Apocalypse

I didn't really buy into the Mayan apocalypse, seemed like a long shot... unlike modern day doomsday prophesies; "Petrol will be at R10 a litre by 2012....", "... JZ will be relelected...", "...your internet connection will soon die, for no apparent reason".

In doomsday theorizing, it seems we have twin axes; scale of disaster vs accuracy.  The Mayans certainly went all in on "Total world destruction", which is more catchy than "A tank of petrol will cost you R600 in 2012...".

Then who are these prudent, present day, petrol-price prophets?  Think tanks, government agencies, the press?  If they included a reference to an ancient tribe that was fond of angular buildings, would we take them more seriously?  Would the 9Gag world take hold of the, this time certain, disaster or would they all be at the petrol station filling up.

I've just noticed my work email inbox is at 19129 emails... I wonder if Microsoft will be able to handle the load at 21120?  Or will it be the end of my Outlook?  Outlook Apocalypse 2012.... coming soon to theaters "He never backed up".

Context

In the last days of our old company, our boss brought a guy in to try and rescue the administrative and leadership vacuum that existed.  His favourite advice was "Context, context, context".

Context is indeed a crucial lense through which life must be viewed.  For instance... imagine yourself hiking along the Transkei coast, sun baking down but you're kept cool by a soothing sea breeze, blowing over your unwashed, salty skin.  You reach for your water bottle, sip its refreshing contents, brush your brow and soak in the sandy beauty around you.

"Oh, wow!" you exclaim... "look everyone, a cute crab, at home in its natural environment".  A crowd gathers and observes the crustacean.

Scenario two...

You get home late'ish one night, after a visit to the Summer Camp site.  You missed supper... the Chicken and Pepperdew sandwich you ate at 8pm didn't do its job and you're scavenging for something to eat.  You find a packet of two minute noodles, and while they're cooking you find yourself lying on the couch.

You're lying still, but you can hear the couch creaking.  You notice but ignore it.  Minutes later, the creaking noise happens again, you are now  confused, having moved from a sub conscious awareness, to a front of mind curiosity.  You stand up... and freeze, mortified.

As if in a horror movie, you see a large set of legs, creeping slowly into the light over the bean bag.  You panic, you wonder how a tarantula got into South Africa, and then into your flat.  You reassess, you notice its more crab like, less spider like.  You panic again - crabs are just as bad as spiders (OUT OF CONTEXT).

Calm returns, you arm yourself with a broom, rearrange the furniture and evict your unwelcome housemate.

Sugar

Other than the presence of pets, working from a home brings you into contact with some unusual visitors.  A gent, John I think, arrived to tune the piano late last week.  I soon realized that any productive potential my day had would perish if John had his way and so I quickly offered to make him a cup of coffee, before I dashed back to my burrow.

He digressed into his coffee drinking habits, and then stumbled when he asked for 3 and a half spoons of sugar.  It's a strange thing, sugar.  Somehow sweet coffee has become socially unacceptable, and heaven forbid you prefer anything more than 2 spoons and milk - which is sort of the Toyota Corrola of coffee preference.

I say, stand up o ye' with a sweet tooth.  Hold high the sugar spoon as you ladle free will into your mug.  As a member of the no-sugar elite, I will stand with you in our shared love of coffee.

Shampoo

I grew up using the legendary, and still available, Johnson and Johnson's Baby Shampoo.  I think Mom was still buying it for us into late primary school.  It came in a hygienic pee-yellow colour and either it did the job, or it was cheap - I can't be sure.

That said, my hair made it through my formative years.  New phase, new shampoo and I started using Dad's Gill.  Gill, a marketing achievement, the only real men's shampoo.  If men actually helped with grocery shopping, it would no doubt have competition.

When I moved into my own place, and realized how expensive cleaning equipment was, I didn't last long on the Gill-wagon.  It was back to J&J's family shampoo, which is similar to the infant variety, only it also strips paint, cleans toilets and disinfects drains.  Or so I imagine.

For a number of years I bought into the fact that J&J Family is half the price of everything else on the shelf.  Right up until the day my sister gave me a small bottle of some, other, fancy looking shampoo... for the flight to 'Nam.  Over the next week, in the 30 degree heat, 200 million percent humidity, my hair staged a come back tour... which given the circumstances is remarkable.  When I got home I bought some new shampoo... I'm easing into things and have gone with something slightly more expensive than my beloved J&J Paint stripper... keeping an eye on the results.

Hadeda

I was running down McJanet Drive this morning, slightly misty eyed but enjoying being out and about.  I spotted a Hadeda sitting right ontop of the bulb on a streetlight, sort of leaning over the road - and importantly, directly above my path.  It occurred to me in my sleepy state that being pooped on by a Hadeda at 5am is probably the worst thing that could ever happen to a man, with obvious exclusions.

