Into the sunset...
The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once – Albert Einstein Why is it when you are in a hurry to do something, someone else is there to slow you down or prevent you from doing what you want to do. It is as if the universe conspires against you in order to restore some sort of cosmic balance. Well if it is, I for one would like to give the universe the finger and say, “Take your cosmic balance and stick it up your aris!” Take last Friday, for instance. It is my lunch hour and I need money in a hurry. I owe someone at the office a few quid and I want to settle it before the weekend starts. So I get in my car and rush off to the shopping mall to draw the required amount of money. It takes me about 30 minutes to get to the mall and find parking space, which leaves another 30 minutes to do my thing, and get back to the office. If I take any longer, I will be late for the meeting I have scheduled for 2pm, which would lead to yet another exchange of words with the boss. It is the last thing I want… not on a Friday afternoon! I get to the only auto-teller machine and there is a young woman at the machine. Young professional, good-looking, smartly dressed. My lucky day! I can make it back to the office in time. I mean… how long can one person take to withdraw a few rand? Much longer than you think, the gods decide. You are on our turf now and we want to have some fun! They instruct Ms Young Professional to firstly draw two mini-statements on two different cards/accounts. She takes, what seems to me like a life-time, to enter her pin-code and follow the instructions on the screen… or perhaps she is just methodical… painstakingly methodical. Meanwhile, I am shifting my weight from left to right and boring holes into the back of her skull. “Hurry up... please, hurry up”, I silently mouth to myself. It’s like having a big pee and all the stalls are engaged. I could easily challenge her, but I am really tired of being confrontational. Upon receiving her mini-statements, she scrutinizes them with such intensity it seems she’s auditing the books of a small company. She does all of this, while standing in front of the machine. The machine has become part of her personal space. I cough loudly to make my presence felt, but she gives me a fleeting glance and then proceeds to insert the first card back into the machine! She really is the poster girl for not “keeping all your eggs in one basket”, don’t you think? I am craning my neck to look over her shoulder (and looking suspiciously like a thief) as if I could mentally enter her pin-code and complete the transaction for her. Ten minutes have passed and I can see my day heading south at lightening speed. I am as impotent as Hugh Heffner sans his Viagra and Father Time, in a cruel twist of fate, has decided to speed up the passing of time. Finally, the machine spits out her money. All of 50 freaking bucks!! It took her all this time, to decide whether she wants to withdraw 50 Rand from one of her many accounts. Are you kidding me, grandma? 50 bucks should be a no-brainer… just draw the money and sort the budget out at home or away from the teller machine! How difficult could that be, I ask you? As she takes the money and her statement and turns away, I rush forward and slot my card into the machine. She looks at me as if I am Satan’s spawn and mumbles something about “waiting your turn”. I could not be bothered. I have 15 minutes left to do my thing and I am pissed off. If I had my way, I would arrest people like her for stealing time. Even if I had not been in a hurry, this woman had just stolen 15 minutes of my day from me. Transactions like these should be conducted inside the bank… not at the auto-teller machine. By the time I get back to the office, it is 10 minutes after 2. The meeting had already started and the boss throws a snide “glad you could finally join us, [K]” in my direction. I can feel my scrotum tighten as the anger wells up inside of me. I mumble my apologies and sit down. Where are the gods and their cosmic mumbo-jumbo now? Some days just aren’t worth getting out of bed for.
I love it when my boss calls me to his office to have a strategic conversation about the projects I am working on. He is s one of those people who have the uncanny ability to do both sides of a conversation… by himself. You know the type. He would ask you a question in the middle of a conversation, pause, and then go ahead and answer it himself. It’s like I’m not even there in the office with him. When he does that, it takes me back to my childhood. Whenever I did something wrong, my Dad would always say (with that little vein throbbing on the side of his head), “Just who do you think you are?”, and then he’d go ahead and tell me exactly who he thought I was. Ha ha… those were the good old days! I am not the only person he (the boss) does this to. I‘ve seen him do it in conversation with other people as well. It actually creates the impression that he has thought it through and that he had considered all the angles. Very effective… if not, not extremely annoying. He’d say things like “Do you know why I think we should take the risk?” or “Here’s why I think you should go ahead and do this”, and then he’d go on and spew forth a plethora of reasons. Of course this means that I basically stand there and nod my head in agreement. It is like white noise. I find it very soothing in a depreciating kind of way. Naturally, there is a small part of me that wants to rock the boat and go ahead and answer the question before he gets a chance to air his point of view. For no particular reason, but to interrupt his rhythm and because I can. I am well aware that the posing of the question is merely an academic exercise and that he does not expect me to have an answer. In fact, he is banking on me not to. But I am still going to do it. For the sake of my own sanity, and because I can’t wait to see the look of surprise on his face when he realises that I can actually think for myself and that I have an opinion. The majority of which, I loathe admitting, could be considered arbitrary. My strategy could actually backfire and I may bite off more than I can chew, but then it is all about taking the risk and asserting myself. You could say I have “a bee in my bonnet” when it comes to these things. I’d hate to think that I am nothing more than a sounding board for him and his ideas. Come to think of it… he probably does.
I attended an Awards function with the gf last night. The event was sponsored by the company she works for. Black tie. The perfect gentleman. It hurts just thinking about it. I was not looking forward to going, but the matter of my attendance was not negotiable. That much was made clear from the start. I haven’t worn my tux in a long time and was surprised that it still fit me. The last thing I wanted to do was to go to a tailor for alterations. There is something about having your body parts touched and measured that does not seem right… especially when it is done all over. Some things are a lot more tolerable when there’s a certificate on the wall… preferably from a medical school. I do clean up nicely, if I dare say so myself. (bleh) Ok, perhaps I am just vain… anything (anyone) looks good in a tux… just watch The March of the Penguins. Those little guys look so friggin cute! (insert the smiley face) Half of the evening was spent sitting at the table as award after award was doled out. It is not quite the Emmys or the Oscars, but one would never say that judging by some of the acceptance speeches that were made. Whatever happened to a humility! Apparently she’s been fucked over by arrogance and self-importance. It is hard to remain upbeat and positive when you are confined to a chair for more than 90 minutes. On the other hand it could just be the ADHD or the lack of red wine. (Oh, look! The ice-cream in my bowl is shaped like the The Virgin Mary!) There is nothing worse than being at a party when the number of people you know can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Between the head-nods and the introductions, I always feel like I am taking part in a parade. Being introduced or referred as [S] s bf kind of has the effect of reducing one to the rank of kept boy… only the perks are not as exciting. The key to surviving a dull party is to have arbitrary knowledge on as many topics as possible. “Fake it and work it”, that’s my motto. This is quite easy to do as most conversations are about as profound and enjoyable as sticking your finger up your nose. And if you run out of things to say and your neck tires from all the nodding, you can always excuse yourself by pointing to your empty glass and walking over to the bar for a refill. Of course I had to be on my best behaviour. Some things just aren’t funny when it could mean the end of your gf’s professional career. A word to the wiser… if you ever have the misfortune of being introduced to a financial consultant named Simon, pull the fire-alarm and make for the exit… immediately. He will suck you into a vortex of ass-numbing me-me talk that will make you want to shove a scud missile up his arse. In the end the evening was a huge success or so I was told. I don’t actually know what makes for a successful Awards Evening as it mostly depends on what you wanted to achieve in going there. Of course, if you had won an award… that goes without saying. To the losers… well, I guess there is honour in being nominated. Yeah right, I’d rather be pissing blood! Face it… it sucks to lose. As for me, well my aspirations on this occasion were rather low. I made the girlfriend happy, got home just before midnight… sober and in one piece.
