Riding the Slipstream

I am a die-hard Star Wars fan and I completely understand the obsession with memorabilia, comics, books, fan art, toy weapons, action figures, costumes, etc. But how far would one take this obsession? Appararently… not far bloody enough. Behold the lightsaber dildo!!! Now you can take your fantasies to the next level… or let them take you to a galaxy far away. I wonder who’s “equipment” it was modeled on? Darth Vader, Ob-Wan, or perhaps Mace Windu? I think we can safely rule out Yoda, although I have been told the size of the man(?) has very little to do with the do with the size of the package. Brings meaning to the phrase, May the Force Be with You, doesn't it?

Today, while in the midst of doing a presentation, a colleague made a singular comment regarding the financial figures I was presenting to the audience. What struck me as odd was the choice of the particular word the person used to convey his disagreement. In fact, I found it so odd that I burst out laughing and could not stop laughing for about 2-3 minutes. Ridiculous, I know! I really need to find more exciting things to occupy my time with. Of course there were a lot of surprised faces around the table, but I just couldn’t help myself. It was clear that he disagreed with the numbers I presented, but when he yelled “Piffle!” at the top of his voice, I lost it. Who the hell uses a word like “piffle” in this day and age? I am sure the guy caused an anomaly in the space-time continuum when he uttered that word. I also leant that nothing makes people miss the importance of what you are saying than a fit of inappropriate laughter. Words are strange things aren’t they? They can hurt, they deceive, they make us laugh, they make us cry and a good word at the right moment can make a world of difference. There are certain words I will always associate with my grandparents and how they pronounced them. Others make me remember cranky neighbours, old friends, the neighbourhood drunk, the owner of the café on the corner, football coach, etc. Forgotten words – forgotten people. I remember when I was in primary school the grade 4 English teacher always use to say, "Gobbledygook", whenever one of us used a word inappropriately or out of context. She was an old spinster and it made the use of the word seem even more comical. I would sometimes do it on purpose just to hear her say it. Gobbledygook, indeed... how the hell this word even come into existence?! Hehehe… no matter how many times I heard her say it, it would make me double over in a fit of laughter. In turn I received a lot of detention, but it was worth it. Then there was the math teacher who would say, "Poppycock", whenever you were called upon to do a math problem on the black board and got it wrong. This one was a firm favourite with all the kids and we would break out in fits of adolescent laughter. Somehow the conjured up image of a penis perched on a stalk seemed an incredibly funny thing. Yeah, I was a weird little kid, even back then. Now the thought of it simply makes me cringe and cup my hands protectively in front of my crotch. I guess the piffle outburst of this morning unlocked a hodgepodge of memories that I had kept deeply buried in the recesses of my brain. Anyway… I need to fix the figures I presented this morning. And THAT is not funny at all!

While I was at the doctor's office on Monday I decided to also have my eyes tested. It is not that I had any problems with my sight, but there was a sign in the window that read “Free Eye Test” and I thought what the heck. Yeah, I am a sucker for freebies. Turns out the "free" eye test was not so free after all. End result… I have to wear corrective glasses. Apparently, my left eye is nearsighted, and weaker than my right eye. And all of this puts a tremendous (actual word used by the optometrist) strain on my right eye, as it tries to compensate for the weakness in my left eye. It also explains why I find it hard to look at objects at close range, as my left eye seemingly looses focus. When I asked the optometrist why I was not aware of this, I was told, “Your eyes have been lying to you all this time, and your brain has learnt to compensate for the flaw in your vision”. Huh? “Dammit, are you screwing with me, woman?! I can’t be wearing glasses… I have spent years covering up my nerdiness and perfecting my Rebel Without a Cause look. I don’t need to wear glasses to accentuate my flaws.” I enquired about contact lenses, and was told it would be of no use to me, as I only have a problem with seeing objects up close. There is no problem with seeing objects at a distance, and in fact, my eyes are perfect when it comes to seeing objects that are far away. As a result, I would constantly have to take the contacts out, and put them back in, depending on what I am doing… reading, driving, etc. In this instance, glasses is the perfect solution. I merely take them off when I don’t need them. In my quest to find out why I am cursed with this visionary impairment, I have come to the only conclusion I could reach. My mother was right; masturbation can cause you to go blind. There is no other logical explanation for it. I did the ol’ five knuckle shuffle one too many times when I was younger, and now I am paying the price. And it is irreversible… there is no cure for it. No amount of sex later on in life, can make up for the damage you do to yourself during those adolescent years. The moral… Ignorance = bliss and do not fall for the ‘Free Eye Test’ scam. It is a conspiracy to get all of us to wear glasses. And then the aliens will come… hehehe. Lithium… where the hell is my lithium!?

