Thursday, March 30, 2006 

I should come with a warning label!

What is it about a beautiful or attractive woman that instantly turns a man into a bumbling idiot? I wish I knew the answer. Yesterday was a good day, even by my standards. Well, that was until after I picked my nephew up from rugby practice and decided to stop off at the mall on the way back. I was running low on groceries and a quick stop-off at Woolworths would tie me over until the weekend. Even a bachelor has to eat, some time! I did not want to go looking for an empty parking space, so I headed straight for the parking lot on the roof. There’s always parking space on the roof. I found a space close an entrance and took the 3(?) sets of escalators down to the ground floor. Thinking back, I probably should have taken the lift. The mall was still fairly crowded at this hour, although most people were on their way home. Everything went well until just before I got to the ground floor. It was at this point that my guardian angel flew away to do some window shopping, because what happened next can only be described as a fluke. OK, let's stay on topic... So there I was, on the escalator… minding me own business. The nephew's a few steps in front of me and I am doing what most people do on escalators.... I watch the people on the floor below me, walk by. When suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I saw what could only be the most beautiful, sexiest woman on the face of the planet. Now I don’t normally go around gawking at beautiful women (yeah right), but this chica was sheer poetry in motion! She looked like one of those girls you see in the Pantene ads... a real show stopper! I swear she even walked in slow-motion and it may have been my imagination, but I could hear Joe Cocker singing, You are so beautiful To me You are so beautiful To me Can't you see You're everything I hoped for You're everything I need You are so beautiful To me [click] Fool that I am, I turned around on the escalator to get a better look at her, as she walked right by me. And as a result of this brilliant move, I am now travelling down the escalator facing... backwards. At the bottom of the escalator, there's a metal pole, just beyond the last step, to prevent people from getting on with their shopping trolleys. As I reached the bottom, the heel of my left shoe caught on the stationary bottom step and I lost my balance. In order to regain my balance, I stepped back with my right foot and bumped into the pole... with my ass. The momentum carried me backward and my arms instinctively reached out for something to hold on to. Of course there was nothing but air and, next thing I know, I landed on my ass. The heel of my other foot was still on the bottom step, just where it disappeared under the lip, and I could not stand up. In the meantime the foot was on a slow journey towards my ass and I started to look like a friggin human pretzel. Arms flailing about, and legs kicking, while people were frantically trying not to land on top of me. My nephew, who found this incredibly funny, finally managed to grab a hold of my collar and pulled me back just enough to get my foot on solid ground. That escalator was about to come alive and swallow me whole, starting with my foot. It was vicious, I tell you! Now the peculiar thing about making an arse of yourself, especially in front of a small crowd of people, is that you want to get away from the scene of the crime. And while some people are genuinely nice in asking you if you are ok, you really want them to leave you alone so that you can run away and hide in the dressing room of the nearest department store. I dusted myself off and managed to mumble a barely audible, "I’m ok”. I even managed to smile as I bravely forced the blood that had accumulated in my face back down to my chest cavity. No mean feat. The beautiful girl was of course completely oblivious of the drama that had ensued. In fact she did not even stop… just kept right on walking. How rude! The least she could have done was look back to make sure I was ok. Who am I kidding, she had no idea of the role she played in my near-untimely demise. Life is so unfair and we men are such suckers when it comes to a beautiful girl. I’ve learnt my lesson, but can I promise it won’t happen again? Probably not. I am just another bumbling idiot, after all!

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Monday, March 27, 2006 

A quaint act of an obsolete age?

It is sometimes difficult to adapt to how the modern world functions in the face of what we were taught as children. For me, as a guy, one of the biggest obstacles is whether I should still attempt to incorporate chivalry (in its modern form) into my daily behaviour. Has women’s equality negated the need for me to be chivalrous? It honestly seems that our attempts can be interpreted as an effort to assert superiority and to return women to an inferior position in our society. I visited a client in Sandston this morning. As I stepped though the front doors of the building, I noticed from the reflection in the glass doors, a young women, of around my age, a few steps behind me. I stepped through the doors, and without giving it much thought, held it open in order for her to walk through as well. With her being so close, I thought I would be rude to let it close behind me, but most of all it just seemed like the polite thing to do. As we arrived at the security check point, she looked over to me and said, “There was really no need for you to do that, you know. I may be a woman, but I am perfectly capable of opening the door myself” My first thought was, “Could she be high at this hour of the morning?”, quickly followed by, “Isn’t 2006 a bit late to be burning your bra?” I smiled at her, shook my head and looked away. I was in fact genuinely offended by what she had just said to me. And before I knew it, the SOB who lurks inside me said, “I am sorry, miss, if my behaviour implied anything of the sort. Holding the door open was merely an act of kindness, and good manners. It had little to do with you being a woman, and more to do with you being a human being. I reserve the right to open the door for whoever’s behind me. Many people have done the same for me, and do you know what I say when they do? I say, Thank you. You are welcome to use it in anyway you choose, and thank you for enlightening me on the matter”. However, this post is not about how I managed to respond to her or why I, or anybody else for that matter, should continue to defend what obviously seems to be a retro custom. I would however like to know, how such a simple deed of unpretentious courtesy could be construed as an act of humiliation. Why is it ok for her to choose to be offended by me, but not ok for me to choose what I believe to be the right thing to do? Now I know this young woman’s reaction is probably an extreme case of post-modern feminism gone awry. Surely she would have the presence of mind to know that her autonomy as a woman or her humanity cannot be threatened by a man keeping a door open in the anticipation of her arrival? The other thing that really bothers me is, “How do I, of all people, end up in these situations?”