I guess that settled that argument... or not! Ha ha. [matric = South African High School Diploma]
Guy 1: Hey, have you heard that we now only have eight planets in our solar system. Guy 2: Yeah, that is because The International Astronomical Union (IAU) has recently revised the definition of what constitutes a ‘true’ planet. So although Pluto still technically remains in the planet category, it is now called a dwarf planet. Guy 1: I wonder if we are expected to know the names of the new dwarf planets? Guy 2: Why do you ask? Are you planning on going back to school and rewriting your *matric exam?
My parents are selling their house and will soon move into an apartment in a townhouse complex. Needless to say, they need to rid themselves of a shitlooad of possessions they have stockpiled over the years. When I was over there the other day, they suggested that I poke around my “old room” and take with me a few things from my childhood. The room still contained some of my things they had brought with them when we moved from Cape Town to Johannesburg… some of them still in boxes. Talk about taking a trip down memory lane and reliving the good times! The place was a veritable library of the early years of my existence. I was “locked” in there for hours. While paging through a box of old magazines from the 90’s, I came across a full-page print ad for Cuervo Gold Tequila. Ha ha. It was obviously geared at linking Cuervo to some of the silly, if not memorable, experiences people have as they grow up. Perhaps it was a collection of the marketer’s own experiences? 17 MISTAKES YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE.
What struck me most about the ad was how easily I could write my name next to 14(!) of the 17 listed mistakes… and if I tried, I could probably add 17 more. And not all of them could be blamed on too much alcohol (Ouch!). One more tequila? You betcha!
Boredom is an ugly thing. Couple it with opportunity and you could have what is potentially an explosive (or unsettling) situation. About half an hour ago I received an sms on my cellphone. (I assume it was from a girl) It was clearly sent to my phone by mistake, because I did not recognise the number it was sent from. Naturally, and true to my nature, I replied. sms: Where R u? I’ve been waiting 4 over half an hour. me: I am at the airport. sms: What r u doing t the airport? me: I am skipping the country. sms: Wot! What r u doing that for? me: We were busted last night for cocaine possession. sms: OMG! U can’t be serious! R u? me: Yeah, James and Sean got arrested. I was lucky 2 get away. sms: Who are James and Sean? me: My partners sms: R the police looking for u? me: They are. I have to get away. sms: Where will u go me: Can’t say. Don’t want to get u involved. Gotta go. Not safe to sms u. sms: This is unreal. How can u do this? me: Gotta go. Still have to say g-bye to my bf sms: WTF. U have a bf? How did this happen? I don’t know u NE-more. me: Sorry, meant 2 tell u. Gotta go. Boarding plane now. sms: Wait! me: Can’t. Said 2 much already. Love u lots. Will call when I get 2 my destination (I switch my phone off) This was getting way too hairy, even for me. I don’t think I’ll have any good Karma left after this. The guy, whoever he is, has a lot of explaining to do… courtesy of me and my evil mind. Hopefully, my anonymous text buddy would have realised her mistake by the time she runs into the person she was supposed to have sms’d. Sms the wrong phone once more, you idiot! I am definitely NOT a good person.
My mother called this early morning to ask if I could ask my mate Paul, who’s an auto-mechanic, to have a look at her misfiring car. “I am sure it is probably a minor fault. Why don’t you ask Dad to have a look at it for you?” She said, “Son, I would rather not involve your father in this. I want the car fixed, not destroyed. Your father will never admit it, but he knows diddly-squat about cars. I’ll be lucky if the car can still start after he’s looked at it, and then it will cost and arm and a leg to repair” She has a point. WISE WOMAN! (I wonder if her high-speed highway antics have anything to do with the car misfiring.) My parents’ garage is littered with appliances and repair projects that my father initiated and never completed. Come to think of it, so is mine… but we aren’t talking about me now… he he. I think I may have inherited a few traits from him. And we aren’t the only ones. The average guy will not admit defeat even when the odds are stacked against him. This becomes more so when he feels that his manhood/manliness is at stake. It is difficult to knowingly admit defeat or an inability to do something to a woman or to your mates. The mechanism that kicks in is the same one that prevents us from asking for directions, admitting to doubtful financial aptitude, or that our technical and mechanical abilities borders on zero. Couple to that an uncontrollable urge to take things apart, or put them together, and a perception that we know it all. Many generations of genetic transmutation have equipped males with a sophisticated array of defense mechanisms, all which have been designed to make us overcome the unachievable. A cruel twist of fate, but then Mother Nature is a woman, isn’t she? There exists a rift between what we think we know and the logical brain, and the ego is the guardian of the bridge traversing the rift. The rift may only be a few nanometers wide, but it may as well be the Grand Canyon. And if anything is able to make it pass the guardian and over the gap, it is filed away in subliminal memory crypt where it eventually dissolves and becomes part of a soup of non-essential information. It is the same place where anniversaries, birthdays, and dinner reservations with the in-laws are stored. A woman should never ask a guy if he knows what he is doing. How dare you, woman… of course he does! And if on the odd occasion it transpires that he really does not have a clue, a guy will hide his ineptitude behind a pile of techno mumbo-jumbo such as, “the googly that drives the ignition coil is not aligned with the thingamabob or make some stupid joke. Make no mistake... we are also the proud owner of the bullshit gene! Mother nature taketh, and she also giveth. The only time a man will instinctively throw in the towel is when it comes to life’s softer issues, such as relationship advice and talking about feelings. In these cases all you will get is a curt and decisive, “I don’t know” or “can’t you see I’m busy”. And when approached on these things by your own children, the answer almost always is… “Go and ask your mother”
I guess I owe a follow-up post after announcing that [S] and I will be attending cooking classes from Saturday onwards. It is not quite how I envisioned spending my precious leisure time on a Saturday, but I guess there is a first for everything. First things first… The Amabokoboko (the South African rugby team) lost (20-18) the all–important tri-nations game against the Aussies in Sydney. It was a major disappointment… politely put. Not even the alcohol and the cold weather could numb the gut-wrenching pain! Not that I expected us to win an away game, but then, one can always hope and pray for the impossible. I was however quite surprised at how well we played and I will be bold enough to say that we SHOULD HAVE won that game. Yeah, you bloody heard me! The scoreboard may tell a different story, but on the day, South Africa was the better side and the Aussies... well, they were just plain lucky. There, I said it… chapter closed. Ok… let’s get back to Cooking for Fools 101. Saturday’s lesson was an introduction about how the course will be run, the various cooking utensils one would find in the kitchen and how to use them. Apart from blatantly obvious such as, a knife is used for cutting, it really helps to use the right tool for the right job, if you know what I mean. I also realized that most utensils used in the kitchen are really really SHARP, and that I could do serious damage to my body parts or even lose a few… yikes!! Let’s just say the phrase, “put your cock on the block” has new meaning to me. We also learnt about the different cuts of meat (who knew!), different vegetables and their uses (who knew an onion could be so versatile?) and the nuances and flavors various spices add to dishes. (I’ve got my eye on you coriander… you sexy thing, you!) Two people share a prep and cook area and there are 24 people to the class, mostly trendy singles and young (newlywed) couples. No surprises here. We eat what we cook, share a glass of wine, have a few laughs and take home whatever is left over. Aprons, recipes and ingredients are provided by the establishment, which seems reasonable, given the amount of dosh we fork out. At the start of the first class we were each given the opportunity to introduce ourselves with a short bit about what we hope to achieve and why we are doing the classes. It was pretty lame really, as most, if not all of us are there because we are complete and utter doofusses in the kitchen. What do they expect us to say other than the bog-standard “improve my cooking kills”, “learn something new” and “I can’t frikkin cook”? When my turn came around, I was all set to go with the “I-am-a-disaster-in-the-kitchen” scenario, when the comments made by my dear friends’ (Jarvenpa, IITQ and Blackcrag) came to mind. (Thanks guys! Or perhaps I was still drunk from the alcohol I consumed during the game… who knows?) “The truth is”, I said, “I am really just here for the sex. I’ve been told that women find a man who can cook irresistible and I am hoping to impress the opposite sex and get laid more often… many times over. It is not that I am not getting any, I just want to up my quota” (I warned you before… I have no shame!) The room went silent. [S] gasped audibly and then kicked me on the shin. She’s been with me long enough to know that I was taking the piss out of everyone in the room. The singles at the back and on the left of us giggled and then started laughing. They may loathe to admit it, but they are all here for the same reason…. to get their freak on. There’s no fooling me, mister… I know you! The chef, God bless his chubby chocolate filled heart, caught on to my sense of humour. He promised that I would definitely be a hit with the ladies…. that is, if my girlfriend would allow it. Yep, cooking classes beat internet dating… anytime.
