Riding the Slipstream

Found an interesting article on Africa in the Washington Post; The Africa You Never See (dated: 16 April 2005). Excerpt:

Yes, Africa is a land of wars, poverty and corruption. The situation in places like Darfur, Sudan, desperately cries out for more media attention and international action. But Africa is also a land of stock markets, high rises, Internet cafes and a growing middle class. This is the part of Africa that functions. And this Africa also needs media attention, if it's to have any chance of fully joining the global economy.

Researchers at the University of London Institute of Psychiatry have found that the constant distractions of email and texting are more harmful to performance than cannabis.

Emails more damaging than cannabis Well, I am convinced... hahaha... I am blocking all incoming e-mails from now on, unless the words/phrase "urgent", "important" and "immediate attention" appears in them. Tell you what... it would really work for me if one could get high from reading e-mails - yeah that would totally make it worthwhile, don't you think?

Sometimes the world we live in scares the crap out of me. Things around me are changing at such an alarming pace that I sometimes feel I am in a giant washing machine stuck in the rinse cycle. Sweesh... Sweesh... What’s hot and what’s not… what's hip... what's old, what's new…. what I should have and shouldn’t have… blah blah blah... one big giant ball of string. We are so obsessed with being different and going forward that we we started to move backwards. Retro is in… then it is out... the friggin' 80’s is making (or have made) a comeback… same ol' same ol' -… in a different guise… dust it down, shine it up and let us do it all over again. Well fuck me sideways with a giant corkscrew! Things have become bigger, better, smarter, faster, sleeker… smaller. Just when I think that I have caught up (it happened way back in 2000 and lasted for about one nanosecond) with all the technological advancements, something new comes along and I am right back where I started. In my inability to keep pace, I view every new advance with a degree of skepticism and alarmism. I pretend that nothing fazes me and I outrightly dismiss those things I cannot understand. I have no choice in the matter. It is the only way I know to keep me head above water. I have installed giant filters over my eyes and ears and block out that which I cannot make sense of. We have created a world where we insist on perceiving every new development as a culmination of something great or as a climax. We live our lives going from one amazing discovery to the next. Every new fad is greeted with a big 'wow’, an ‘at last’ or viewed as the ‘nth degree’ – with a constitutional fatalism that constantly adjusts itself to the ever-changing present. We have been getting out of hand and it has been two thousand years in the making. Perhaps one day we will simply die from an overload of technology and sheer boredom with the things we have created. Where has the magic gone? (Damn, now I have a head-ache... I knew that thinking is bad for me!)

Damn… did I waste away this weekend! I started out wanting to do something new, something fun and exciting other than going to the movies and hanging out with the friends. I ended up doing sweet all…. well nothing that can be regarded as significant. Aahh… perhaps that is not entirely true as I did try and cook something “new” Saturday on afternoon. Yeah … I know… not terribly exciting. I am not exactly hopeless when it comes to cooking, even though I have yet to find a cookbook I can understand and make sense of. And believe me I have tried. I either do not understand the measurements or the cooking terms, but my attempts at doing anything creative in the kitchen always end up in the bin or in the dogs’ bowl. So it is Saturday afternoon and I am listening to my cd’s and god-knows-what on the radio and drinking red wine. The weather is kind of strange, somewhere between overcast and sunny/warm and cold and I decide this is perfect for me to try my hand at making a casserole (or as they say in Afrikaans… a bredie). You know meat, vegetables, and spices, gravy… fairly easy to do... or so I thought. I think the friggin red wine kinda made me do it, because usually on a Saturday afternoon the gf and I go out, find a good restaurant and have something to eat. The long and the short is I totally screw it up… burnt meat and vegetables floating in a gravy that looks like the Orange River in full flood. I felt like a complete dick… and I had the bruised ego to with it. The gf tried to console me by saying nice things, which of course made it worse, ‘cos now I am starting to pity myself when all she really wanted to do is to burst out laughing. I managed to laugh about it about an hour later, courtesy of more red wine. After all, it was only a meal, so why should I care. Just to be safe, I think I will stay out of the kitchen for the entire winter. Jissum... blogging about this made me realise just how boring my weekend really was. And if my last two posts are anything to go by, I am an accident waiting to happen. To make up for my lack of skils… here’s a cool link; Start a fire with a coke can and a chocolate bar. Now this is something I can do. Source: BoingBoing