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Was there ever any doubt?

This is so funny, I just had to share it. Guarranteed to take away the Monday Blues! Link: Hooked on a Feeling

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Friday, March 17, 2006 

Early morning fury

I know that Awards Season is over, but I have one final award I would like to dish out. The nominees in this particular category, Best Performance by An Asshole in Suburban Traffic, are numerous, but the young estate agent driving the blue Citi Golf in Rosebank this morning, is surely in a class of his own. (Dude, don’t make me post your car’s registration number and the name of your company on my blog, because I will!). None of the other nominees I encountered today comes close. He earned it by turning on his hazard (emergency) lights and suddenly stopping for a red light… which was nowhere in sight, on a suburban road in peak-hour traffic. Now that is what I call defensive driving at its absolute finest! Why wait until you see a red light. If can imagine one coming up, stop right where you are! The asswipe then got out of his car, opened the boot, and proceeded to offload “For Sale” signs onto the pavement. I was so moved by this nifty twist in the plot, I nearly cried. What an automotive magic wand hazard lights are? Their use overrides all existing traffic rules and permits you to do as you please. And if by chance you are confronted by another motorist, all you have to do is say the corresponding magic words, “Did you NOT see my emergency/hazard lights flashing?” This mind-blowing act of driving ingenuity got him nominated by the driver of the 4X4 behind him. I saw his middle finger go up as he came to a screeching halt mere centimetres from the Citi Golf’s rear bumper. The rear end of a Citi Golf would make a brilliant hood ornament on a 4X4, don’t you agree? The other drivers and I, who were also on the much-coveted selection committee, whole heartedly agreed, and without a moment hesitation declared him the undisputed winner. Middle fingers went up in the air like faster than you could ask, “Who wants to be a millionaire?” Completely overwhelmed by the nomination, and in a hurry to accept the award, his car stalled and traffic backed up fast. Within minutes it seemed like we were in Pamplona at the start of the running of the bulls. A few other motorists popped their heads out of their car windows and applauded him loudly while pressing down on their hooters. I have yet to hear so many profanities permeate the morning air. He was definitely a favourite with the crowd. We left it up to the traffic officer (for once there was one in the actual vicinity) to hand over the award. Judging by the look on his face and the hand gestures, he was completely overwhelmed. Go on, young sir… assume the position and blow me, while I bask in the glory of your driving genius.

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Wednesday, March 15, 2006 

There are days when a guy should be single

The queue was long and the clerk behind the counter was doing a first-class impression of molasses on a cold day in Antarctica I smiled, she smiled back at me. She said, “Do I know you from somewhere?” I said, “I don’t think so. I would have remembered” She looked puzzled, but only for an instant, as the implication of the words sank in. She tilted her head to the side and looked me straight in the eye. An innocent gesture, yet so provocative. I returned the look as best I could, and let my eyes wander slowly over her face. It lasted a moment, but it seemed timeless. When one is confronted with beauty and sex appeal, one wants the moment last indefinitely. “I am not usually this presumptuous, but would you like to go for a drink with me?” It was a gutsy move, but then sometimes a gutsy move is all it takes to advance to the next level. Temptation, followed by hesitation. I said, “No thanks, I’ve got somewhere else I have to be. Perhaps, another time?” “Yeah, perhaps another time”, she said softly and looked away. The moment was gone. It might as well never have existed. I should have been proud of myself, but the truth is, I was not. Yet, I could not have said yes. One drink would not have quenched my thirst, not when I could feel it rise up from a place deep inside of me. Life hardly ever plays a fair game… but then, why should it? It holds all the aces. Cry me a river...

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Monday, March 13, 2006 

What dreams may come...