FACT: I cannot cook a decent meal if my life depended on it, and I have the scars to prove it. No, really. I mean it. No jokes here. When [S] suggested that we sign up for cooking classes, I thought at first that I may have heard her incorrectly. My response was, “What ever for? I do not belong in a kitchen. Right now I have all the cooking skills I need or should be allowed to have; I can operate a can opener, boil water, scramble eggs and BBQ meat on a Saturday afternoon. For the rest there is Woolies and take out” Not so, I am told. Cooking classes for culinary enthusiasts is the new “in” thing and everyone, it seems, wants to learn to cook up a storm. (They do?) It is kinda like going the gym (oh yeah?). It is the new social trend and more and more people are doing it. It’s all about socializing and feeling good about yourself as you master new skills. Blah, blah, blah… she sounds like an ad in a glossy magazine. Electric shock therapy and a prescription for Lithium seems more preferable. Right from the start there was a flaw in her argument. I am NOT a culinary enthusiast. I prefer to have my food prepared for me by someone else. I am perfectly happy with eating and tasting as long as I do not have to slave away in a kitchen for hours on end. Where is the fun in eating food you prepared yourself? She also said something about there being something sexy about a man who can cook. Awesome. I guess I must be running low on sex appeal then. Damn. Now I come from a long line of culinary idiots. None of the men in my family can cook a proper meal and we are thoroughly content to be kitchen dweebs. The one thing we are good at is providing moral support and conversation to whomever does the cooking. If a “cooking-companion” is what you are looking for, then I’m your guy. I’ll even wash and clean the veggies when I am asked to. When I want to see a guy in the kitchen, I tune into the food channel and watch Jamie Oliver, Bill Granger and other celebrity chefs as they go about their business. What did me in was the look of utter disappointment on her face as I realized how much it would mean to her that we do this together. This was important stuff and not to be taken lightly! I could think of numerous other fun things to do if spending time together was an issue, yet how could I expect her to do what I want and not be willing to do the same for her? Hence, I gave in and let her have her way. I have learned that time, attention and compromise are key ingredients in a relationship and that it is critical to delight the opponent with the edge, i.e. the one who can and will withhold sex. He he. That said, it is not the kind of ploy I think she would utilize. She is not that shallow and manipulative. It does however make for good common sense to ensure it never happens. So… starting this Saturday, and for the next six weeks thereafter, the Chitty will re-kindle his pioneering spirit, don an apron and release the inner outlaw as he boldly goes where few men of his generation has gone before… set foot in the kitchen with the sole purpose of preparing something that is both tasty and edible. Watch me as I learn to chop, de-bone, puree, julienne, sauté, roast, bake and flambé my way into the new century. I hope they have insurance!
in Mr. Video (video & dvd rental franchise) Guy: How about this one? (holds up a DVD cover and looks at it) Girl: Let me see… (takes the cover fro him). Aaah. I know about this one. My sister rented it a few weeks ago. Guy: And… what did she have to say about it? Is it any good? Girl: Not a good movie. She said the plot is predictable & tired; the characters are shallow and the dialogue wooden. Guy: Ah… ok. (takes the cover from her and puts it back on the shelf) Girl (looking at another DVD): The special effects and action scenes are brilliant and the love scenes are very graphic. Guy: Cool… I think we should take it. (Grabs the DVD and follows her into the next aisle) Got to hand it to him. He knows a good movie when he sees one. Pity there was only one copy left... hehe.
Criticism is a bitch, innit? I can’t think of anything worse, except death and taxes. It hurts even more when it comes from someone you respect and when you realize that they may be correct in what they say. It is not that I do not appreciate good advice, but sometimes people tell you things that you do not want to hear. It is human nature I guess. If there is perhaps one thing I hate personally more than being criticized, then it is being patronized. When you are spoken down to. When someone says something to you and says it in such a way that it makes you are made to feel like an idiot. Like when the guy at the night club tells you in a condescending tone that you cannot enter simply because your jeans not comply with the dress code. How would you have known that? It is however when someone patronizes you at the office that it hurts most. Like the dressing down I was given today. And it is especially painful when it is delivered to you by a seemingly of control emotionally charged senior manager, whom you respect. Darn. And I thought human interaction these days was all about being politically correct, constitutionally right and all that crap. Or perhaps he was just exercising his right to freedom of expression. It was a classic case of my stick (dick?) is bigger than yours and don’t you forget it! To say that I was pissed off at the manner in which the criticism(?) was leveled at me would be the understatement of 2006. Somewhere in there, in spite of the 1,001 personal references, I knew he was trying to make a point, but for the hell of me I just could not see it. I was too busy trying to make sense of all the hand gestures he was making at the time. He looked like a frikkin pointsman at a very busy traffic intersection! I guess he enjoyed his little tirade so much that he flagrantly disregarded the facts pertaining to the matter. The bemused expression on my face must not have met with his approval, because he ended off with a "don’t you dare look at me like that, young man!" [Dad, how on earth did you get in here?] When I finally had the opportunity to voice my humble opinion, it just did not seem worth it to defend myself. He was not in the mood to listen and I was far too bloody angry to get my thoughts in order. Besides, I did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. I elected to make appointment to speak with him when he is less emotional. Having said that, the onus is still on me to sieve through the rubbish and heed the "advice". It pays to check your reflection in that mirror, boet! Step up to the challenge and accept what is being dished up like a mature man. Ah. Yeah. Whatever. All in a day’s work, I guess. It is going to be a helluvah long week.
