old personal tutor. But that only made things worse. For the tutor that is. Eventually CXC caught up with me. For those of you who are not from the English speaking Caribbean, CXC is a big exam that students who are in secondary school have to do when they reach the age of 15 or 16 thereabouts. They only qualify for sitting it if they meet certain requirements which will be determined by the teacher of course. The individual subject teachers of the particular student will determine if the student is capable of writing the exam. If they think that he or she is incapable, the particular student may be withdrawn from sitting the exam. I was given a chance by the teacher to write the exam . Albeit an 'easier one.' The CXC exam usually takes place in the months of May and June. I did well in all the other exams except Mathematics. As expected. I left school with passes in five of the six CXC subjects that I wrote. Not bad. I said to myself.

                       Unfortunately though, I had to attend evening school in order to see if can I pass Mathematics. There were times when I would think to myself that Mathematics is the hardest thing to do in the world. I would buy new text-books out of my hard earned money and force myself to try to understand what was going on by reading over the examples in the text and doing the exercises. Algebra and Trigonometry were always the ones that I did the most because most of the more difficult CXC questions revolved around those topics. That doesn't mean to say that I didn't study the so called 'easier topics' also. There were times that I would deny myself a lot of sleep at night doing Math problems. Even though I had work in the morning. I said to myself. 'I am older now and I should be more mature and disciplined enough to know how to go about this problem in a proper manner. But again I would come up short in consecutive exams in 2000, 2001, 2002. I took a break of about nine years and tried again in 2011. And although the grade was slightly better than in 2002, it was still a failing grade.  The following year I made one more attempt. I told myself that this was the last time that I will be writing this exam because I am simply fed up.

                      Perhaps my words were prophetic because a few months later while checking my results online, I saw my name and next to it was a passing grade. Albeit a minimum one. I was so elated. I almost fell off my chair in excitement. After all these years I was finally able to succeed in a subject area which, up until that time appeared beyond my capabilities. It's amazing what a little hard work can do.

The Beast of Game Shows

                              I am not one who watches a great deal of TV shows. Usually when I do, it may be a show where they discuss sports or it maybe a particular comedy that I love a great deal. It may however be my other favorite - game shows. Game shows get me excited and enthused. I am more fond of the trivia game shows though. One trivia game show which I am particularly fond of is called The Chase. Its a game show in which three supposedly learned people who actually don't know much about each other and who are seemingly quite knowledgeable in trivia, challenge a big, burly British bloke named Mark Labbett who goes by the nickname of The Beast. The Beast has an IQ of 155 and an MA in Mathematics from Oxford University. He's also 6' 7", arrogant and insulting to the contestants. Well at least that's the persona he's supposed to have right? After all, he's called The Beast.  

 

                             The hostess of the show is none other than former Baywatch beauty Brooke Burns who previously hosted another game show called Dog Eat Dog. In The Chase, contestants must first individually answer questions in the chaser round posed to them by Ms. Burns in a minute time frame in order to build a bank. Then each contestant must challenge The Beast one on one in a trivia duel. The object of the one on one challenge is to out-manoeuvre The Beast on the chaser board and bank the money for your team. If he catches you, you lose the money and are out of the game. Its amazing how much trivia The Beast knows. He's like a walking, talking computer. I am quite sure that even Ken Jennings who won a whopping $3,196,300.00 on Jeopardy! back in 2004 would probably feel intimidated by him. Not just by his wealth of knowledge, but his size as well. At the end of the one on one challenge with The Beast, the contestant(s) who are fortunate to survive go on to the final round.

                          In the final round, the hostess asks the surviving contestant(s) questions from either set A or set B depending on their choice to again see how much they can get right and to build up a substantial lead on The Beast.  The Beast has to answer the alternative set of questions. The contestant(s) will get a head start based on the number of them who survive the one-on-one challenge with The Beast. It is usually one step or two. One of the highlights of the show is what The Beast tells the contestants in order to intimidate them. I have to admit that he's real funny though. There was a particular episode in which a guy, while being briefly interviewed by Ms. Burns, said that he reads 'a book a day.' The Beast responded, 'that's all?'  I couldn't help but laugh. Sometimes the lucky contestants are able to beat him. Unfortunately though, the majority of the time he catches them as easily as a beast catches its prey. Yes, the pun was intended. While I have no doubt that there are probably other trivia game shows that are just as fun or even better than The Chase, Jeopardy!  tends to come to mind or maybe One vs. 100, none can rival The Chase in terms of share entertainment. Thank The Beast for that. Ms. Burns, too.