No post today. It seems I am suffering a bloody relapse… My chest is on fire, I have a temperature and it feels as if I’m wearing a boa constrictor for a scarf. I’m still at work, thought I could make it through the day, but have decided to call it quits and go see the doctor. But before I go… Well... waddy'a know – I have been tagged (does this mean I'm famous?)… by Kyknoord no less! Now my first reaction is to ignore the tag and go about my merry way – I mean who fuckin’ cares about these things, right? But then I thought what the heck – play along (isn’t that what kids are supposed to do?) and give it your best shot. So, without further ado, here is my best of three list. (I guess this counts as a post, does'n it?). Three screen names I've had: chitty, not_the_boy_next_door, the rampant penis. Three things you like about yourself: tenacity, sense of humour, I can salsa (did I mention my great legs… hehe?). Three things I don't like about myself: hyperactive, compulsive, impatient. Three parts of my heritage: man, predator, bastard. Three things that scare me: Spiders, bra-burning feminists, and the Oui-ja board. Three of your everyday essentials: (booze, broads and bullets – I wish!) Smiles, Kit Kat chunky, and Internet. Three things you are wearing right now: Trousers, shoes, black formal sweater (I am at work, dammit!). Three of my favorite songs: Oy, there’s so many… almost none of which comes to mind right now. Lemme see… ahh… At Last (Etta James), Quando Quando Quando (Michael Buble feat Nelly Furtado), and Lovefool (The Cardigans). Things I want in a relationship: Sex, conversation, humour. Two truths and a lie: I have climbed Table Mountain, I can speak German, and I cry like a baby during chick flicks. Three things I can't do without: credit card, books, and music. Three places you want to go on vacation: Japan, Fiji, Maldives. Three things you just can't do: run a marathon, make milk come out my nose, touch the ground without bending my knees. Three kids names: Earth, Wind, and Fire (?). Things you want to do before you die: Bike through Nepal, Win a million, a lap dance from Paris Hilton. Three celeb crushes: Jennifer Garner, Milla Jojovich and Gwen Stefani. Three people you want to know these things about: It is the question, Michelle, Sandra PS: Would have loved to tag Livewire, but I reckon since she's done it before, she deserves a break.

One of the elderly guys in my office is going on retirement today. So we are throwing him a little shindig this afternoon to speed him on his merry way and to let him know just how much we appreciate his service to the company. Yeah, we are a bunch a hypocrites pretending that we care when all we really want is the free booze, free food and an opportunity to feel up the secretary. I, off course, will be felt up by the psycho bimbo (see previous post)… so yeah, I can’t wait. And with that my testicles turn into ice-cubes and retract into my abdomen. Now this guy has worked here practically all his life. He is old school and not the type who changes companies every 3 to 4 years. He values dedication and long service and is a company man in the true sense of the word. I can’t imagine the office without him. “George”… lets call him, George… is a part of the furniture… the unofficial guru and anchorperson. He’s the guy we run to when we need a bit of help or information. He’s the kind of guy who, when you moved his cheese, would take it in his stride and quietly go on his merry way. Never a harsh word… no drama… hardly ever irritated. The obligatory collection envelope is doing its rounds in the office. I never know how much money to put in. How do you measure a colleague’s worth in monetary terms? And what do you buy as a farewell gift for someone who has devoted his entire adult life to working for someone else. If had my way… we’d take him out to a strip bar… and let have a go at the girls. Hell, he’s been decent and well behaved for all this time and his age he can afford to say, “Screw the good moral bahaviour; I am having me some ME-time and I am going to behave scandalously while I’m at it”. But that is just me and somehow I cannot see old George living out my fantasy. I think George would still appreciate it if the boss gave him the old gold watch. Of course he will have to pretend to be moved by the gift we bestow on him later today, and somehow I cannot see George becoming emotional. Not to be outdone by the collection envelope, the much dreaded farewell card is also going around and one struggles to decide between “Good luck on your retirement” and “It was great working with you”. Of course I take comfort in the thought that the boss will have to deliver a truly “heartfelt” speech. Priceless! We have heard it a gazillion times before and true to his nature and desperate to live up to his reputation as 'the guy who lost the plot', we are sure to be in for a whopper of a speech. It is one of the few occasions though that he will have the full attention of the entire department and something I am sure that will make his weekend. Good Luck George and I wish you all the best. Now be a good boy and give us the finger, will ya?!