The gf and I are having dinner with her parents tomorrow night. Pffft. Dinner with her parents is like walking into the lion’s den covered in the blood of a freshly slaughtered animal. I exaggerate of course, but these encounters can be pretty harrowing. It is not that I cannot stand the prospective in-laws, they are good people I am sure. It just feels as if I am on trial when I am with them and there is a distinct expectation that I need to prove myself every time we meet… especially to the father. [S]’s father is old school, and I say this in the nicest possible way… a pit-bull from days gone by. He’s a self-made man as he likes to put it. He runs his own business and got to where he is today through hard work, long hours and sheer perseverance. I am not afraid of him, but he does make me somewhat uneasy. He grew up in a time where a man’s worth and success was measured by how well he provided for his family and where the husband was the supreme god. They say, “Keep your son off the pipe and your daughter off the pole”. His parenting style is a lot more complex than that. And it starts with a firm belief that he knows better… which is fine, I guess, for when the kids are small and still living with you. I am a constant source of bewilderment to him it seems. I know he’s actually faking it, so I play along. And even if he isn’t, I would not blame him… there are times when I confuse myself. He has very little understanding of what my profession entails, preferring to see marketers as “blood suckers” and intrinsic spinners of tall tales. (I actually agree with him on this) And because I know this, I use it to my advantage whenever the opportunity arises. Rub it in, so to speak. Hey… if you can’t win ‘em over, you may as well have fun with them. And I do like to have fun! The most difficult part of our “relationship” is that he still sees [S] as his little girl. He is very protective of her and therefore too damn close to us for my liking. In some ways he sees me as the challenger, and although I given him any reason to believe that I do not have her best interests at heart, he would not hesitate to take me on if he believes I am not doing right by her. He’d also prefer it if I was more conventional and less of a nutcase… yeah right. I am known for being head-strong and a cocky. He and I have had fiery debates (all in good spirit) in the past over a number of things, such as my job, the state of the nation (is it ever good?); sport and how Hollywood and modern technology have turned men into wimps. He has some pretty nifty ideas about what real manhood entails. Keeping a straight face in the midst of such unwavering comical conviction takes a lot doing. Believe me! The trump card is that his daughter chose me and it really does not matter what he or anyone else thinks. This has lead me to believe that I am either just like her father or his polar opposite. For obvious reasons, I am strongly leaning towards the latter. God forbid I am him 20 years on. The strategy for tomorrow night is to focus on the rugby. With the Boks’ dismal performance last week and the upcoming game against the All Blacks, I can’t go wrong. Now that is how one shifts the focus and does marketing for personal gain! That qualification is coming in handy after all.
is when you catch a glimpse of the driver of the vehicle who forced you to move over to the middle lane, as she drives past you at a speed in excess of 140km/h while talking on her cell phone and realize that she is… YOUR MOTHER! Now there is something you do not want to experience every day. I wonder if her husband is aware of what she gets up to in her spare time? Prolly not... he he.
Walking comes as naturally as breathing… well... perhaps not as naturally, because it talks a while before you are ready to take those first steps. But you get my point… walking is not a difficult exercise. I’ve been doing it for a while now, and I do not have any trouble with it at all. When we drive our cars on the highways or along suburban streets, there are certain rules of the road which have to be obeyed. Why not the same with walking? Yesterday, I was walking in the mall minding my own business. I made sure that I do not step on people’s toes and nor did I make any sudden hand-movements, so that I do not spook my fellow mall rats. I kept a safe distance all around, going with the natural flow and pace of the pedestrian traffic, when suddenly I walked into some woman’s bony ass! All I can say is that it gave new meaning to the term... bootylicious. Now I know this sounds absolutely ludicrous, but I did. This woman had decided that it was ok for her stop dead in her tracks and cease all forward movement, because of something she saw in a shop window. There was no indication that she was slowing down and no walking towards the shop window where she could drool over the object of her desire at leisure. Nope, she decided she could do that right from where she was standing… from the middle of the friggin passage-way. Perhaps she possesses super-human eyesight? You aren't the only one, Mr. Superman! Since I was unable to read her thoughts (which normally I am very good at) and assuming that the aim of walking was that we would all move forward in a somewhat orderly manner, I kept going. By the time I realized she had stopped, it was too late and I walked right into her. In fact, the only way I could avoid her was if I could pull off a tsukahara with a double twist. The collision knocked the wind right out of me and was followed by a sharp pain. Eina! I tried to apologise (why?), but she would have none of it. A surly, "Can’t you look where you are going", was all I got out of her. Thank you very much! I wanted to ask her if she could be wary of where she "parks" her bony ass, but I feared it may turn into a bitch fest. So I flashed her my most brilliant (albeit painful) smile and kept on walking. And yes, M'am, that was my groin you felt when I walked into you. I fear I may never father any off-spring, but that is none of your concern. I hope that whatever you saw in that window brings you hours of immense carnal pleasure!
Sometimes one has to roll with the punches and take things in your stride. Other times, tact has no place in this world, and one has to tackle what life throws at you… head-on. ME: Dude, did you just fart while I was taking to you? HE: Erm… No, of course not! (crooked smile) ME: Are you sure? I heard a strange noise while you were talking to me. HE: Oh, that was my stomach rumbling. I haven’t had breakfast and I am a little hungry at the mo. ME: Man, you really ought to see a doctor about that stomach of yours. HE: He he… why’s that? ME: Well, it seems that when your stomach rumbles, it also gives off a unique odour. Not very pleasant at all. (I back away and start walking to the other side of the room) HE (giggle): Where are you going… we aren’t done talking yet! ME (laughing): Uh… yeah about that… can we continue this conversation sometime later? There is a pocket of fresh air on the other side of the room. I want to get to it before it disappears. HE (realizing the game up): Come on [K]… gimme a break, ok? Look… I’m sorry. ME (still laughing): Dude… think Little Boy & Hiroshima! When the last bomb of this magnitude was dropped on mankind, it was 6th of August 1945. And even back then, the outcome was not pleasant. . HE (shaking his head): They broke the mould when they made you, didn’t they? ME (from across the room): Funny, you should say that. I just had the same thought about you. Now, we are all guilty of letting go and thinking we can get away with at some point in our lives. That’s life! But when you are caught in the act, do the honourable thing and ‘fess up. Stinker! I wonder if he is radio-active? Guess, I’ll have to wait and see if my nose falls off.
I remember the first time when I felt really alone, or should I say… abandoned. It was the scariest feeling in the world. I remember thinking that nobody was going to find me. I was going to die and no-one was going to know that I was dead because they probably would not notice that I was gone. One has a vivid imagination when you are 6 years old. My mother had taken me shopping with her to a department store. It was a busy Saturday morning. I had somehow got distracted and was separated from her. The one minute she was there and the next minute she was gone. I thought I saw someone who resembled my mother and eagerly ran towards her. I panicked when I realized it wasn’t her, and darted off in what I thought was the direction I had come from, and soon found myself horribly lost. It is rather difficult to find someone when all you can see of people is what they look from the waist down. I did not know what to do, so I sat down and cried. People were walking past me in all directions and finally an elderly woman took pity on me and asked me what was wrong. Through the snot and the tears, I managed to tell her that I had lost my mother. I was able to tell her my name and the name of my mother. She took my hand and escorted me to the manager’s office. Walking with her was also scary as I had been brought up not to talk to strangers or to go with people I did not know. One hour later, and after numerous announcements on the public address system, I was rescued by my mother. She cried when she saw me and hugged me so tightly that she practically squeezed the air out of my lungs. I learnt a valuable lesson that day. That asking for help and talking to a stranger when you have run out of options is not the worst thing in the world. And what you imagine might happen is actually far scarier than what is actually happening. When she had finally managed to calm down and regain her composure, her first words to me were, “Wait till your father hears about this. You should learn to pay more attention to what I say to you. (she had told me to repeatedly not let go of her hand). One day your attitude will get you into big trouble”. How right she was… many times over. Yesterday I got into trouble again for not paying attention to what someone was saying to me. I had caught the start of the conversation, but was too embarrassed (polite?) to admit that it was of no interest to me and hence I had no clue of what was being said. Nothing new… spacing out in the middle of conversations is a popular pastime for me. The person had actually asked me a question, and not having paid attention, I responded in what could only be described as utter nonsense. In the process I managed to insult not only the much-revered speaker, but incurred the contempt of all those around me. It is a strange moment when you realize that you are completely alone in a crowd of people and that no-one will be coming to your rescue, at least not this time. An apology and a half-hearted attempt at humour can only take you to a certain point and then no further. From then on onwards it is only you and your own stupidity. I can’t say it was a pleasant experience. It was however a valuable experience... and it sucked!! I don’t know why this incident made me remember those words my mother said to me all those many years ago. Although, at the time I felt exactly like a six year old who had just lost his parents in a crowded mall.