Newspaper Obsession

                                Newspapers. Ah those good 'ole-fashioned newspapers. How can we ever do without them? Even in this age of the online newspaper, I can't help but purchase my hard copy newspaper on a daily basis. After all its only $2.00 Monday to Saturday and $3.00 on a Sunday. To me it seems as if newspapers have become an important part of my life which I absolutely can't do without. There is just something about it the attracts me. Is it the colourful pictures? Or the layout of the paper? Everyday I always look forward to my daily purchase of my favorite newspaper. As I head to my work building, I anticipate the smiling face of the vendor from whom I make my regular purchase. I pay her, thank her and then begin to peruse the publication. I stand still and stare at the headline on the front page for a few seconds then I turn the paper on the other side and begin to read. I am looking at the sports section of course. I read aloud as if I am a sports-anchor. 'A hat-trick from Argentine star Lionel Messi enabled Barcelona to defeat its great rival Real Madrid yesterday by three goals to one at the Nou Camp.' I become engrossed in the story wishing that I could have been there personally to witness the exploits of the footballing Maestro. 'Sports journalists must have the best jobs in the world.' I think to myself. I finally arrive at the office but I still have a few minutes before I take up duty, so I make a cup of coffee and sit at my desk while I spread the paper on it.

                                 Then I take the chance to flip the paper to the front. Lo and behold its an entirely different story. This story is a sad one about a senseless murder. Unfortunately it will  be one of many that I will read about on a weekly if not daily basis. Such is life isn't it? You have to take the tragedies with the triumphs. I peruse the paper further and I come to the section where the public can voice it's opinion by sending in letters to the editor. I read one writer's letter of a particular subject matter and say to myself, 'gosh that guy is making such valid points.' 'If only our politicians can heed the advice of this guy.' I then read the articles written by the regular columnists. 'My my,' I say to myself, 'if only I can be as good a writer as those guys.'  ' I'd make a fortune.' I turn to the International Section next and can't resist reading stories about the conflicts in the Middle East. I imagine what it's like to be a journalist covering such conflicts. 'Wow,' I ponder. 'These people actually put their lives on the line so that I can sit here and relax and read a story about a conflict that will not end soon.' It then begins to sink in. 'Journalists are very courageous and hard-working people aren't they?' Thanks to them I have something meaningful to read on a daily basis. So to all the journalists out there who burn the midnight oil while I'm in bed sleeping like a baby, I say a heartfelt thank you. It's because of you I have a newspaper obsession. Frankly speaking, that's a wonderful thing.

My evening jog

                              On a cold, wet evening after work I decided to go for a nice long jog. After all, nothing gives me greater satisfaction than jogging. Especially if I want to set my mind at ease and forget all the work-related stress that I just survived. First I get out of my work clothes. Of course in the tropical climate of Trinidad, the most appropriate attire would be something loose-fitting. At my work place most people are going to the gym which is right next door to the main work building. Not me though. I honestly can't see myself in the gym along with so many other people. It's not my thing. Although I have to admit that I do in fact get asked, 'why don't you join the gym?' 'I prefer to jog,' is often my reply. So I put on my running shorts and vest and get my running socks and shoes on. By this time the sun is still kind of hot but its bearable. The time is about after five in the evening and I am well set. The ground or savannah as we call it is walking distance away and I am eager to proceed on my routine which will take me at least an hour. I leave the house with a bit of excitement. My heart is thumping and the blood is pumping and I am raring to go.