I am a hypocrite and selfish, and not proud of it! There's this colleague in my department, who insists on striking up conversations with me at the most inopportune times… no make that… all the time, and asks what can only be described as the m-o-s-t inane questions. Now she is a nice person, sweet and innocent and kinda pretty in that girly sense, but someone should really give her the low-down on what a low-life I really am. Ok, ok… I am not a low-life, a bit of a bad boy perhaps, but I have done a few things in my time on earth that will make her skin crawl and reach for a shotgun. I am not the kinda person someone like her should be hanging around with, not at the office and definitely not outside of the office. We should not be seen together in the same universe. She is too goody-goody for any man, except perhaps the messenger boy, but he is only 18 years old and a late bloomer. In the past I have always tried to be nice to her, but it takes so much out of me that I am seriously contemplating going into the boardroom and hanging myself. I do not suffer fools gladly, but somehow I cannot get myself to tell her off! She is tooo freaking… NICE. She is always ready to help me out when I need assistance with extra work, a new project, a small favour here and there. In today’s dog-eat-dog corporate world, it is kinda nice having someone around that you can “lean” on. Well, it seems I am selling my soul for these favours and I hate every minute of it. Fuggit… now I seem like a manwhore… of the non-sexual-favour variety(?). Perhaps it would have been bearable if I had been attracted to her, but there is no spark… no attraction… whatsoever. She could be my grandmother for all I care. My mate reckons she is coming on to me, but she has never steered the conversation in that direction. Now that I could deal with. Her questions aren’t even sexually suggestive in nature… they are just silly… annoying… a slow and painful death. She would ask me crappy things like: Do you love your girlfriend? (No, I don’t, that is why I’ve been with her for the past year. I am just fucking with her brains) Can I talk to you for a minute? (Yeah sure, I have nothing better to do… not since you spoke to me over 2 minutes ago) Oh, you were so mean to Hilton this morning. Why? (Like I fuckin’ care… Hilton is an outright prick and I am not going to stand by while he spreads his vermin around the office) So, when are you planning on getting married? (I don’t know, all this free sex I’m getting is kinda awesome right now… so why ruin it with something like marriage) How many girls have you slept with? (Hell I don’t know… there was this one time I thought I slept with the entire netball team… turns out it was only a dream) Will you ever be able to get it on with a man? (Yeah sure why not, I am just a dumbfuck and I am not choosy about who I get it from… just as long as I get some. You know… the messenger guy's looking kinda hot and sexy lately. Rooaarr!!!) Someone push a drinking straw into my ear and suck my brains through it... I am dying here!

I hung out with the gf and two of the mates last night. It was a cold night out in Jozie, so we decided to stay in and watch old action movies. Well… actually no one was prepared to take on the responsibility of going down to the video/dvd store. So we had to make do with what I had in my collection… and we ate grilled cheese sandwiches, much to the chagrin of my visitors. Strange thing about grilled cheese sandwiches … after an hour or so they taste really bland … especially when you re-heat them. It quickly became an impromptu noise and nostalgia fest of favourite movie scenes and dialogues. Good advice kids… Never pass up an opportunity to hang out and have fun… even on a Monday night. Anyway here is an excerpt from The Terminator, which happens to be one of my favourites. Cheesy dialogue (to go with the nasty sandwiches?), I know, but I still laugh at it every time! Yeah… it really does not take much to amuse me, does it?

John Connor: No, no, no, no. You gotta listen to the way people talk. You don't say "affirmative," or some shit like that. You say "no problemo." And if someone comes on to you with an attitude you say "eat me." And if you want to shine them on it's "hasta la vista, baby." The Terminator: Hasta la vista, baby. John Connor: Yeah! Or "later dickwad." And if someone gets upset you say, "chill out"! Or you can do combinations. The Terminator: Chill out, dickwad. John Connor: Great! See, you're getting it! The Terminator: No problemo.

Is the media “punishing” Tom Cruise for his public displays of affection for fiancee Katie Holmes? Steven Spielberg seems to think so. Four TV workers from Channel 4 people were arrested at the War of the Worlds premiere in London after the 42-year-old actor's face and jacket were drenched with water from a fake microphone on Sunday. The stunt was intended to be light-hearted rather than malicious, but Tom does not seem to agree.