I bumped into an old roommate of mine on Monday when I was standing in line at the post-office. I use the term "bumped into" very loosely, since we did not speak to one another and all I was really trying to do was avoid her at all cost. This was by no means as an easy feat, since she was only two people ahead of me in the queue. When I first saw her, I went so pale I looked like I had just OD-ed on smack. The only words going through my head was, "don’t turn around… please, don’t turn around", as if by thinking it over and over, I could compel her to keep looking straight ahead. I could have easily tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Hello, how are you?", as any sane person would have done under the same circumstances. But I feared that by doing so, we would probably end up going for a drink. We would exchange pleasantries and talk about what we got up since we both left university. We would inevitably end up re-capping the antics we got up to while sharing an off-campus flat for 2 years back in the good old days. All perfectly nice, it would seem… on the surface. However, I feared that we might talk about one night at the end of our final year, shortly before we gave up the flat, when we ended up sleeping in the same bed. It was a stupid thing to do, but we were hosting a particularly wild student party to celebrate the end of our 4 years at university, and we both had way too much to drink. I am not offering that up as an excuse… we did. Really. And even though this had all happened many years ago, it suddenly felt very recent and the memory of how (extremely) awkward it had been in the few days after the incident, welled up inside of me. At the time, talking about that night was not an option, so we went about our lives as if nothing had happened. The situation was awkward for a number of reasons; we had been best mates for two years. We used to set up dates for one another with people we fancied. Neither of us wanted to admit openly that it really meant nothing/zilch/nada, for fear of hurting each other’s feelings, which is how I suspect we both felt. So I buried my head in the newspaper I had with me, and pretended that I had not seen her. She finally made it to the front of the queue, did whatever she came there to do, and as she turned around to walk back to the exit, I dropped down on one knee and pretended to tie my shoelace. Yep, I wore my crown as the king of the cowards with unrivaled pride! Grrr… She walked past without noticing me… or perhaps she had seen me too and was doing the exact same thing I was doing. Perhaps it is all for the best, I thought as I watched her walk away. Even though we had had lots of good times, deep down I did not really want to re-kindle the "friendship" we had back in the old days. Not that I feared a repeat what had happened… even I am not that vain and cocky! The truth is we never really fancied one another to begin with. We were young and believed that nothing we did back then could affect us later on in life. And so far denial has worked for us… so why stop now? Some things are just better left in the past, don’t you think?
I am a bit of a fanatic; perhaps I am even obsessive, when it comes to some of the things in my life. My Playststion2 being a case in point. Now, most people/gamers will tell you that the Playstation is indeed a Pandora’s box. Once you are hooked on it, life will never be the same again. You become a zombified couch potato, the living room will turn into a games arcade, and everywhere you look, you will see CD’s and opened CD cases. I have over 60 games (at the last count) in my collection and I calculated the other day that between R300.00 – R500.00 a game, I could have saved myself a ton of money. So much for the gift of hindsight! The gf refers to herself as a Playstation widow. I like the think of her as a Playstation whiner, but that is something I only say to myself… quietly. I am madly competitive and have always loved playing video arcade games. When I bought the Playstation2 a few years ago, I warned her that I may become addicted. The turning point came when I bought the new Play Station Portable (PSP) and a game of FIFA World Cup Football 2006 game. It combined my love for football and my love for video games – a double freakin' whammy. And with World Cup 2006 currently on in Germany, it is has only fuelled my addiction. I’ve become completely engrossed. When I’m not watching the games on DSTV, I’m playing them on my PSP… and vice versa. Fanaticism is exhausting! And let me not tell you what it has done to my diet… I think I own the largest stash of two-minute noodles and Lays Potato Chips outside of Pick ‘n Pay. The idea of managing winning football teams from the luxury of my couch bowled me over completely. And who wouldn’t be, except perhaps the majority of people out there who actually live normal lives. I have also taken superstition and addiction to a new level. If my one of my favourite teams is due to play in the FIFA World Cup, I would play the game on the Playstation before hand. In true ChistSter fashion, I have convinced myself that I could influence the outcome of the real game in Germany. “Don’t underestimate to power of the Playstation”, I would say jokingly. If the team in my game wins… so will the real team in Germany. It has happened a few times, which made me believe there may actually be something to it… ha ha. Now I am fully aware that “coincidence does not causality make”; but try telling that to the superstitious gaming monster who has set up residence inside of me! [S] has (rightfully?) put her foot down and said, “If you play another football game when I am here with you, then ...” It has been a turning point in our relationship. There is definitely something missing now… at least from where I stand. Well, perhaps it is not so much that something is missing, because I have found that there are a myriad of things I can do to while away the time in-between football matches. But, if my team loses in the world Cup, I know exactly who’s to blame blame. I could have made a world of difference if only she had allowed me to play the game beforehand on my PSP… couldn’t I? I need an enabler (any takers?)… someone other than myself who I can blame for my addiction. Hehe… I wonder if there is a Playstation/World Cup Football 2006 helpline? Totally screwed, I know.