It is only by divine intervention that Hadeda's are present, exclusively, when I have nothing to throw at them.  This morning, unarmed, we passed each other, warily, no doubt to meet again.  I've tried before, we get a lot of birds in our garden and I've launched a range of twigs, leaves, too-small-to-count stones and angry stares at them... especially the loud ones.

One day... one day I'll be holding an apple, or a half empty Coke, or shoes that I'm not that attached to...

Victor

I've been working from home for the last 4 months.  Not my home, but a home.  As is the case with many homes, this one comes with a dog.  Victor.  Victor the bipolar watch dog.

Not a graceful title, but not undeserved either.  Victor and I get on, infact, give it until Christmas and I suspect I'll be the favourite - Tshawe the handyman may give me a run for my money.

I recruited Victor for an advert the other day, hoping that he would behave like a clumsy family hound and smash through my wall of cups.  Alas, he was surprisingly dextrous, and got to the bacon kips without touching them.


Last week the two male bunnies in the cage outside, gave birth to 3 even smaller bunnies.  Hark, a miracle.  The excitement came to an abrupt end when one of the bunnies went past the window in Victor's mouth.  Like a unsuspecting fighter pilot in a big, black, hairy jet.  Not the first time this has happened.  Friendlies were scrambled to intercept the newborn.

Backpack

Cath, her sister Tracy, and I are heading for Vietnam toward the end of the month.  It's my first bit of overseas travelling, and yes... I'm quite excited.  I've been acquiring things, in preparation, for the last month or so.   Yesterday I bought a backpack.  A K-Way Transit 75.

I was modelling it in my room last night.  The website says the ventilation system will be helpful when "You're carrying 75 liters on your back...'  That's a lot of tailored suits from Hoi An.

It's quite rare to spend a lot of money on something, and feel utterly vindicated about it when you get home.  After peering into all of the pockets, discovering a rain shield and a variety of sheaths and harnesses... I decided it was a good buy.  A totally rational summation of value.  The hip supports make it feel like you're part of a congo line, with the person behind you violating the hands-on-shoulders guideline.

In-store promotions

Everyone in the office thought it would be a great idea to get back to basics... and meet our customers in their natural environment.  However, circumstances played out, I found my self alone in the cleaning aisle this morning at Spargs Mall, Beacon Bay, hawking our cleaning cloths.

The people of Beacon Bay were actually pretty hospitable... I'd usually rank promoters alongside tele-sales marketers.  I tried to avoid being that guy, and even pre-warned one man by doing an exaggerated tip toe move with my arms out like a t-rex, incase he thought I wasn't about to pounce.  He seemed to appreciate the warning.  He bought a pack of cloths.

Some people, so eager to avoid me refused to make eye contact, instead looking away as they passed.  Too bad for them I was at an isle end.  A number of them ended up t-boning geriatric shoppers with their trolleys.  Small joys of the in-store promoter.

I kept a scorecard of packs sold on my hand.

Hazard lights

Of all driving etiquettes, the most misunderstood has got to be the acceptable use of hazard lights.

I made a quick trip downtown this morning, to buy a shirt for my first instore promotion tomorrow - yes, I will pounce on you like a veteran Jehovah's Witness at a street braai and sell more you microfibre cloths than you can fit into your trolley. Spargs Superspar, 12 - 2.  It's going to be educational.  and Epic.

I noticed two drivers, cruising, with a get-out-jail-free look on their faces, fooling around in the morning traffic, with their hazard lights on.
One of them sailed through a turning circle at a leisurely 60 looking like a volunteer ambulance driver on a sunday afternoon response call to fetch an employee from the chocolate factory who had accidentally fallen into a vat of Bournville Dark and wasn't hurt, or particularly upset about the accident.

The other, a lady looking for something, trawling along in a 1 ton truck... I couldn't make out the exact expression on her face... but whatever it was, it wasn't enough to make her look particularly concerned, or nearly as aggravated as the drivers queued up behind her.

Sole Destroyer 2012

It soon became apparent that listening to Britney Spears, "Not a girl, not yet a woman" just before I got out of the car to run a half marathon... was not a wise move.  The chorus looped through my head for the next 2 hours, as we crested hill after hill along the Sole Destroyer route.

That was pretty much my only complaint.  All other complaints were directed at the dirt road.  The race is probably the best organised in East London, and as sister Julia pointed out, you always get a nice shirt.  Expect to see a lot of bright orange runners on the roads of East London.