• Tom Cruise Water-Squirting Incident from BBC.co.uk
• Read more here and here

I think I am a fairly tolerant and laid back person and rarely irritated to the point that I become violent or abusive. I rant a lot, but that is my venting mechanism… one that helps me stay sane. I do not suffer in silence, yet harbour no ill-feelings towards others. I have learnt see the lighter side of many situations and would rather marvel at how situations arise then let them get the better of me. Yesterday, however, almost became the exception. I became involved in an incident that could easily have escalated into something really nasty. I am thankful that it didn’t and I hope that it will never happen again. It is Father’s Day and we go to the Mall in Rosebank for a Father’s Day lunch. The whole friggin happy family is there… mother, father, kids, grandkids… you name it. We are an invasion! It is a beautiful winter’s day…the sun is shining and the temperature somewhere in the mid to high teens… and we are quite a jovial bunch. We walk around the flea market (amazing place!) for an hour and then have lunch at one of the steak houses. Lunch is great… Dad's grinning from ear to ear, the kids (young and old) are stuffing their faces like its feeding time at the zoo. Two hours later… post loads of laughter, a few pints and a good meal… we pay the bill, say our good-byes and I head back to my car. Now the Mall has one of those automated pay-points for parking… you basically collect a ticket on your way in and at the end of your stay pay the fee at the automated pay point. Quite simple, really. I am parked underground and I decide to drive to the pay-point, which is on my way out (rather than walk back and forth). I would park my car on the side of the road (basically double-park) dart across and pay the fee. The road is suitably wide and there is enough space for another car to pass without obstructing on-coming traffic. When I reach the pay-point, there is a small sedan behind me… inside, a woman with two kids. One’s a teenager and the other a girl of around 10. I signal in advance that I am going to stop, move over on the side of the road and indicate that the road is clear and that she can safely pass. I get out and when I cross the road when she starts blowing her hooter at me… not just once... but a long, persistent blowing of the hooter. She shouts in my direction and by her hand gestures I can see she is pissed off. I feel bad so I walk back until I am directly opposite her car and explain to her why I had “parked” my car there. I still indicate to her that she can drive along as there are no cars approaching. The car coming up behind her does exactly that and he drives past without any problem. She barely lets me finish and unleashes a torrent of abuse in my direction. And when I say abuse, I mean all of it… the f’s and the b’s and the whole of the c’s. I think she is bloody hilarious! She ends off by calling me a “doos” (doos= idiot/c*nt). With that remark she crosses the line. I no longer feel friendly and I am ready to square off and give it to her. There are about 4 ppl at the pay-point and they are listening to our little tête-à-tête with interest. I am about to do my own tribute to four letter words when I see the faces of the two kids in the car. They are the saddest faces I have seen in the l-o-n-g-e-s-t time. They are obviously embarrassed, but sad nonetheless. And I realise that they are the real victims of the situation we had gotten ourselves into. It is Father’s Day and there is no man in the car… perhaps he is at home, or perhaps there is no dad around. Having seen the mom in action, I can’t say I would blame him. I look at the woman and decide it is not worth it. I say to her, ‘I think you have it wrong there madam, we have clearly established that you are the doos, both literally and figuratively’, and with that I walk away. As she drives past the pay point, she gives me the finger. Gotta hand it to her, she is tenacious! I actually smile back, wave and wish her a good day. I know that stopping my car opposite the pay point is not the courteous thing to do. It seemed practical at the time and so I took my chances. It did not sit well with the woman in the car behind me, but the situation that ensued should have been avoided or resolved calmly and with dialogue. I wonder though what would have happened had I been the aggressive type. Worse still, what if she had been an aggressive man… would I have woken up in hospital this morning?

Tomorrow is the 16th of June and in South Africa we will celebrate Youth Day. It is the day in which we commemorate the events of June 16 1976, when Soweto’s youth protested against legislation making Afrikaans the language in which subjects were to be taught. Many would say it was the turning point in the struggle against apartheid. On 16 June 1976 more than 20 000 pupils from Soweto began a protest march. In the wake of clashes with the police, and the violence that ensued during the next few weeks, approximately 700 hundred people, many of them youths, were killed and property destroyed. Youth Day commemorates these events. The Department of Education will on Youth Day, June 16, 2005 host the National Schools Language Festival at the University of Pretoria, Groenkloof Campus. Many similar events will be held at venues around the country. It is also the day on which the annual Comrades Marathon is run, an event that will no doubt receive significantly wider media coverage and publicity than any of the Youth Day celebrations. For most people though, it will be a public holiday… a day away from work, to spend at home in front of the telly, hang out with family and friends and browse around flea markets. 29 years on. The teenagers and scholars of 1976 are now in their mid to late forties. One wonders whether the youth of today fully understand the significance of this day in history and the significant role it played in bringing democracy to South Africa. To the generation of 40-something year olds that protested and took on a government on this day many years ago; Do the Youth Day festivals of today do justice to their sacrifice and effort? I wonder…