The toilet humour post I did this morning reminded me of a piece of graffiti I once read on the wall high above a urinal, “If you are reading this you are pissing on your leg”. And low and behold... I did… piss on my leg that is, while reading it. Of course there is no connection between this and the police officer’s mishap, but that is how my mind works… it makes imaginary connections to things unrelated. I do however constantly get myself into situations where I "piss" on my leg, metaphorically speaking. I don’t know how or why it happens… but it happens. About a year ago, I had to return a faulty appliance I had bought at a Dions department store a few days before. Easy peasy… nothing to it… I have done this many times before… we all have. Well, apparently this time it was NOT going to be easy. I arrive at the store and the queue at customer service division is about a mile long. I am returning a goddam friggin rice cooker (don’t ask) and my arms are getting lame from holding it. See that is the thing about customer service departments, speed and efficiency is not part of their motto. So I put the box on the floor and shove it along with my foot… the only sensible thing to do, really. Standing in front of me is an old woman, about fifty-sixty, blue rinse… you know the type. She has a plastic bag with her and by the looks of it she’s returning an item of clothing. No, I swear this woman has Parkinson’s… either that or she is doing the jitter-bug jive… because she cannot stand still. She keeps fidgeting and shuffling... back and forth. I am thinking oy, I am tired just looking at her. I know I should ignore her but you see that’s the thing about me… I am a moron. So, I nod my head and smile at her, because that is what I do when I feel uncomfortable. She of course mistakes my nervous "friendly" gestures, so now she starts talking to me. Now I don’t talk to people when I stand department store queues, so I space out at around the time she calls me “young man”. Everything after that is white noise. And then it happens… she takes a step backwards or perhaps she is in the middle of doing TaeBo, who the hell knows. The heel of her shoe catches on the box the rice cooker is in and she falls backwards, into my arms. We do a Fred Astaire and Gingers Rogers dance step, but she is too heavy for me and I land flat on my ass, with the old woman between my outstretched legs. I look like Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man… only I am doing my impression of him while sitting upright. And there you have the two of us... on the floor... looking like members of the Oxford rowing team at the start of the JPMorgan Henley Boat Race. The poor bloody rice cooker careens across the floor much like Michael Schumacher at the Monaco Grand Prix, collides with a gondola end display of Pringles Potatoe Chips and they all come crashing down. People are scurrying for cover as the tubes of Pringle Chips morph into mini-missiles as they hit the floor. To an outsider, wactching these people run around, it may have seemed as if Nelson Mandela had come to town. The people standing around us collectively gasped for air, because that is what people do in situations like this… they gasp. Even the devil himself could not have stopped my rice cooker… it was on a bloody suicide mission. I manage to get away from my "rowing partner" by shuffling backwards on my ass and with the help of a few bystanders. The store looks like it had been it just had a clearance sale and the manager, God bless his soul, apologizes profusely to the shoppers for the chaos and confusion. I feel embarrassed... humiliated... and do not have the heart to tell him that the store was not at fault. All I want to do is hide. My geriatric accomplice thrives on all the attention and I swear she thinks she stepped onto the red carpet. The shop's floor staff frantically pick up the Pringles tubes and rebuilds the gondola end. As for me, I pick up my oh-so-kick-ass faulty rice cooker and make for the exit. I sent my girlfriend to Dions the following week to exchange it for me. I still have the rice cooker (the new one that is); I don’t think have the heart to part with... ever! We are kin, it and I, by association. Yeah, I pee-pee on me leg all the time, and when I don’t… other people will do it for me.

This moron should not be allowed to carry a gun! Officer on toilet accidentlly fires gun Now if I were him... I would have pretended that nothing happened. I would pat my stomach and pretended that I had farted twice, whispered loudly.... "Gas... last night's chili bean stew" and made for the door. By the time they figured out what happened, I would have been long gone! (And yes, I had tequila for breakfast!)