Running races are basically big groups of liars who get together to complain about their tendancy to enact free-will.  We all gave some strangers 40 bucks, then complained about our decision to run up lots of hills.  A mysterious culture.

You can see the details on ECMTB.co.za 

You can see the final results for the 2012 Caltex Sole Destroyer here

Break down

As I parked last night I knew I was taking a chance... I'd been on reserve for about 3 days and the needle was now actually below the empty line.
I've been lured into reserve-light-apathy by my old Hyundai, which was happy to run at about a millimeter past empty and so I thought I would be safe.

The irony is, this morning, en route to collect housemate Nic from the garage, where he had booked his car in for a service... my gas guzzler downed tools about 500m after I left the driveway.  I tried willing it on, I said nice things to it, I may have even rocked back and forward in my chair as if to school the car in movement.  Alas, a lack, of fuel.

Nic went to fetch some refreshments from the nearby BP, and then we were back on the road.

Bourne and Bread

I've discovered East London's newest, and coolest, bakery - Bourne and Bread.  It was a tipoff from friend Nicolee, and has proved a dangerously good find.

Lying between the butchery and the bed shop in Chamberlain Road, Bourne and Bread is where its at if you like freshly baked goods, especially if you like 'em large.
I've visited many bakeries in town, and few hit the value sweet spot quite like B&B.  I'm holding thumbs its a sustainable model.  Not sure if my waistline is sustainable either way.

So far I've hit 2 footlongs, a burger, a breakfast schwarma and a loaf of their brown bread.  All of it was good - ladies, steer clear of the footlongs.  That's man food that is.

The one provisor is that this isn't a health food shop.  One glance at a glistening custard danish will right any misconceptions, although you can get a side of salad with your meal.  Sort of like sending a sympathy card to your heart, delivered by a tank full of assassins.

Telephone number: 043 721 1755, Address: 2A Chamberlain Road, Berea.

Download a menu here

Morning thoughts

I was leaning up against the basin yesterday morning with one finger under the hot tap, staring at my forehead in the mirror.  In all of my hedonistic greyness.
I took a moment wondering how much time the world wastes staring at hot taps, waiting for them to produce hot water.

I had similar thoughts once about the cost savings to be enjoyed globally if everyone's name was only 4 characters.  This one is likely to remain strictly hypothetical.

Andrew, from Onsite Electrical, was venting about the use of energy saving lights in bathrooms a few weeks back.  They provide only ambient lighting for the first few minutes, in an awkward attempt to romanticise a wholly unromantic event.

My bike is finally back in action.  It took 6 weeks, a trip to the garage... and a battery charger, apparently, to bring it back to life.  My biker cred has taken a knock with Honda Wing East London.  You live, you learn.

Client service

I've been in an account management role since January, and have made some observations...

Client service is like the edge of a tectonic plate.  You're just the buffer between two independant bodies, ramming up against each other.  I think we should all join a club; commiserate together.  Sometimes I feel like a gladiator - forced to fight other slaves.   There are times I wish I had a sword to complement my 'strongly worded emails'... but I usually go with the 'frustrated pause' in the follow up call.

Today I gave up with emailing and dropped in unannounced on a supplier.  Its like the Fission bomb of communication.  My efforts induced the 'cringe of shame'.  Its rough.  Account managers are at the mercy of staff who don't give a biscuit about their customers.  We are the peace makers.

Robe Life: First impressions

Entry 1:

I now own a robe.  A dressing gown.  Call it what you like - its pure excess.  We didn't stop at a soft blanket... oh no... someone went to the next level and sewed arms and a belt into it.  Its a comfortwear revolution.

I'm going to keep you updated on my long term test.  It's been about a decade and a half since I owned one, and I get the feeling I'm going to get a lot of blog content out of it.

On Saturday, I was driving home in it.  It's the sort of outfit you never want to be wearing in the event of an accident.   It would be like stepping out of the wreckage in a Nazi-dress up suit - people can't help but make assumptions.  There are few positive robe-stereotypes.  I'm looking at you Hugh.

Gubu Dam

I've lived in East London since 1995... that is before some of my younger friends were born.  Shocker.  Yet it is only in 2012, that I discover that despite the jokes and the lack of traffic lights - there is something to Stutterheim.

We went adventuring in Stutt yesterday, first lunch at the Manderson and then using visual clues and what I could remember of the map... we made our way to Gubu Dam.

The Manderson is nice, its not luxurious - but the restuarant is cozy, and the food was good and decently priced, and we caught up on local news.   I'm not sure if AlgoaFM is suitable mood music (mood news broadcast) for a lunch, but it was the only real issue.  I did get what looked like a Pastel Invoice when I asked for the bill.  Their bookkeepers aren't messing around.