“You have reached the voice mailbox of... Please leave a message after the tone”. BEEP! I have an innate aversion to that sound, it reminds me of the sound the heart monitor makes in an intensive care unit. Why would someone ask me to call them and then turn their cellphone off? At first I was a little annoyed, but then I realised I had nothing to lose by him not answering his phone… so there you go. I leave a brief “who, what, when” message and end the call. My first instinct was to put the phone down and not to say anything. I do not like leaving voice messages and speaking to an automated voice message system. Leaving a voice message reminds me of standing on the edge of an abyss and calling out into nothing. A desperate and lonely plea for help. Creepy don’t you think? But then I remembered that I hate receiving messages where the other person puts the phone down without saying anything at all even more. So I chose the lesser of two evils and did the decent thing. I find most messages left on my phone to be somewhat annoying and lacking in terms of content. It is not the people that annoy me, but the things they say. People leave either too little information or the connection is dodgy and you cannot make out what the person is trying to say to you. They do not tell you the time or date of their call, what the call is about, whether the message is urgent, and their telephone number. Some people just assume that you know their voices and do not tell you who called, which is rather embarrassing when you call a number and you do to know who to ask for. Oh, and then there are those who believe that they can fit a whole conversation in a single message and it sounds like they are speed-reading. That said, some mailbox greetings are very creative and people come up with really funny and witty sayings. It beats listening to the automated drone while she spits the standard greeting into your ear. I may not like eaving a voice message for someone… but I always listen to the greeting.

I guess there's little more one can say on this. What's done is done. A jury of his peers found there is not enough evidence to convict Michael Jackson. This is how they voted (visual courtesy of CNN): Jackson: Nightmare is over Jackson jurors: Not enough proof Jackson a free man Jackson acquitted on all counts

I hate winter! And if one more person tries to explain to me how the seasons work and how winter is needed in order for nature to regenerate and renew herself, I am going to pull down my pants and moon them. And believe me, THAT is not going to be a pretty sight. You see, they are all missing the point. My “hate” is not meant to be rational or to make sense to them and has nothing to do with how things are meant to work here on Mother Earth. It has nothing to do with the seasons and the cycle of life. I am fully aware of that cruel twist in the planet’s axial rotation as it makes it's elipsical journey around the sun. A cruel twist that causes the sun to head north towards the middle of each year. So please, leave me be and spare me your scholarly explanations. Even the birds had the good sense to bugger off and leave. I hate winter because I hate the cold… period. I hate being sick and the misery that comes with it. Sniffling and sneezing… what kind of a life is that? I hate the misty mornings and the lack of warmth. I hate that I cannot go outdoors and soak up the sun. I hate not being able to do the fun outdoorsy things I like doing, like swimming and cycling and sport. Where are the picnics, holidays, outdoor parties and the Saturday afternoon braais? (braai = BBQ, for non-South Africans). I hate the absence of colour, the yellow grass and the dry barren soil and the complete lack of moisture in the air (I live in a summer rainfall region). The leaves had the good sense to commit suicide en masse… does it get any clearer than that? I hate the absence of naked skin, of beautiful girls in skimpy outfits… everywhere you go. I long to see children of all ages running around… barefoot, laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs. I hate how pale I have become and that I cannot wear T’s, shorts and flip-flops. I hate that it gets dark at around 5/6 PM in the evening. I hate that I have to use a heater to keep warm and that my bed is cold at night time. I hate getting up in the morning when it is still dark and having to go to work. I hate the sight of my garden as it is ravaged by cold and frost. I hate... Oh, where are the halcyon days of summer? I think I am genetically programmed to worship summer and all that comes with it. Hahaha… I was born in September and it does not take a genius to realise that Mom and Dad had to have had at least one passionate night in the summer of 1974. Yeah, I even had my humble beginnings on a summers night… or day. Uh... ok… let’s not dwell on that part… information overload and images that can leave permanent scars. Summer is the stuff dreams are made of. Presents and parties… sunshine and surf… beaches and beers... boys and girls. Romance and love and new beginnings. Sigh! Three more months to go and the sun will come a-visiting again. Until then… just leave me to wallow in misery... bbbrrrrr.

