Gaddem! Gaddem! Gaddem! being famous is hard.

Oh my... Things have been very dull on the ramblings haven't they? I can't quite say why, especially because I don't really need a topic to blog. I mean, there are sometimes I panic because I think the glitch that makes me comfortable with going on and on about absolutely nothing has left me. And there are times I panic because I have something to talk about and I can't seem to find the words. There's also the problem of beautiful synergy. Before I feel inspired to ramble on about nothing at all everything must converge beautifully. The music must be inspiring, the conversation must be minimal, and I must be either whimsically happy, or whimsically sad, or silently introspective, or rousingly ecstatic. If I am not any of those weird things, I will sit at my desk and stare at the laptop screen, until I decide that I need to read manga to inspire me.

So am I inspired now?

Yes. The music is quietly soothing (fire by Ed Sheeran), and suitably rousing, and the only noise apart from the music is that of the generator. Someone's walking outside my window, so I'll resume when the cretin passes.

Let's get on with it. The other day, I met a fan. I like meeting fans, because I think that they're slightly mad. Well, we're all slightly mad but we all hide it very well. When someone comes up to you with big big eyes and says, "I AM SUCH A BIG FAN OF YOURS!" I know then and there that in all matters that concern me, that person is bonkers. Take this dude I met at some block party I went to the other day.

I'm going to revert to play speak because I really can't be arsed to write the conversation a la prose.

I'm with my buddy Feyi Adesanya on a bench. The bench is the most unremarkable bench you'll ever see, but benches need not be remarkable for them to be effective so I don't mind it too much. While I'm on the bench I develop a sudden irrepressible desire to see who is sitting on my right. I look, and our eyes meet. He tenses up like he's seen the devil. I eyes front immediately. I'm not drunk enough to be amused by extreme displays of awkwardness. I spend the next five minutes steadying myself for the next encounter. I turn my head to the right again slowly this time. I don't want to startle young dude on my right. If I startle him again, he might die. 

Enter fresh cool young Lou on the right.

Lou: A-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-e-e-e y-o-o-u-u-u-u A-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-m

Me: Yes. Who are you?

Lou: Who I am is not important I already know who you are.

Me: Okay.

I eyes front like I've been bitch slapped. I start to plan my escape. I've never met anyone like him you know? And I don't know where he knows me from. He must be an instagram follower. The ones that actually read my blog know that I probably don't respond well to any awkwardness that is not my own awkwardness, so they're always very calm when they meet me. 

Lou: I cannot believe that it is you, Afam, sitting so casually next to me.

Me: Really?

Lou: Yes!

Me: But... but... I'm just Afam. I'm no one special really.

He looks at me like I am an absolute idiot. He's about to launch into a serenade or a ballad or an epic about how I saved his life or something like that. I can feel it coming. I eyes front again and resume planning my escape. He grabs at my left wrist. I don't like people touching my left wrist, my bracelets live there. I look at him again, but my gaze is a little bit cold this time.

Me: What's up?

Lou: Oh my God! That's the exact bracelet combination you wore on Star Gist yesterday. I told myself that if I ever met you I would steal the silver one.

My silver bracelet from Tiffany and co that Papa Afam personally paid for? The same one that Brother Afam engraved my initials on? The same bracelet that I received as I turned 21? Gaddem Gaddem Gaddem. 

Happy Days,
Afam

Gaddem = The non-sinful way of saying God Damn!