Gubu Dam was the highlight of our trip.  You basically just drive straight out of Stutt, and keep going until you see a sign that says 'Picnic and camping' and huge amounts of water just behind that.
The pine needle carpeting at Gubu Dam is even thicker than the Manderson's lounge.   And the place was deserted.  Just us, and the trees... and all other sounds absorbed by the pine needles.  Not even Darren and Carol Anne's breaking news spoiling the scene.

Pine angeling it in the needles...

View Larger Map

Track visit

After binging on Olympics this weekend, Pete and I hit the Jan Smuts athletics track after work this evening.

Did you know that the 10km runners run at about 16 seconds per 100m... for 10 000 metres.

Our evening went pretty much exactly the same as every other time I've hit the tartan.  Maybe a little less of a shock this time.  Mid-way through our first 800m my limbs started going numb, and my usually careful breathing gradually decayed into uncontrolled gasping.
There was some mutual shock as we discovered that we were already 20 seconds off the women's 800m pace after lap 1.  All dreams of 2016 were drowned out by further gasping.

It sounds like I'm whinging.  I'm not - it was a fun visit, humbling, but fun.  I'll be back after September - until then its hills, hills, hills before the Sole Destroyer. (Sept 2012... See my race review here)

We had to jump the fence to get inside.  Apparently an entire soccer team had shown similar perseverance.  No questions asked.

Rhino Run

Trail running is getting more and more popular in East London.  I guess the town's only so big, you're bound to run into the bushes if you run for long enough.  Then you discover its fun.

We went out for the Rhino Run at Inkwenkwezi this weekend.  It was a 15km, past some of the park landmarks... a pity most of us spent most of the time starring at the gravel road.  Housemate Nic wisely dialed back the pace and enjoyed the sarroundings when he realised the hills weren't going to stop coming.

I was chasing a German in a trisuit.  Not something I can be accused of often.  I had to reset my expectations for defeating him when he ploughed through the first water hazard.  Like one of those old war tanks, in spandex.  I took a more calculated leap after a quick scout.

The German got away up the next hill.

If you're up for a challenge, definitely recommended for next year - bring a camel pack if you have one.

License renewal

Time flies.  I discovered that I missed my car license date.  Again.  It hurt me... seems like just last week I was writing blogs about my adventure into the licensing department at the bottom of Oxford Street.  I swore I wouldn't forget next time around.  Vexed by admin again.

Fortunately, the situation is not so grave, because I was able to renew it at the Post Office.  It's about a thousand times less painful than the day trip required when you venture down town.  The eNatis system crashed about 3 seconds after I renewed my bosses license, and 7 seconds before I tried to renew mine.  Well played eNatis, well played.

A lady had been standing in the queue for about 15 minutes, and then tried to pay for her renewal with a debit card. Moooohahahahahahaha.

Rookie.

Cath and I had a good visit to Port Elizabeth this weekend.  For a long time I've held a grudge against PE, much like against Australians (no offence cousins)... an underlying fear that Australia is actually a nicer place.  I'm not convinced about the Aussies, but was impressed to see some more of PE.

Playlist

I recently discovered the Nike+ Running App.  I've tried hard not to become the guy 'who has an app for that'... but every now and then you discover a winner.

In order to track your run and route - you need to lug your phone along for the ride.  With this has come the opportunity to listen to music while jogging.  I know right... its 2012, where have you been?

That's all good and well, but choosing a playlist is an unappreciated task.  I started Run 1 with a Switchfoot set.  It was great to hit the first km with a face melting guitar solo, but less spectacular in the bowels of Vincent Heights, a few km's in.  Combined with an American constantly telling me how slowly I was running, it lead to a rash increase in pace, mild panic and zero enjoyment.

I was left to consider my more laid back music collection.  It didn't take long, turns out I don't own much.  I hesitated on the solitary Coldplay album... 26 years of avoiding the world's most depressing, sleep inducing band... and I caved on a R50 copy of Viva la Vida.  But listening to Coldpay at 5 in the morning is like smoking at a petrol station - you'll wake up at 8:30 curled up in a gutter, reaching for your bed side lamp.

This morning I risked some Harbourlight.  Success.  An easier tempo, meaningful lyrics and some music to air guitar to down McJanet Drive.

Shopping

I really enjoy queueing at tills, especially the ones with those temptation gauntlets... like at Woolies, and now apparently at Pick n Pay.

Saturday morning, I'm standing in a queue clutching a sandwich and a packet-soup, observing the items people have ditched into the shelves.  As if you can subtly drop a pack of sanitary pads into the 2 minute noodle bin without anyone noticing.