I saw this on Blackcrag's blog, who summarily tagged me with the letter “H” (aitch) The rules are simple: Write 10 words beginning with that letter in your journal, including an explanation what the word means to you and why, and then pass out letters to those who want to play along. Now I'm not much of a wordsmith, so it took a while for me to come up with my list. So here goes… 1. Hero: (Dial H for Hero). I have never been much of a hero, but always dream of being one. Too many Marvel comic books when growing up, I guess. Having said that, every society needs heroes. And every society has them… selfless men and women who perform extraordinary acts. Without heroes we are drained of any passion or zeal, never making waves, levelled men fitting perfectly into the box provided for them, every one of us trained to be like everyone else. 2. Homer (as in Homer Simpson): He who juggles the roles of husband, father, safety inspector at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant, bowler, beer drinker, astronaut, small business owner and dreamer, embodiment of the negative stereotypes and makes it all look easy. Oddly enough, Homer is sometimes unpredictably adaptable, quick-witted and capable. When I think of homer the word “Doh” immediately comes to mind and also such gems as "If the Bible has taught us nothing else - and it hasn't - it's that girls should stick to girls' sports, such as hot-oil wrestling, foxy boxing, and such-and-such." 3. Hell: When I was younger, the word hell filled me with much dread and my mother used it very effectively to whip me into shape. A place underground, with fire and molten rock where the devil lives where the evil and sinful, like myself, are doomed to spend all eternity. The devil being a creature who carries a pitchfork, has flaming red skin, horns on his head, a black goatee, and a long thin tail with a triangle shaped barb on it. Yeah, right! Now that I am older and having been told to go there on numerous occasions, I am actually thinking that it may not be a bad place after all. What the hell is Hell, anyway? It is all about perspective I believe. Being stuck in traffic is hell, and so is watching re-runs of Seinfeld. 4. Heart: That pear-shaped structure about the size of a fist that resides in our chest, pumping blood to all parts of the body. Oddly enough (or not!), it is widely regarded as the universal symbol for love. It can however be used to signify a number of other emotions such as, “I’ll rip your friggin' heart out”, “heart-broken”, “a hearty shag”, “I hate you with all my heart”, “You are a heartless bastard”. Got to love semantics! Me? I am all heart… and let me tell you, it is a be-atch when the brain catches up. 5. Humour: I like to think that I have tons of it, although it is not always appreciated and seen as such by those around me. A sense of humour is one of the most important ingredients of what women deem to be a winning personality in a man. So if you are a guy and don’t have a sense of humour, cultivate one, asap! ~Irvin S. Cobb, said, “Humor is merely tragedy standing on its head with its pants torn”, and I tend to agree. It is all about the context and a host of absolute and relative variables. Question: Why is it that the most humourless people always stress the importance of a sense humour? 6. Ho(e): Probably one of my favourite H-words. It brings a smile to my face, and simply because it has gone from one of the tamest words in the English language to one of the most infamous. A hoe, of course, is a tool used for weeding and gardening. We have taken the liberty of changing hoe to ho, a staple of rap music vernacular as, for example, when Ludacris raps “You doin’ ho activities with ho tendencies.” Thank God for rap music or this word may have become extinct… he he. 7. House: In this case, not house as in “home” but House as in the smartest, crankiest, most egotistical SOB doctor that walked the face of the earth. DR. GREGORY HOUSE (Hugh Laurie) is devoid of bedside manner and wouldn’t even talk to his patients if he could get away with it. His behavior borders on antisocial and he uses a cane that seems to punctuate his acerbic, brutally honest demeanor. Got to love him, especially when he comes up with gems like these: Wilson – “Did you know your phone is dead? Do you ever recharge the batteries?” House – “They recharge? I just keep buying new phones.” 8. Hedonism: A belief that pleasure is the highest good. Hedonists want to be free, not tied down, confined, or obligated, to do as they wish when they wish, to enjoy today, to be impulsive, to have a life of action which repudiates long term goals, objectives, or plans, to be active just to be active, to do what they feel the urge to do, to experience excitement, to be seen by others as being free to act, as free spirits, to be exciting, optimistic, cheerful, light-hearted, and full of fun. Oh yeah… just the way I like it... a-ha, a-ha! 8. Hamburger (hot dogs, hot wings): Yep, some of my favourite fast foods begin with H. I’d venture as far as to say that H is the king of the fast food chain. Ok… perhaps that is a bit of a stretch, but I think you get my point. 9. Hot: You are so hot! Gone are the days when hot meant, having or giving off heat; capable of burning or being at a high temperature. These days it is all about sexy, popular, what's “in” and "happening". The word lost(?) a little of its appeal when Paris Hilton coined the phrase, “That’s hot”, but who’s complaining… I‘d settle for her calling me hot any day of the week. 10. Happiness: Arguably, my favourite H-word. It conjures up thoughts of sunshine, joy, peace, and a wonderful sense of well-being. True happiness, I believe, is a choice YOU have to make. There you go… my bit of pop-wisdom for today… take, leave, use it, abuse it. Remember those Happiness is… cartoons? Damn, they were cool back in the day, weren’t they?! Other favourite H’s include, heaven, hope, high score, Huck Finn, hello, Halle berry, heathen. (Who do I tag? will post names in the Footnotes below)
Me: Can I have the chicken combo, please? (combo = ½ grilled chicken, large fries, 4 bread rolls with a side order of tangy mayonnaise) Assistant: Do you want bread rolls and fries with that? Me (perplexed): Uh... of course I do. It thought that’s what I ordered? Assistant: How many do you want? Me: How many of what? Assistant: How many bread rolls do you want? Me: Let me see… how about a dozen? Assistant: (Rings up the order and passes the order slip on to guys in the kitchen) I start to giggle. Supervisor (watching from the side with an amused smile): Sir, please do not screw with the trainee staff? Me (still laughing): I am not. He is actually doing a fantastic job of it all by himself. I just thought I’ll lend him a helping hand, if you know what I mean. That reminds me…uh, I think I’ll pass on the mayo. Supervisor: You are a regular stand-up comedian, aren’t you? Me: You should see me at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Supervisor: (Laughs and walks to the back to correct the order) Now who said you can’t have fun with fast food?
The gf says I have anger issues, and I fear she may be right. I can be an inconsiderate arse, and many times, there exists a distinct disconnect between my brain and my mouth. I hate it when someone (anyone) uses an absurd statement to underline a point or to emerge as the victor in a spat. I feel compelled to react, which as the gf points out, is not good and that sometimes there is greater value in simply keeping quiet. I do however find it disconcerting that society and individuals, through their silence, appear to endorse utter baloney when it is paraded it in front of them as the truth. What pains me even more is how easily men in particular, will accept gratuitous society-sanctioned faux pas, simply because they feel ill-equipped to challenge a woman verbally. Let’s face it; women are more evolved when it comes to debating and the use of language. A guy would rather sit there quietly and pretend to agree, than engage in an argument, because: a. He has no idea what women are on about, and b. How does a guy go about disproving something when he is unable to quantify or relate to what is being said? But, I digress and let me not turn this into a gender specific issue. Instead, I'll attempt to illustrate why [S] says that I have anger issues. [S] and I are in Melville, Jo’burg’s quaint little capital of hippy-dom. For those of you who do not know what Melville is like… just wander back to your campus days. Think art studios, writers, second hand furniture shops, spiritual healers, quaint little restaurants, live bands and bars filled to capacity with ppl who shun the norm and whose aim it is to be different. It is the kind of place where dreams hang out when they are not swimming through your unconscious brain in the middle of the night. We having drinks with [S]’s friend, Jen, The Man Slayer, and her boyfriend. We haven’t, and by that I mean the gf, seen them in a while and the conversation mostly centers on, “Have you heard, “Did you know”, and “What-ever happened to so-and-so?” In short, it is about as scintillating as having a gyrating vagina thrust in your face in a strip club… only significantly less pleasant. I am bored out of my skull, but I play the role of the good other. I smile at the right moments and throw in the occasional, “Oh really, that is nice” It helps that they serves the most incredible Vodka Martinis in this joint, because my head feels all warm and fuzzy and I sense that I can actually catch one of those elusive dreams by merely reaching out my hand. At some point, I excuse myself from the conversation to go to the toilet. When I get back, I hear Jen saying to [S], “A man would never be able to tolerate the excruciating pain of childbirth” Oh crap!! I have no idea how the conversation deteriorated to this level in the time it takes to have a piss, but it is not unexpected and I have been here before... many times. When a guy hears a declaration like that, all he wants to do is run away and find something to hide behind… preferably something big and impervious to light. I am thinking this is a good time to do a 180 and head back for the men’s room, but they have already seen me and I have no choice but to sit down. I take a deep breath and tell myself, “Be cool. Change the subject and pretend you have not heard a word of what she said” I manage to do that very effectively for about 2 seconds(!) and then my lips part and I ask casually, “As apposed to what, Jen?” “Have you fallen out of a tree lately and banged your nuts on a really thick branch on the way down or have you ever been kicked so hard in the groin that it feels as if your testicals wound up in your chest cavity?” “Ha ha”, she laughs, somewhat puzzled. “Don’t be absurd [K]. I am a woman. How would I know what that feels like?” “So how would you know that a man would NOT be able tolerate the pain of childbirth? There are some things, thankfully, a man can never hope to experience. And as much as I would like debate the intricacies of childbirth, I believe that drawing comparisons of this nature to illustrate a point is just plain unfair. Giving birth must be excruciating, but it is also an experience that is filled with much happiness, joy and gratitude. In many instances, when you are man, you are just dealing with raw pain and nothing else” [Silence] Of course, the [S] is horrified. She kicks me under the table and asks me to go with her to the bar to buy another round of drinks. “You just had to do it, did you? You could not pretend to let it slide” she says with a somewhat aggrieved look on her face. “After tonight, Jen is never going to speak you again, you know that don’t you?” “I know”, I say…”it is an unexpected perk, but I am sure I can live with that” I guess we won’t be going to Melville anytime soon, and I had better come to terms with life in the dog box. Damn those anger issues… sigh.