Ok… so this morning’s marketing/technical meeting was a complete washout and if it hadn’t been that I actually had something to report back on, I would preferably have slit my throat and gushed blood all over the MD’s brand new white shirt. Yep, that was one of my psycho fantasies as people made up excuse after excuse for not “doing” their work. I am not easily given to melodramatic bullsh*te fantasies, but sometimes one’s conscience has to step out on the ledge to deal with the pain inflicted upon it. Attending meetings is probably the one thing in my job I do not look forward to. I’d much rather spend my time going about my business and getting the job done than sitting around a table delegating tasks, discussing what we need to do and who needs to do it for one whole hour. You need an update… please, ask me?! Half the people attending the meeting are totally unprepared and are merely “winging” it, using tired old phrases like; I am waiting on results/feedback from so-and-so or I should have an answer by… (insert date… any date), all because they are too lame-assed to get on with the assigned tasks. I think people attend meetings for three (?!) reasons… for some it is an opportunity to look the part of the up-and-coming-corporate- wannabe, to grandstand and gain exposure, use meaningless corporate/business phrases that will impress the boss. You can say so much more with so much less… pipe it sunshine. For others, being invited means that someone up there thinks (or so they believe) that they, the invitee, have something to contribute. So instead of declining, they play along and hope they can pull it off… although they are not quite sure what they are trying to pull off. They do not have two thoughts to rub together if their lives depended upon it, but perhaps no one will notice. And if they are lucky, someone would have prepared for the meeting and all they have to do is nod in agreement and pretend they understand. Lemming! Then there are the hyenas who believe a meeting is the ideal place to let others know who’s really runs the show. Yep, I am power tripping baby and you had better believe I will chew you up and spit you out like yesterday’s breath-mint! These people would be better off establishing a cult, getting a bunch of doped up teenagers to donate all their processions and hero worship them. Now that is real “fake” power, if you know what I mean. Someone was tasked with writing up the minutes for the meeting. Hahaha… if it were me, I would turn the minutes into a satirical sketch of what I believe people's true thoughts were around the table. Now that would compensate for the emotional distress and sufferung and would make for far more interesting reading. Mmm… I betcha my marketing colleague with the bad acne and rimmed glasses fantasizes about taking over the company... and the boss’ secretary as his personal sex slave. Just for the record, I fantasized about ramming a plastic drinking straw in the boss' ear and emptying his skull with it.

• Is televison getting you down? Well, fear not... I have just the thing for you; How To Kill Your TV
• Well, say no more, here is a recipe that is guaranteed (well almost) to brighten up anyone’s day, if only for sounding tasty in a weird and wacky sort of way. Rhubarb vodka. Yep... dunno about you, but my tastebuds are tingling.
• Big ups to Darth… I mean… Pope Benedict XVI on being elected by the conclave of cardinals. Just what the doctor ordered… yet another orthodox right-winger takes to the stage.
• Hot on the heels of the now (in)famous Virgin Mary Gilled Cheese Sandwich, comes the.... (drum roll) The Virgin Mary in Salt Stains. (in Chicago nogal!)
• Finally, some fun that can be had with Google! Here are much needed tips, techniques and advice for Google users. My personal favourite (evil grin); Voyeur Heaven: finding interesting video, sound and image files in unprotected directories (check for copyrights)

Following an unparalleled and inexplicable growth spurt, little Lucy seems to have outgrown her clothes.

With the Cardinals failing to elect a new pope in their first vote in a historic papal conclave, chimney watching/spotting has now become the most eagerly pursued leaisure activity of 2005. Word is out that the Cardinals are preparing for two more tries in a quest to elect a new leader for the Roman Catholic Church. Following the confusion yesterday when black smoke pouring from the chimney atop the Sistene Chapel looked light enough to be regarded as white, the Vatican has released the following guide to assist watchers around the world in interpreting the smoke signals. Smoke - black or white - will be expected around noon to confirm the outcome following the first of two rounds of voting. This just in: Fox TV, in conjunction with the CBC, BBC, and a dozen other television networks in Christian countries around the globe, issued a press release today stating that the new Pope would be selected on live TV. Tentatively titled 'Pope Idol'—or possibly 'Last Pontiff Standing,' filming began when the Conclave of 117 Cardinals met earlier this week. Remember to vote often to keep your favorite cardinal in the running.