Mood: reflective, so be warned! I am a dreamer. Always have been… for as long as I can remember. My mother used to say that I cannibalised my brain to feed my soul. Thank God, she did not say tortured soul, because that would have meant years of therapy. Looking back, I am amazed how my dreams have changed and how they seemed to reflect the stages of my life and the person I was at the time. I guess it is part of the natural progression of life and that dreams, in fact, mirror that journey. Years ago, in my mind, I saved the planet every day. I was the hero. I had super-human strength and powers; dashing good looks and knew the cleverest dialogue. Women adored me and men feared me... well as much as one could fear or adore a pint-sized kid with gap-teeth. Comic book heroes like Batman, Superman, and Spiderman faded in comparison. There was no evil villain I could not destroy, and no diabolical plot I could foil. When I reached my teens, my fantasies almost always involved travelling to far-off places, experiencing amazing real-life adventures and doing daring feats. Sex played a big role too… a girl I saw on the street, a face I saw in a magazine or on television, a voice I heard on the radio. I decided what was good, what was bad and how far I would go. If I did not like how a fantasy played out, I’d simply backtrack and set off in a new direction. Magical! I lived the high life. In my dreams I could have whatever I wanted and whoever I wanted. I was still king of the world, just a little more human than before! As I grew older and moved into my twenties, my fantasies were all about achieving. Making money… making it big, building an empire. I wanted the best life had to offer and become the ultimate fantasy achiever. It was about making my mark on this world and leaving behind a legacy… something people would admire and remember for years to come. Surprisingly enough, happiness was an entity that never really featured in my fantasies. It was a given. As long I got what I wanted, I was happy and so was everybody else. In my fantasies I was the single most important person in the universe. Hehe… I think they call it suffering from a god-like complex? In my non-fantasy life I did all that was expected of me. My head may have been in the clouds, but I was mature enough to keep my feet firmly planted in the bosom of Mother Earth. I knew that if I wanted my dreams to come true, I had to lay the groundwork. So I read, studied, worked hard, set goals for myself. I learnt to achieve. I had the plans and sometimes fantasy became a reality and other times, reality remained mere fantasy. In some profound moment (of which there were very few), I even learnt that despite not fulfilling my dreams, the learning process and the experience I had gained, was as important as the achievement itself. It sounds pretty silly, right? Even in those old fantasies I was mostly disconnected from reality and the people around me. Other people rarely featured, and when they did, they had no faces. They had no dimension. They were however bound together by a common thread… they were in complete awe of me. I was a three-dimensional hero in a one-dimensional cardboard world. All super heroes are loners… that is rule #1 in The Great Handbook of Superheroes (volume1). One rarely experiences failure in the fantasy world. Yet, even though I am almost always recognized and appreciated, I still remained isolated and detached, if not somewhat damaged. My fantasies were restricted to what I knew and what I was used to. These days, however, my dreams are a bit more grounded. I must be getting older?! I dream about things that can actually happen. I still hope that I could save the world, but not on a grand scale like before. I don’t want to fly nor do I want super powers. Fuck the superhero costume that shows off the bulging muscles! Spandex and a cape do not do it for me anymore... nor do knee-high boots and a freaky mask. Mostly these days, I dream that I can affect small changes in my immediate surroundings. I wish I could change someone’s life, not profoundly… just make it more bearable. So I volunteer for all sorts of causes and hopefully for the right reasons. Unlike in my dreams, there is no glamour and praise… mostly hard work and chipping away at the things that make this world we live in such a hard and unjust reality. Ha! Who am I kidding? I still hope I can do something great. The little boy inside me does not really want to let go. The adult that is me, tells me to keep it realistic… within my reach. Yet, by definition, I am still a dreamer. Are my dreams even possible? I don’t know. I’m arrogant enough to think they could be. But in order for me to do that, I have to effect changes in myself first. I know how to be honest myself. And sometimes… just sometimes, when I am really good, I am even honest with the people around me. For now I’ll keep dreaming. Who knows which one of my dreams is within my reach?

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Friday, March 10, 2006 

Chew on this, if you will?

My computer is on the blink and everything I have tried to post, has disappeared. So, there will be no lengthy wacky post today. Instead, I have a question: Is it possible to become infatuated or fall in love with someone before you’ve met them in person and how real would this feeling be? No, I have not stepped through the looking glass and into an alternate reality and the chitster is no less sane than he usually is. It is however a loaded question and there are some events that has lead me to asking it. And yes, dear readers, I want you to respond! (I can already see KN’s brain ticking over… no doubt it will be a doozy!)

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Wednesday, March 08, 2006 

Apparently, not...!!!