For a guy who whines about the inherent difficulties of taking life too seriously, I think too much on things that are of little value to me. Lately I’m always spacing out. In the middle of doing something, or nothing for that matter, I mentally trail off and start thinking about random things. I could muse over how to make the perfect hamburger, consider the pros and cons of being stuck on a desert island with Paris Hilton, and why it is that breathing does not burn more calories. I’m constantly trying to figure out how little things fit into big pictures and why I am living my life the way I do. Sometimes I actually manage to come up with something worthwhile that gives others a new insight into something else. Lately, people just look at me with a vague expression on their faces, as I walk up to them and share my thoughts. “Yep, there is a loose screw in there somewhere”, I can almost hear them saying. Things like wondering if it is because I was nasty to the guy downstairs with the bad haircut, that’s why the gf said she is thinking perhaps we should have baby? Huh? At which point I stop and think, “Does she think I am not serious about the relationship? Or am I just imagining that because I am guilty of having extremely lustfull thoughts about someone I met recently. Is there such a thing as bad karma when it comes to one’s thoughts? And just like that, I am lost in an internal debate on the correlation between universal karma and my own fantasies. Time was when I used to thrive on these kind of internal debates. I thought it set me apart from others. Cogito, ergo sum - I think, therefore I am. Descartes had no friggin idea, when he said that. Lately I think, over–analysis is a fanged bitch with a pointy tail and I wish I could lobotomize myself and not think of anything at all. Should I act on my thoughts or musings? Will it take me further away from my life’s path? If I do this thing that I don’t really like, will I lose the chance to be all that I could be? Why did she call me out of the blue and for no reason? Does it matter that she did? Should I buy that gadget I’ saw in that magazine, knowing well that I will tire of it in no time. Would the money be better spent on something worthwhile, such as alleviating the stress of my fellow man? It seems like almost anything nowadays can send me into overthink. What’s worse is that I’m sure that I’m making up half the connections I think I observe. It seems that my life-long propensity to withdraw into personal reflection only causes me to go into a temporary catatonic state. I go around in circles and I feel incapacitated. It is also turning me into a wishy-washy conspiracy theorist. I’m just glad I don’t know enough about politics to postulate that the rise in the petrol price is government is trying to hide the fact that at they intend to nuke the rest of the world before my next birthday. It may seem strange, but I am going to make a concerted effort to think less on the little things in life. I don’t know if I can do that. GRRR.. Maybe I should just go about my business like "normal" people do, and make the best of what I currently have. Suck it in when things go wrong, and apologize when I do wrongful things to others. Maybe it is not for me to contemplate what my place is in the bigger scheme of things. I used to think that people who just go about their daily lives are clueless (dumb) and that they do not know what is important. They may actually be onto something. Perhaps it is because winter has come to my part of the world and I cannot be out there, doing the things I’d rather be doing? Yeah, that has to be it! Now… back to Paris Hilton and that desert island… do you think Tara Reid would make a better companion? (PS: NO… I am not at the start of a premature mid-life crisis!)
Let's rant, shall we? For no particular reason, other than I feel "it is time". Over the next few weeks as World Cup Ebola builds to epidemic proportions, it will prove to be almost impossible not to be assaulted by wave after wave of unrelenting mass hysteria. Yep, World Cup 2006 is here and you can try and run, but you won’t be able to hide from it. Football has always been a popular game and I am myself a HUGE fan, but recently it seems that unless you have football and the history of football running though your veins, you may as well have the words "social pariah" tattooed on your forehead. We are bombarded with newspaper and magazine pull-outs, match schedules, competitions, images of football heroes, flags and bumper stickers, television ads and god-knows-what-else! You can't even go to the garage to refuel without being assaulted by something football-related. I would really like to know how football has come to be viewed with this level of seriousness. I can't help thinking that a lot of this mania are due to people who are playing catch up, people who protest just a little too loudly about how much they love the game. People who feel that they are supposed to love football; and that admitting disinterest in the game is tantamount to admitting that you are a Jacob Zuma-supporter in the town of Witbank. If I have to listen to one more gushing bimbette saying,” My boyfriend and I are such big football fans!”, I swear I am going to pop a Viagra and poke her in the eye with my penis! The truth is, I am not fooled by these spontaneous non sequitur outbursts. These women, and many other people for that matter, probably hate football. Yes, they do! But right now, this is what they feel they have to do in order to belong on Planet Football. I actually like it these days when I sit down and are introduced to people who have absolutely no interest in the game of football. It means I don’t have to sit through hours of tedious, competitive repartee or being patronized by people who carry on as if they had attended or watched very football match ever played. Everyone is suddenly a friggin expert, re-hashing discussions they watched on one of the many Supersport channels or read on the sports' pages of the Sunday Times. And it is these posers, the jackasses with the replica football shirts, who always talk about Brazil and the "beautiful game", who will be sipping Brandy and Coke or tossing down yet another Castle Lager, and who has about as much insight as a lamp post on a highway, that will spoil the Football World Cup for me. The World Cup has become yet another marketing exercise making us believe that football is better with Coke Cola, Budweiser, Hyundai, MacDonalds and MasterCard, and that Adidas made the players what they are today. And to the recently converted, this is what the game has become. For me however, the single-most compelling reason to fear the World Cup 2006 has to be the fact that aging German singer Herman Grönemeyer will sing the official anthem on 9 June 2006. (Yeah I know I am over the top. Sorry... but I couldn't resist.. hehe!)