I watched the Tony Robinson/Carte Blanche exposé on modern grail hunters and Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code last night. (Damn, I really need to find me a more interesting passtime). I have read the book and I regard it as one of the better fictional novels I have read in a while. As for the contents… controversial and even shocking though it may be… it got me thinking. Although I consider myself a Christian and a believer, there aren't many few things that can get me to contemplate my beliefs and to think about my faith. This book managed to get me to do that ... even to the point where I began reading the Bible again, and eagerly surfed the internet to check the facts and truths put forward in the book. It was therefore with much anticipation that I sat down last night to watch The Real Da Vinci Code . In many ways it confirmed (to a degree) suspicions and thoughts I already had on some key issues in the book and in other ways it completely rendered null and void that which I regarded as true. No harm done, there is great power in knowledge…and I thrive on learning and debate and I am not one to let my own notions close me off from the truth. Admittedly, his views were based on specific pieces of information he had gathered in his quest to find the truth and I sometimes struggled with the interpretation and conclusions he reached. I thought on more than one occasion that perhaps he was biased towards satisfying his own goals. It also seemed that the program had been edited to reach the only logical it could reach… Robinson's viewpoint. But having said that, there was (and still is) validity to his arguments, in some cases more so than in others. Some beliefs and opinions (both for and against) were challenged with much vigor while others were accepted even though I felt that perhaps there was more to them than was alluded to by Robinson. The most annoying thing about the exposé was Tony Robinson himself. I found him to be a highly annoying, almost arrogant, and smug little man… a personification of all things I despise. Imagine, there I was watching this very interesting piece of investigative journalism and all I could think of was that I do not like Tony Robinson. My feelings had no relevance to the content of his exposé and were based entirely on who I perceived him to be and how he came across on television. I hated every friggin’ little thing about him. I disliked his mannerisms, his disregard of other people and their theories and could not help but think that he was perhaps not as “unbiased” as he had professed to be at the start of the program. Perhaps they deserved be treated this way, after all if Robinsonwas to be believed, they had deceived others (or had themselves been deceived ) and had played significant roles in perpetrating an elaborate hoax. In the midst of being bombarded with fact and fantasy alike, my only prevailing thought was;”Damn, I dislike this guy!” He could have filmed a documentary on the life and times of the African dung beetle, for all I cared, and I would have disliked him all the same. If I had it in me I would have reached into my television and strangled him. Worst of all my dislike of him detracted from the true value of the program… I actually wanted someone to make him look bad… I wanted the facts to contradict what he said, just for the sake of it. How odd it is that I can dislike someone I do not know solely based on my perceptions. It may be mere human nature to feel this way about someone, but I hate how petty I have become! Sigh…

It has been a while since I had been on a boys’ night out, so when my friend Steve suggested that a few of us get together last night, I thought what the heck… it beats spending a night in front of the telly and going over my projects.Now from past experience I know that these midweek escapades can very easily spiral into complete chaos, which if one is not careful, can make Thursday seem worse than judgment day. And man was I ever right on this one…We overdosed on mixture of alcohol, cigarettes, crass and loud juvenile behaviour, trying to pick up woman, arguments about Jennifer Lopez’s ass, the new James Bond and the state of the nation. Haha… yeah all the good stuff that reminds us why it is so good to be man. Damn... are we stupid! Even stranger is how much fun all of it seemed at the time. Today I feel as translucent as a sautéed onion… one that has been left in the fridge for too long… wrinkled and dehydrated and rapidly morphing into left-over deep-fried pork sausages. The lighting my office is stinging like sewing needles and my eyes are threatening to bleed... and Ernie Els is using my forehead as a driving range. I need an hour’s sleep, but it is a going to be a very... very long time indeed before 04h30 pm arrives. So until then and when I am finally able to slip underneath the downy bedcovers, I going to have to pretend that I am “the little engine that could”... that is, if I can fight off the banshees wailing in my head.

scales Originally uploaded by kylinho.