Have you ever felt really pumped up and wanted to share what can only be described as THE GREATEST NEWS with another person, yet when you do, the words fail you and you cannot fully do justice to the emotions you are experiencing? Well, it happened to me last night. I wanted to share what seemed to me the “muvver” of all news with the gf. Since being made aware of this SPECTACULAR event yesterday morning , it was the only thing I could think about the entire and I literally had to pinch myself to stop me from calling her and spilling the beans on the phone. So finally last night, after what seemed to be the longest day of the year, I go over to her place to “surprise” her with me wonderful news and guess what? After breaking it to her, she looks at me with that painful “uh-is-that-it-!" expression on her face! She could not have been less enthusiastic had I told her my penis had fallen off and that I would have to undergo a sex change. I know now what it feels like to be hit in the face with a cannonball. Still not fazed by her somewhat modest enthusiasm, I tried to coax a more spirited response outta her. I only wanted ONE tiny little squeal of delight, dammit… only one!! It only made things worse… end result… a major argument ensued and now she is not speaking to me. And yours truly is nursing a bruised ego right about the size of the Titanic. Oy… take me away from all the drama! It got me thinking though. Why the hell was it so difficult to adequately express and put into words the intense and overwhelming excitement streaming through the veins of my body? Last night, the ideas and the richness of my thoughts were broken and obliterated through language. Why can’t the verbal do justice to the fullness and richness of the thoughts that swirls around our brains? All the emotion and energy that builds up inside of us are lost when our thoughts are translated into language. Sometimes I think our ancestors were better off grunting, moaning, yelling and using the occasional “nnngh!” when speaking to one another. How much is there to misinterpret when language consists of a dozen different grunts and moans pitched in as many tones and nuances? On the rare occasion someone could not understand you, there was always the old faithful club. When you did not get the desired response, all you had to do was take out your club, smack him on the head and “voila!” the point got across. Whack!… take that be-atch! Now go home and nurse that big lump on your head and see me back here in tomorrow morning. And if you still don’t see my point, well there’s plenty more where that came from. I read somewhere that women are linguistically superior to men and that is why we men prefer to settle our differences with our fists. Women prefer to talk about things which can explain why they are always yelling and are able to make us do things we don't really want to do. I know I should prolly apologise for what happened afterwards, but I am still a little “tender” from last night’s lashing so I guess I’ll let it simmer for a little while longer. I still think she could have faked it… if only to keep me happy. Women do it all the time, which is why men are always happy after they've had sex. Yeah… I know… I am such a baby… ww-a-a-a-a-h!

I am tired of being politically correct. I sat in a meeting this morning and was halfway in putting forward an argument why I believe a certain project is not viable, when I noticed one or two raised eyebrows around the table. Now, up to that point I knew I was fully in control of the conversation. My argument was well thought out and my proposal made perfect business sense. I am not the world's most well spoken person, but I am intelligent, can hold my own, educated and well mannered. Therefore the raised eyebrows threw me a little… well lets admit it, it was downright disturbing. I stopped and asked if there was anything I needed to clarify or explain, when one of the ladies pointed out that I had used a word that was... (gasp) p-o-l-i-t-i-c-a-l-l-y incorrect. To be honest with you... I was floored (it was 9am so I know I had not been drinking!). In fact I felt like a bug that had just hit a windshield at 300 km/h. SPLAT! How is it possible that out of all the things I had said… the whole goddam argument I put forward… out of all that… the only thing these people noticed, was the use of a word/phrase that can be classified as politically incorrect? Come, on people… surely we have evolved beyond the pettiness and the metaphors and the semantics that we can overlook the trivial details and focus on what is important!!? Now I know that there are some words and phrases in the English language, and other languages for that matter, that are offensive, derogatory, demeaning, racist and sexually biased, and… well... just plain nasty. In South Africa we can probably write the dictionary of what can be regarded as politically correct or incorrect. We been there and done it like no one else in the world could. I can therefore see the need to banish and condemn the use of certain words to hell and gone and make it a law to never use them again. What I do have a problem with is the substitution of one word with another simply because it sounds nicer or more acceptable, but in actual fact does little or nothing to improve the condition, situation, the context in which it is used and the object or person it refers to. What is the big deal! If you do happen to use an "incorrect" word or phrase, you had better prepare yourself a good verbal ass-whipping from the do-gooders. Yep, there are plenty do-gooders are out there and they have your number, baby, trust me. Do I make any sense at all or am I just boorish and nasty? Why do we have to refer to everyone and everything as a syndrome or as challenged or disabled? Are we becoming a society where speaking frankly and to the point is seen as a “social crime”? I know words can hurt ,but the truth is not meant to be sugar-coated. And it is not just in the workplace…we have to politically correct in whatever we do and say and wherever we go. Short people are vertically challenged, fat people are horizontally challenged, dumb people are intellectually challenged... bllah-blah-blah... white noise. Pefectly good English words suddenly became obsolete, redundant and with them so have the humour, quirkiness and uniqueness of the language. E.g: Don’t you dare tell me that you have diarrhea... NO… it is Irritable Bowel Syndrome.... say it with me.... Irretable Bowel Syndrome. Yikes... try saying that when you have a few drinks in. Come to think of it, one can come up with a challenged or syndrome based version of almost every condition known to mankind. Heaven forbid we damage someone’s fragile ego by telling them the truth about their capabilities or who they are! We have reduced all and everything to the level of mediocrity so that nothing and no-one stands out or is in any way offended. Screw the truth and speaking plainly... serve it up on a sliver platter, make it sound nice and flood your conversation with a plethora of meaningless words and phrases. No matter what you think of me, give it to me in such a way that it sounds like a compliment. It is an offence to offend your fellow man, even if he offends you. Now if you’ll excuse me I suffer from Low Nutrition Disorder and I need to get some nourishment into my Nutrient Deficient Physically Challenged Body. WhOoP-De-fucking-DoO. You can whip my ass!! Anytime...