Yesterday, I was in Johannesburg’s northern suburbs, driving up and down Rivonia Road trying to find a place called Rivonia Square. I finally stopped and asked someone and they told me, Rivonia Square is on the corner of Rivonia Boulevard and 9th avenue… NOT Rivonia Road, as I had thought. Fuck me… it was a perfectly honest mistake, but I couldn’t help feeling pissed off. I hate being lost! So here is where the fun starts. I was late and in a hurry. I managed to find a parking spot opposite the mall. As I walked to cross the road to the entrance, I accidentally, cut in front of a BMW, travelling in the same direction. The street is basically a pedestrian zone and cars are travelling at speeds less than 30km/h due to the numerous speed humps in the road. I waved apologetically at the driver, smiled and continued walking. The driver of the car was however not content with my actions. I guess he was having a bad too? He rolled down his window and said to me "You really should look where you're going. I could have run you down". His tone was condescending and patronizing, but I was in a hurry and really did not have time to talk, so I said, ”Look, I am sorry about earlier, but I am in a hurry… so please, can we drop this?” He mumbled something about me being rude and an inconsiderate idiot. Even though I was late for my meeting, I turned to him and said… “You have got to be fucking kidding me, right? Are you really serious about taking this up with me, now?" I could see the guy was angry and my come-back just made it worse. His face turned red like a cartoon character and I expected stream to come out of his ears at any minute. He stopped his car on the side of the road and got out. Now we had a game on our hands! He then gave me a friggin earful about how I should be grateful that he did not run me over, and how idiots like me should not be allowed to roam the streets unsupervised. "Wait a minute here", I thought to myself! How, in God’s name, did we get to the point where he treats me like I am no longer a person? Can the guy be for real? He is also much older than I am, but more importantly, much bigger in built. Normally, I am quite good at coming up with a witty response, but this time my brain froze. I looked him in the eye and said in my most confident (arrogant) macho voice, “Oh shut the fuck up... right now! Where do you get off talking to me like that? I will rip your fucking head off!” I was hoping that my offensive tactic would scare him into letting the whole thing go. Surely, this would be the last thing he’d expect from a smaller guy like me? Hehe… yeah I am the smuggest fucker in Smugtown, so let’s see what you have to say to that, Mr. BMW!? Boy, did that one back-fire on me?! Mr. BMW looked at me for a second, and said, “Oh, so that’s the way you want to play it, huh? Just let me park my car and I will be with you in minute” When he walked away, I stood there thinking to myself, "this guy is crazy if he thinks I am going to stand here and wait for him to park his car so that he can come back and beat the shit out of me with a tire wrench. I may be an asshole, but I am not stupid!" Besides, I had a meeting to get to and I was not walking in there covered in blood and torn to pieces. What a way to spend a Thursday! So when he walked off, I briskly walked into the shopping mall and took the escalator up to the first floor. As I looked down from the first floor window, I could see him walking around the front of the building, looking for me. I almost felt I should wave at him and give him the finger, but given how angry he had to be at that moment, I reckoned it would not be a good idea. When he realized that I had gone, he'd walk back to his car and hopefully drive off. Was I a coward? Definitely… there is no doubt! I can find all sorts of clever excuses for scampering away… I had a meeting… violence does not solve anything… I was afraid I might hurt him, etc. Did I do the smart thing... I definitely think so! Truth is, I have not been in a fight since I was at university, and even back then, I was mostly drunk and had very little recollection of what had happened. I don’t know how well I can fight and I am not willing to risk a broken nose to try and find out. I knew for a fact I could not have taken him. I gave it my best shot when I told him that I will rip his head off. Unfortunately, he called my bluff and sometimes, one just has quit while you are ahead. Keep an eye out for me at the gym… I am the one taking the self-defense class. And from now on I go under the assumption that everyone suffers from rage! [PS: I await the inevitable evolution of the blog alias]
I had an interesting discussion with my friend, Jeannette, over drinks the other day. Jeanette firmly believes, and as much as I tried, I could persuade her to think otherwise, that if a woman flirts with a man long enough, she will eventually get him into bed. My argument was, you don’t have to flirt with a guy to get him in bed with you… all you need to do is ask! Or perhaps I was referring to myself? Ha ha... However, I must admit I found her viewpoint somewhat disturbing for three reasons, or perhaps I just loathe to admit that we men are that easy to read and manipulate.
My fascination with superheroes, action films and sci-fi are well documented. So, when I came across these pics on the Web this morning… I kind of went numb for a few seconds, which was quickly followed by… “this is waayyy fucking cool!” (and yeah… I will grow up some time in the next ten years... I hope)
I always thought that when you reach a certain age, let’s say 30, everything will become clear. Things would make sense and fall into place in some sort of logical order. I mean that would the whole point of growing up, learning and maturing… would it not? Wisdom comes with age, that is what they say! I have however found that as I grow older, I seem to know less and that life around me becomes more and more complicated. The distinction between what is right and wrong has become blurred and things that were taboo yesterday, seems to be ok today, depending of course of who you speak to and who you associate with. Or perhaps I am just an exceptional fuckwit who ponders too much on the little things in life! Shit happens to all of us all the time… especially when you least expect it. And even though you do the right thing the time, there is always a niggling thought at the back of your head that says, “but what if...” About a month ago… I flirted rather recklessly with a co-worker at a company braai (BBQ). Do not ask me why a bunch of people, who see one another every day from Monday to Friday, also think that spending time together on a Saturday afternoon is a great idea. It is just sick, I tell you. And yes, I was there! The flirty conversation came to an abrupt conclusion when we both realized that we were teetering dangerously on the brink of what could be the end of a perfectly good professional relationship. Anyway, nervous apologies were made and we both felt horribly foolish and avoided one another for the rest of the afternoon. Here is the dilemma: I am torn between knowing that I have done the right thing and wondering what it would have been like. I know this probably seems like a typical male dilemma and that I really should just get over myself. Yet, I find that I now find her even more attractive than I did before the flirting and the rebuff took place. Somehow I cannot stop myself from thinking of her naked breasts (I have a vivid imagination, dammit!) every time she walks past me, now that I have spurned the chance to see them. What is it with this urge to do a test-run with someone else, even though the person we are currently with, is probably as good as it will get? Why do we always feel, speaking for myself, the need to be on the look-out for the perfect woman? Truth is, I should realise that perfect partners do not exist and that lust, in whatever form, has very little substance.
I’ve been tagged and reminded by Celéste… twice ("Chitty: Yes you are tagged and don’t make a promise you cant keep" & "By the way, I'm still waiting for you to do your tag") that I had committed to participate in the “4-things” meme. Memes kind of remind me of doing a strip-tease in front of a group of complete strangers... you just never know if the audience will find it captivating. So here goes… (start the music)
Someone at work reminded me that Cinco De Mayo will be celebrated on Friday. “Really?” was all I could muster at such short notice. Then as she walked away, I asked, “Wait… cinco de Mayo is Spanish for the 5th of May, right?” “Yes, it is” “So you just told me that Friday will the 5th of May... in Spanish?” “Yeah, I guess I did”, she said. “It has however much more significance than that. Cinco de Mayo celebrates the American and Mexican's joint victory over French Napoleon III on May 5, 1862. It is a celebration of Mexican and American cooperation and the role that Hispanic Americans have played in shaping the United States.” “Oh cool”, I said, “then we should celebrate!” "Oh [K], you can be so ignorant" So at lunch time, I will walk to the convenience store across the road, and buy a large jar of mayonnaise(?) I am so ready for Cinco de Mayo, baby! I wonder if I should throw in a bottle of tequila as well? It is absolutely appalling how oblivious I am of cultures other than my own! It must be because I live at the southern point of nowhere.
“So, how did it go?” I ask, enthusiastically, as we drove home.
“I don’t know”, he said, “she seemed to have a good time, but she did not say much. I kinda felt that perhaps she wanted it to be over as fast as possible”
“Well, perhaps she was just nervous. Give her a call tomorrow. I am sure she had a good time. I really think she likes you”