Someone told me something today that peeved me off, "You can't do anything about it, so there's no point in worrying."Gee, thanks mate; I will just go ahead and refer to you as my swami from now on. I feel so much better knowing that the sh&t is about to hit the proverbial fan and there is absolutely nothing that I can do to stop it from happening! I also know that when it happens, the blame is going to got fall squarely on my shoulders... all thanks to you! But that is not your business, is it now? Now if only I can breathe normally and make it to the toilet before I wet myself. I hate people like these... positive thinkers... damned hypocrites... who think they are helping you, but in doing so they are only making you feel worse. I wonder if he would be so positive if he had been me. Sometimes there is no bright side or upside... and the last thing you need is someone to remind you of the fact. You truly are the Anthony "friggin" Robbins of our dark and distressed continent! Now, please go away and discover your own personal power.

Borrowed Originally uploaded by kylinho.

Harumph... and once more "we" are unable to access the blog. Well that's it! I am organizing a Blogger Sucks/Legalize Marijuana rally in my residential area. I reckon if the Blogger Sucks rally fails to materialise, we can all get high on pot and laugh our asses off. (Puff... Puff... Pass)

BIG UPS to Flickr for allowing me to my post to my blog on blooger from their site! I wasted about half an hour on blogger writing up my post for today and then I lost it all thanks to the techno-critters at blogger. I don't have the energy to organize my thoughts again and redo the post. So I will just bitch about how much blogger sucks.

Not very original I know... but bitching an moaning is blogging at its best, right?

sbrina Originally uploaded by kylinho.

Some may find the event amusing, and others sexist, but today has been declared National Cleavage Day in South Africa. Since 2002, a day in April has been set aside as a day for women to celebrate their cleavage. Whoopeee! Do I hear a halleluja? Wonderbra, the sponsors and driving force behind this event, has surprisingly very little to say about the day on their website. I wonder why? As an adult male, I have a lot of female friends which can be more of a curse than a blessing. I have seen my fair share of breasts and I am as fascinated by them today as when I first became aware of them. To me they epitomize the essence of femininity. But it seems not all women are completely happy with their busts and it would seem that some women are downright insecure about theirs. They're too small, or they're too big, or they're too lopsided, uneven, etc. From what I can see breasts are to women as penis size is to men. Except we don't talk about it to other guys... ever. So in celebrating National Cleavage Day… here is an ode to women’s breasts – sadly not written by me, but I agree wholeheartedly.

God's most perfect creations! Elegant expressions of everlasting love. Women's breasts. Beautiful bottles of liquid life, Proudly protruding into prominence, Attracting attention to these mammae with nourishing milk. Now feeding externally the new life created and initially nourished within. The story, old and precious as Life itself. Apart from their undeniable, essential and sacred utilitarian functions, Are not women's breasts also works of art? Are they indeed not the epitome of Great Art? Do they not attract, entice and stimulate both genders and all ages in all Ages? The feelings evoked; the longings unleashed; the yearnings induced; the awe inspired. All shapes, shades, sizes and swings -- all so delightful and delicious! Surprising, or perhaps expected, given a good, generous and perhaps female God? There are those many median, mean, middle and modal mammae, So common and so familiar -- yet so comely, ever inviting and always fascinating. Statistically speaking, let us say, two sigma on each side of the normal distribution. Theologically speaking, what God made most of surely must be a very good thing. There are those major mammae, those magnificent proud mountains, Inviting eager exploration by tongue and hand up gentle slopes toward sensitive peaks, Promising sublime satisfaction for the intrepid explorer. Mountain and climber equally ecstatic, Becoming, at the outer edges of existential pleasure. There are those exquisite, modest, delicate breasts, where so little says so much. Subtle whispers and sophisticated hints, Contoured curves conveying immediate intellectual implications. Skillfully sculpted sensuality, Suggesting full-bodied female sexuality.