It was with much anticipation that I, along with many more South Africans, awaited the outcome of the Shabir Shaik trail. Not only because I wanted to see justice done, but also to see what the implication would be for Deputy President Jacob Zuma, and therefore South Africa's political future. The controversy surrounding Zuma and the corrupt nature of his relationship with Shaik, the political implications it has for South Africa and the party itself is fast turning into a circus with the media and the ANC at the center of it all. For an ordinary Joe like me, one whose political savvy leaves a lot to be desired for, I am amazed at the lengths people will go to protect their own and to ensure that the status quo prevails. I dunno how innocent or guilty Zuma is, although the evidence seems to indicate that there is a helluva lot more to this than meets the eye. The burning question for me is : When Thabo steps down, is he, Zuma, fit to lead this country given the doubt his association with Shaik casts on his character, leadership and credibility. Or do these things not carry any weight when it comes to politics? I see that Thabo will soon come to a decision on what his plans for the embattled Zuma are. I'd say fry his ass and let him face the consequences of his actions. But it is never that simple, innit and I doubt my two cents carry any weight in this matter. Read more here… Mbeki: Zuma decision soon Zuma: Journalists threatened ANC: No briefing on Zuma Media kept away from Zuma Zuma lied to parliament – DA While on the weighty subject of frying: In an unrelated development... it seems that Health Minister Dr Manto Tshabalala-Msimang have been very busy of late. Fast food, and fried chips in particular, rate very high on the agenda of health issues facing South Africa. Now who says Manto does not have our best interests at heart. Pure fucking genius! Manto fries Nando's chips

Manic Monday and I am struggling to keep head above water. It is not through lack of competence or skill, but simply because when you are away issues pile up on your desk. Why? Well, I have it on good authority that some people prefer to be lazy prats. They prefer not to take responsibility for anything that is outside of their area of responsibility or particular skill set. It is so much easier to sit around, be ignorant and do absolutely nothing. Hell, I would do the same if I could, but then again the innocent bystander act has never really worked for me. It is also easier, and apparently a lot more fun, to pass the buck and blame the person who is not around (in this case me) for all the things that did not or could not happen in your absence. Sound familiar? I call it guilty by way of absenteeism. Now the funny thing is… your expertise or unique skills in the particular knowledge sector is not peculiar to you only and it does not take a genius to complete a particular task. Somebody else could happily have done what is needed. In fact, that is how any organization/business should run if it wants to remain competitive, stay ahead or at least keep up with the competition. Well, I am seemingly the only one that thinks along these lines. I have been reminded that I tend to overreact in any manner that befits the occasion. I think this is a nice way of telling me that I am dramatic… ha-ha, yeah right, I absolutely thrive on making a mountain out of a mole-heap and soap opera-like antics. Actually, I am offended… I prefer to be seen as a ruthless, cold-hearted and calculated sob. SOB's live longer and have lots more fun! Well... here’s to the “over-reactors” like me. (Vodka Martini raised high). May the rest all die a painful death at the next board meeting! Now that my friend, is what I would call dramatic. In the meantime, I will play along with the toddlers. Team sports are a charm, particularly when the odds are stacked and I know I am going to win! Putting it that way doesn't make much sense, especially when is one is expected to sacrifice all for the team. But there is an "I" in win and if today is anything to go by, I think that "I" may just be me.