                             So I start to jog. One of the first things that I notice is the amount of odd stares I get from people. 'Why is he doing that?' 'If you know how ridiculous he looks.' They probably think to themselves. I couldn't care less though. I am truly enjoying this. I enter the savannah and the first thing that greets you is the scent of bush burning. Then there are the dogs following you around while you jog. Thankfully they don't stay around you for too long though. Of course there are the children at the ground playing football and the occasional odd ball comes my way. I use what ever limited footballing skills I possess to retrieve it and kick it back to them. 'Thank you, sir.' They say with gratitude as I respond with a 'No problem.' Of course there are those on the field who are just there for a cool evening walk and they are quite entertained at the sight of my constant circling of the ground. By now the sun is showing a bit. Even though the ground is still a bit damp. I have now lost count of the amount of laps I have done. One of the many skills that I must master is how to avoid the odd puddle. I manage to do so a couple of times but then I suddenly forget and I misjudge the depth of the puddle and I end up making a big SPLASH! 'Oh damn it.' I shout in disgust as the muddy water splatters onto my lower legs. 'I guess all this is part of it.' I think to myself.

                          Then I get carried away in my thoughts. I am suddenly in the Olympic Games and this is the final of the men's marathon. I am my country's last hope for a medal and I am putting everything on the line to ensure that I make the podium. All odds are stacked against me but I have the will to win. I somehow pull off a miraculous victory to a standing ovation from all those watching in the stands. I have just become a sporting hero. Yeah I know, its silly isn't it? The kind of funny things that pop into your mind while you jog. My run is complete now as beads of perspiration cascade down my face and body. 'Mission accomplished.' I say to myself. Okay let's face it, I'll never be an Olympic Champion. But at least for one hour on a cold, damp evening, I am able to win the admiration of a few with my somewhat limited athletic skills.

My problems with work

            Here I am at home with another long holiday weekend about to come to an end very soon. I have to admit that I do in fact have a love for holidays. I always look forward to that day when I can sleep late and get up after nine in the morning and I don't have to worry about hustling or reaching late for work or not getting transport on time. Some people may call me lazy, but there is just something about holidays that I love so much. Is it the fact that its a day when I can do what I want and I am not bound down by the burdens of the office? Is it the fact that I don't have anyone scrutinizing my every move? Is the fact that I don't have to worry about being at a job which I am not really fond of for a whole, entire day? Maybe or maybe not. But one has to admit that a day from the work-place is a day which one must take full advantage. After all, who likes it when they are constantly being called upon to do a task and when you start the task the phone rings. Then when you answer the phone the caller on the other end bombards you with questions because he or she wants to get some vital information of which you know nothing about. Then when you tell them to wait while you get help, they get annoyed because they think that you should have every answer to all the questions they ask. Then when you finally get the help that they need in the form of another person, the caller hangs up out of lack of patience thinking that it's your fault because you couldn't deal with his or her problem quickly enough.

          So the person who you get to come to the phone asks you who it was on the line and you can't give them an appropriate response because the caller didn't leave his or her name or even a contact number. Then you get scolded by the person who you thought would have helped you because they thought that you should have taken down all that vital information. So they then look at you as being irresponsible. Who likes that? Then when you finally settle down to start your regular work, someone asks a favor of you. So you have to leave what you were doing initially to help that person with whatever they are doing. That job may require you to go to another floor. You then proceed to the other floor and get the task done for the other person. You get a "thank you" That's fine by me. I admire people with gratitude. But you soon realize that for the whole day you have not even done your regular work and it soon piles up on you. You soon feel a sense of relief when you take a look at the clock on the wall and realize that it's almost time to leave. It's a great feeling. Believe me. Apart from the lunch hour and the occasional coffee break, no other time gives a person that wonderful sense of relief than when he's leaving the office to go home. Then you pack up your things and tidy up your work station. You tell your co-workers and boss goodbye and you step into that elevator. Hooray! You celebrate. You've gotten away from the burdens of the work-place. Then suddenly the reality hits you. Damn! You've got to go over the same routine tomorrow.

         This is one of the main reasons why I relish holidays. Its one of those rare occasions where one can relax and not feel burdened by the obligations of the work-place. Unfortunately, like all good things, they always come to an end. This week I was fortunate to experience two holidays - Eid-ul-Fitr on Tuesday and Emancipation Day on Friday. That said,  I am already looking forward to the other one in twenty-nine days' time. Independence Day, please hurry.