© 2000, 2001 by Rob George

Driving home last night from work, I passed a guy on the highway whose car had broken down. It was kind of late so I reckon I should stop and see if I could be of assistance. My idea of assistance is calling the emergency or tow truck service or perhaps gives him a lift to the nearest garage. So I am armed with me cell phone and nothing else. Now… life ain’t the movies and very few of us can boast to be as adept at solving problems as MacGyver or The A-team. I am lucky if I can find a woman’s G-spot and if it weren’t for glossy magazines claiming that it exists; I would still believe it to be a myth. He’s got the hood popped and it looks like he is fiddling with the engine. Now you can fit my knowledge of Car Engines 101 into a thimble and still have room left for my finger, but I reckon misery loves company and besides the guy seems to know what he is doing. Perhaps it is only a routine engine fault. Boy, was that ever a mistake! As it turns out, he knows as much, if not less, about a car engine than I do. In fact, he does not even own a bloody toolbox! Now who dares to pop the hood of a Japanese-made car and fiddle with the 5,000 precision engine parts in the hope of getting it to run again? Last time I checked hands and fingers aren't shaped to grapple with engine parts. Ok, so now you have the two of us next to a broken-down car with and neither of us know what to do. Guys are strange beings, even when defeat stares them in the face; they are loathe to admit it. So Laurel (of Laurel & Hardy fame) and I take turns at peeking into the engine… touching and tightening a few parts here and there… getting into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition key, all the while hoping for some divine intervention. Oh what fun we had! It’s getting late and finally out of sheer desperation, I suggest we call the emergency service and ask them to come out. He agrees (see he thinks he’s won the “cockfight” as I am the one who “admitted” defeat) and I think to myself now is prolly a good time to make an exit and disappear into the night. Besides, I am bloody starving and my stomach feels as if it is about to pop and go ballistic on me. As I walk back to my car he asks if I will wait with him. What… do you want us to cuddle and embrace as well?! I smile and nod OK, and I curse myself for not walking faster. To cut a long story short… the emergency guys arrive an hour later. They check and test a few things here and there. As it turns out, the fault is electrical. Whoo-farkin-pee! They fix the fault and we all go home. And I think to myself... I am the poster boy for Murphy's Law! What have I learnt as a result of this…?

• Routine engine faults are a myth.
• Leave the job to the professionals.
• Do not pop the hood of a car unless you know about engines… it is NOT cool when it transpires that you do not know anything. Trust me, these babies are s-o-p-h-i-s-t-i-c-a-t-e-d.
• And lastly, next time you feel the need to be the Good Samaritan, and you are armed with nothing more than a cell phone… stick to your resolve and make that call. Don’t get sucked into a pissing contest… you’ll only end up pissing on yourself!

Read full story I guess not even the Pope is above commercialism. I wonder if royalties from the sale of the comic book will go to the Vatican? Personally, I would like to see PJ II reborn as an ancient Jedi master fighting the Sith alongside Master Yoda and the ghost of Ob-1. So call me old fashioned, but the red tights, a yellow anti-Devil cape, and green "Chastity Pants" does not do it for me. The simple brown robes and specialized field gear of the Jedi such as the signature lightsaber is much more becoming for a man of his standing -both elegant and deadly. Yeah, I can totally see George Lucas taking advantage of this in the near future.

It is truly remarkable the things we are taught to believe in as children and still believe in as adults. Being skeptical and growing up in a modern society, I consider my self educated and enlightened, yet certain things make me squirm and uneasy by their uncanny inability to follow the set laws of nature. Take the old adage of Bad Things Come in Threes. Superstition… and my dear old grandmother say that this is the way things are and once the wheels are set in motion you simple have to ride it out. Nothing to do but sit back and wait as bad things pile up on your doorstep. Now I don’t like it when my life spirals out of control, especially when I am on the receiving end. I want to be in charge or at least have some degree of say in how it is being run. I do not believe in superstition or fate, but I am willing to admit that some things may defy logical explanation and rational thought. Take the following for example. Your house is broken in to, the neighbour’s wife crashes her car into your wall and the satellite dish is struck by lightening. One, two three… crisis over and you can get back to your normal life. Incidentally the three events actually happened… last week… in that order. A mere coincidence, I would like to believe… not so my grandmother would have said. Even so it does not take away the pain and agony I have to go through a result of this. If bad things absolutely have come in threes, then just for once I would like things to work in reverse. I want good things to come in threes as well. I could do with a bit of good luck… you know… and overseas trip, that dream job, win the lotto or perhaps just good health, happiness and no more debt or three successful business deals . Three good things… one after the other… while I sit back and watch them happen to me. Come to think of it… the concept is not that outrageous and farfetched. After all, we are also taught the universe demands balance and that for every reaction there is an equal and opposite reaction. So with the all bad things that has happened… I should be in for a streak of good luck. So come on already… whoever’s in charge of keeping score and balancing the books… gimme some of that! In the News:

Run searches in the Yahoo! and Google search engines at the same time. THE results will be displayed side by side.