*WARNING: There are spoilers in this post! If you are a Lost fan, you may want to skip the latter part of this post.* Ok, so I am feeling much, much better and even contemplating going to work tomorrow… on a Friday no less! How'z that for d-e-d-i-c-a-t-i-o-n! There is no logic to this thought is there? But then again, does it always make sense to do something simply because it is logical? Perhaps when one is a scientist or a world leader(?)… but if you are me, well then you never do the logical thing… it is far too blasé and boring. (aye, and that sounded so gay, but I think you get my drift!) One of the logical things I did while I was bedridden, was to watch episodes of ABC's Lost that I had previouly recorded on my vcr. MNET had seen fit to air Lost at the ungodly hour of 7pm on a Saturday evening when horny, beer drinking, fun loving individuals like myself (btw, my mate calls me a rampant penis… not very flattering is he? More so since I am in a relationship) will never be at home. I see they have also started to re-broadcast the entire series after the movie premiere on Sunday nights. So how popular is this series really? Apparently popular enough for a sci-fi dork like me to record it! Hehe. Anyway, while watching the episodes I had missed… one thing became abundantly clear to me; they are bloody stringing the audience (me?) along. What a bloody fake out! The producers of Lost need to wake up and shed light on the barrage of mysteries the have dumped on us. If not, this is going to become just another like X-files, Smallville, Alias, etc. We need answers dammit! The plot does not follow a straight path whereby all the loose ends are tied up and everything finally starts to make sense. Instead, it zigzags and trails off at so many angles, you need a notepad next to you to understand it. The makers of X-files had to bring out a movie version, supposedly to make sense of the tv series, and we all know what a balls-up that was! I know all the suspense, drama and mystery is supposed to makes us come back for more. But, fuggit, I can tell you now it is not working and I am seriously pissed off at the gall of the producers, thinking they can string audiences along for a few seasons. Anyway here are a few things that seriously grates my gruyere (and there are many more… hehe);

Do you suffer from Pinocchio syndrome? You know… you are a notoriously bad liar and every time you do, you give yourself away by involuntary, non-verbal behaviors. Well fear not, because there is hope for you yet. If a recent article in the June 2005 issue of Scientific American Mind is to be believed, we are all Natural-born Liars! Humans are genetically programmed to lie and are so good at doing it, simply because… it works! All courtesy of Natural selection which has endowed us with the uncanny ability to lie to and deceive ourselves (yes, it all starts with the ego), and by doing so, also allows us to manipulate others around us while at the same time remaining conveniently innocent of our own shady agendas. Now is this cool or what?

"Everybody lies ... every day, every hour, awake, asleep, in his dreams, in his joy, in his mourning. If he keeps his tongue still his hands, his feet, his eyes, his attitude will convey deception." Deceit is fundamental to the human condition.

Oy... Sick as a newborn puppy, but the medication has started to kick in and I am feeling better already. Been out of commision for almost 3 days. I am confined to bed and bearing a distinct resemblance Count Olaf in Lemony Snicket’s - A Series of Unfortunate Events. (Yeah I suffer from delusions too, it seems) My head feels as if it is stuffed with cotton wool, my tongue is made from plywood and someone took the liberty of welding a high pitched electronic buzzer to the inside of my middle ear. My limbs refuse to make any significant movement due to the pain and lethargy that took up residence in them on Sunday night. Oh and of course there is the runny nose… need I say more? I have an army of cough syrups, anti-biotics, ointments, pain killers, Med-Lemon and a large flask of chicken soup at my bedside… fighting the good fight against the Duke of Winter and his evil accomplice Countess Influenza and her two henchmen Bac and Teria. Evil little mofo’s, but I have to hand it to them they put together an absolutely splendid buffet of fever induced hallucinatory dreams (or nightmares depending on the time of day). Anyway, I’ve not been blogging lately, and since I am starting to feel better today, I thought it good to come by and say hello. I’ve been trying to find interesting “stuff” on the Net to while away the time. Strangest thing, though! There is nothing interesting to do when you are at home in bed. There is nothing on television, nothing on radio, nothing interesting to read… nothing, nothing, and nothing. I exaggerate of course when I say nothing, but that is how it feels to me. Perhaps wanting to be healthy and feeling good has something to do with it. Anyway, hate to moan and groan although I seem to be extremely adept at it judging by the above… hehehe. Think I’ll catch a few more zzzzzz’s.