The Slipstream has had no posts for a while, and my apologies to those who come here from time to time, expecting something to read. [** Warning – What follows here is a rant (outburst), and should be read in that context. I tend stay away from political/racial issues on my blog, and this post was written out of frustration and helplessness. Aren’t I lucky to have a blog where I can vent? **] Tsotsi – The South African film that won the Academy Award for the best Foreign Film at the Oscars will not be shown in “white” South African malls. That is the answer I got when I went to a mall in the East Rand and enquired whether the movie is playing there. I was told that I should be able to view the movie at one of Johannesburg’s more progressive malls? WTF! What was I doing in the East Rand, you ask? Well, I had a late afternoon meeting with a client on the East Rand, and because of the heavy traffic on the way back, I elected to go to the movies thereby missing the heavy evening traffic on the N3 north. Thinking back, sitting in the traffic would have been a much better idea. Now, being told 12 years after Apartheid was abolished and South Africa became a democracy, that we still had ”white” malls, not only astounded me, but filled me with deep sadness. I reckon it is not only an insult to all South Africans, but I find it offending that an entertainment company basically chose to take away the right of white South Africans living on the East Rand to decide for themselves whether this award winning South African film is worth watching. Looking around at the people in the mall, I could see a mixture of all races… Black, White, Coloured, Indian and Asian. So I came to the only logical conclusion I could reach. The Mall is not white, only the section that belonged to Ster Kinekor East Rand Mall is. I also came to the conclusion that it was all about the bottom line and which films would make more money at the box office. Whether it had any artistic or cultural value had no role to play in this scenario. But rather than admitting that, they chose by their action to label the residents of the East Rand as racist and took away their choice. If they had told me the “truth”, I would have I would have been more inclined to see their point. In order to satisfy my curiosity, and to be able to their decision in its proper context, I asked whether Brokeback Mountain and TransAmerica will be showing there. I was told it would be. Really? So the staunch, yet racist and prejudiced “white”Afrikaner community of the East Rand is wiling to see movies dealing with homosexuality and transgender issues (No offence meant to any of my readers. I am merely trying to illustrate the point), yet cannot deal with a South African movie because it is deemed too black? Yeah, I can totally see Oom Hendrik and Tant Sarie taking their whole family to see two cowboys making out on the big screen or watching a Felicity Huffman play a man who wants to be a woman. Can it get any more “white Afrikaner” than that? Strangely enough, they have no problem with showing black American movies featuring black American actors. I mean is black OK, just as long as they are not South African? Is that what you are telling me, Ster Kinekor? I don’t know where I am going with this post or what I am to achieve with it. I honestly believed that we had come a long way since 1994. Perhaps, I am going off the deep-end with my little diatribe? It does however seem to me that some of the basic principles of what is a democracy is, have been violated by Ster Kinekor. The right of the people to choose and the right to no censorship. Perhaps Tsotsi would not have drawn big crowds and packed theatres on the East Rand. They do however have 8/9 theatres in the complex – would it be too much if one of the smaller theatres screened Tsotsi for one weekend, perhaps? It won the Oscar after all! It is strange that a film like, Tsotsi – written and directed by white South Africans would receive international acclaim in countries like the USA, UK and in Europe, but back home, this uniquely South African story depicting a slice of life in South Africa, does not receive the recognition it deserves. Charlize Theron is by her own admission a farm girl from the notorious Oos-Rand. I wonder what she would day? Enlighten Me!! Puhlease...

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Wednesday, March 01, 2006 

What a tangled web we weave...

"You are a dishonest little shit!" I did not quite know if I truly deserved all the abuse that was lavished upon me. Apparently, not only am I dishonest, but I also stand accused of being a liar and a master of deceit. Now deceit is hardly something one can be proud of, but when you put it together with master, admittedly, the words do have a certain measure of appeal to them. What was even more disturbing; these words were being said to me by my very own mother! The woman who had raised me and who had given me life. Never in a mllion years would I have expected her to be so critical of me. After all, I am her son, and even though I may not have been the best of son's, one always hoped that a parent would be more understanding of their children. It is a near impossible task trying to appease a member of your own family, especially when they come face to face with the horrible evidence of your lies and deceit. There is really nothing you can do to redeem yourself. The evidence was right there and it spoke for itself. Look, I am not proud of what I had done. But I did it out of love, and I would do it all again if the circumstances called for it. Yes, I have deceived her. I lied to her, strung her along and I was not honest with her for the entire time she was with me. But I only acted under instructions. I was a mere pawn in this intricate game and my cruel masters had the upper hand. After all, it was her birthday. How else could my dad, the siblings and I surpise her with a celebratory breakfast? The look of surpise on her face, and the tears of joy as she grabbed my arm and called me a "dishonest little shit"... now it doesn't get any better than that, does it?

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