(Full size image) Perhaps the administrators of the ARLINGTON PEDIATRIC CENTER may want to reconsider the graphics used for the center? It may just be my overactive imagination, but somehow I don't think they get too many young patients.

If there is anything I hate more than people who drink excessively, it would be the so-called social drinkers. You know… that group of people who claim no to consume any alcohol except on a social occasion. “Can I get you anything to drink? “Yeah, a glass of white wine for me please… I only drink socially” (Yeah right... I never assumed you weren't) And then they proceed to drink one glass after another and end up more wasted than you are. Please get me out of this nightmare! These people are too bloody insecure to socialize and mix with other people unless they have downed a glass or two or have a glass of wine in their hands. Try some water… they come in so many varieties these days... still, sparkling… subtly flavoured litchi, mango and who knows what else… so why not have one of these? How about a glass of coke? I have a theory about social drinkers… They have a guilt complex when it comes to alcohol. See, they grew up in a home or a society where drinking an alcoholic beverage was not deemed acceptable and they have developed a guilt complex when it comes to drinking. They see alcohol as an evil and cannot admit to themselves that they actually like it. So they make up excuses or label themselves as social drinkers and blame their weakness on the occasion. Well, you keep telling yourself that the next time you wake up with a hangover or when you are too incapacitated too drive your own car. The other pet hate - The social smoker. What on earth is a social smoker? Just like the social drinker they claim that smoking is a part of their “social persona”. These guys bum cigarettes off you all night long, because they do not have decency to buy a packet of their own. Besides, why should they spend money, they don't really smoke, they are only trying to be social. "Look at me... I am a social smoker and I look so cool with someone else's cigarette between my fingers" Why anyone who is not an addicted to nicotine would voluntary choose to blacken their lungs to be more socially acceptable is beyond me… but then again I am not blessed with much intelligence. Sigh... the games people play.

"Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down..."

I am usually not one for jumping onto the bandwagon (at least I hope that I am not) and for stating the obvious… but I guess the death of Pope John Paul II is without a doubt the BIG news of the moment. I am not a Catholic, but I am sad the old guy passed on and I sympathize with the Catholics of the world. Peace be with him. I have to wonder though… now that the Pope is gone and until his successor is appointed, who is in charge of the Catholic Church? A Catholic friend of mine indicated that the Cardinals may be the caretakers of the church until a new pope is elected. At the risk of being disrespectful… but the reference to the cardinals had me giggling to myself. The Cardinals? The name cardinals makes one think of a soccer or a baseball or a hockey team doesn’t it? I had no idea they played sports in the Vatican! Isn’t it also amazing the amount of news coverage we have had over the past weekend, and prior to that, on the Pope and his condition? The networks literally interviewed every Catholic and their uncle in their marathon multi-channel deathwatch. Not even the non-Catholics were spared the “opportunity” of having something to say. What a bloody frenzy! All of them circling around like African vultures… just waiting for the old guy to kick the bucket. I had hoped that he would live for at least another week or two. Can you imagine how tired and exhausted the reporters and their new crews’ would have been, had he lived longer? Now that would be divine justice! His passing may even have gone unnoticed by the media.

I can't decide whether today is a good or a bad day. Perhaps it is a bit of both... The hoaxes & pranks are all done with the best intentions and in good spirit, but dammit it gets kinda lame after a while, don't you think?. Too much of a good thing really can become a bad thing... one should never forget that! Try as I may and in as much as I enjoy a good laugh (even when the laugh is at my expense), I can slowly feel my sense of humour evaporating like mist before the highveld sun and the hairs at the back of my neck starting to rise. Anyway, 'nuff said... as I am such a good sport, here are a two interesting April Fool's links:

• How good are you at spotting April Fool's jokes? Try this quiz in The Guardian
• The 100 Greatest April Fool hoaxes of all time