Orville Richard Burrell better known as ‘Shaggy’ is set to take to the local stage once again and he is sure to have crowd support even though he has not released anything new recently.
So there I was, squashed in the back seat of a car among colleagues and friends decked out in their 12-inch shorts while I wore knee-length khakis.
Our word of the day is ‘quirk.’ Today we shall examine particularly the quirks couples share.
Some days, I sit and wonder about the future. Not my future which is much pretty certain, but the future of this country which I call home and fortunately or unfortunately still call home.
I like Amy Winehouse. I’ve always liked her even on the days when she was the most talked about singer hooked on a crack pipe.
He wears a chain of dark brown beads. His hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail.
At this hour of the day even the shade of a scrawly (Guyanese word), holey umbrella is welcoming.
Why didn’t I see Kes and his band at the Hotel Tower? I had the invite, I had my ‘freak-um’ dress and killer heels and I was starved for entertainment.
There was some sort of music blaring in the background. I’ve never been good with music so I can’t really remember what it was.
Where I live, I can hear the Demerara River and see her waves flash gold in the early morning sun as I curl up with an e-book in my hammock.
I’m wondering how many people out there have a hip, cool mother who talks down tattoos and blames alcohol for many ills in society but has been inked and drinks anyway.
It would seem that the hip, new thing for young women to do when they go to shows and parties is smoke weed.
It was one of the few Mondays when I didn’t have to deal with the annoying traffic on King Street.
Aaaaaaaahhhhh! In case you’re wondering that’s my version of a sigh. It can also be an expression of pleasure, frustration or perhaps pain, anger or the pent up need to hit someone.
Growing up I stole burnt sugarcane from the fields in the backlands of our village.
It only recently struck me how important cricket is to us as a people and what a vital element of survival it is for some; and I couldn’t help but write this piece to share the fever that runs through our office whenever the game is on.
I went to see my doctor on Thursday morning. He laughed and laughed and laughed at me.
Someone asked me just the other day why it was that when people could not have something they wanted it and then when they had it, they no longer wanted it.
One day soon I expect an enraged minibus conductor to come in search of me.
Lately I found myself telling people that I’m on a spiritual journey; some laugh and others want a deeper explanation.
I’ve read some of the early reviews of Link Show 27 and while I agree with some of it, I’m also wondering whether I went to a different show.
I’m looking forward to the Tennis Roll Squad taking on the Souse 11.
Several years ago, when my partner and I moved into our new home, all went well until that night, two months later when she began to snore.
Sojourner Truth once famously asked this question, “Ain’t I a woman?” Ever since I heard of it my life has never really been the same; I believe the feminist in me woke up.
I can’t decide whether the fact that there will be no Carib Soca Monarch competition this year is a good thing or a bad thing.
Passion and power; they can both make us a little bit crazy perhaps.
Have I really made a difference? Do I make a difference? These days I’m not so sure what I do.
I woke up two days ago to find that the Christmas pepperpot was on “its last”, as my sister would say, and realized that the season just came and went.
I saw this line somewhere one day and laughed really hard: “Skinny women are evil.” It took me back years ago to that time when I believed in doing all that was necessary to be slim.
I’m watching the final stretch of a race. Some of the athletes look fatigued and drained while others look composed and as fresh as can be.
His body is sprinkled with pink dots, curly hair a damp mess and his breath is coming in short, very exasperated gasps.
Every year I have a beginning-of-Christmas-season ritual. At the beginning of November, I wake up early, rush to the radio and wait to hear the first Christmas song.
Technology is my best friend. Like, perhaps most of the world, I cannot imagine my life without it.
I do not own a computer or a television. Neither am I one of those people who automatically reach for their pockets or dive into their handbags at the clink!
So the Amazon Conquerors went to South Africa to play in the Championship League and conquered no one.
I once submitted a school assignment minus any citations and watched as my teacher tossed it away, relegating it to a filthy dustbin of a messy classroom.
I am told that I was born around eight o’clock at the public hospital on a night when two young nurses were on duty along with a doctor a few days from retirement; the child of a man who wasn’t sure whether he wanted a daughter or a son, but was willing to stake money on the baby being a girl.
“Oh beautiful Guyana, Oh my lovely, native land…” These are truly patriotic words which force my doubting heart to feel love; love for a land where I must go hiking or look beneath layers of filth to see beauty.
“The great question that has never been answered, and which I have not yet been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is ‘What does a woman want?’” (Sigmund Freud) And he was a very smart man.
I’ve watched my dear friends do it, as well as a sister I earned (long story) and women I feel acquainted with because of the many times I have seen them on stage, but somehow I never had the courage to do it.