And what's this... Pick n Pay is cross merchandising I&J fish fingers with People magazine...?

"Excuse me, where can I find the bread? Uhhh... Either at the bakery in the back corner of the shop... or there's a loaf lying ontop of the Tempos at Till 3.  Convenient, neh?"

The ultimate best thing ever about queueing in the Express, 15 items or less queue... is watching people who were not aware of the 15 item limit and get dispatched to the 'I only shop once a month, look at my trolley' queue - but only when they try and pay.

Gumtree

Following the successful sale of a PC monitor on Gumtree, I looked around my room with new eyes.  14 minutes later I had loaded an oven, a PC power supply, 2 USB modems and miscellaneous bits of a defunct computer.

Whether or not you put (onco) onto your advert spec, everything is negotiable.  Negotiating starts before people know what they're buying.  I sold a USB modem at lunch, to a mom... she went in for the kill with a 2/3 offer before she knew if it would accept her SIM card.

You must know what you are happy to sell for.  Don't get suckerd by an early low bid... its probably just a mom trying her luck.
I hit back with, "it's only been available for 2 days so I am holding out for the full price."

Buyer's who actually want your goods are always convinced that other people want them too.  It's a sort of optimistic outworking of people's self esteem.  This plays handily into your advantage as the seller.

You can peruse my items here

Dancing Lesson #4

It soon became clear why sets 4 & 5 of the Angentinian Tango, are not sets 1 & 2.

Charles is big on the Tango, and we spent our hour revising what we had learnt, and forgotten, and then learning some new sequences.  I get to kick Cath in the foot in set 4.  This usefully masks the other times I kick her accidentaly.
Set 5 includes 'The Creepy Walk'.  We cound't quite keep it together long enough to hit the final set which involves some awkward backwards hooked leg movements.  Even writing this I'm still wondering how the flip we got to this after "slow waltz".

I was back to see Zane, the Dentist, yesterday.  There I was staring at the ceiling wondering if the plumes of mist coming out of my mouth was my own spit.  I was unable to find out.  My mouth was chock a block with cotton wool and fingers, and drills... so many drills. And a light. And that sucking tube.  Then I got distracted wondering how often Tarryn washes the spit sucker.

Bowling

Of late the options for entertainment around town have expanded from 'Go home early' to include putt-putt and bowling.  A veritable  entertainment bonanza. (That one was for all of you in the Cape).

Eager to support this development, we unsuccessfully organised a trip to bowling on Saturday afternoon.  It wasn't a bad trip, infact housmeate Nic, Cath and I had a good match; Nic taking it after a strike in the 7th.  Strike's are important.  I get this now.

In winter, I avoid taking my socks off.  At all costs - even social.  It's been very winter here for the last few days, and so I was still wearing my 12 year old (age, not size) grey school socks that I sleep in.  Then someone told me I had to take my shoes off to bowl.  They have no toes, or heal or ball... they're like lacy fishnet socks minus the sex appeal.

But I guess if you're going to look like a pauper in public - at least you won't stand out at the casino.  Sad but true.

Dancing lesson #3

Without shame, and without practice... we were back for dancing lesson 3 with Charles last night.  This time there were witnesses.  4 witnesses.  That's like 1600 Facebook friends who could potentially see a photo of me attempting a chasse spin, and if those friends each clicked like... we're talking half a million people.  Technology has brought new concerns.

We're improving.  I had my doubts after the Tango two weeks back, but I felt undeniably better last night.  I managed to learn new names of moves, including something called the grapevine.  Next, I hope to own the moves.

Something I've found hard to get the hang of is knowing when to break out the trusty swing turn, going into a corner.  I find myself running Cath into the wall while I try and fit in an extra forward basic.  Have you noticed how many dancing terms I've used.  You can't fault my vocabulary.

(Lessons with Charles Edwards, Contact on: 073 341 6830)

James Pearce Park

The question is, Who was James?  And why did we name a park after him?

Was he a wedding photographer - the first of many to bring couples to the park for wedding photos?  Did he forget his wooden picture frame (and old suitcase) at home that day, and instead take the happy couple to a wooded area - rather than a sandy dune?  Was this just a fortuitous moment in history, with a dash of indecision at the municipality about what to name this grassy amenity...?

Calm before the storm

There were no wedding parties around on Saturday, only a dog show.  That's funny because I'm referring to our game of rugby - though there was actually a legit dog show happening in the field next door.  Had we played a game of rugby against the dogs, it probably would have been tight - appose-able thumbs or not.

The best player on the field was Nathan - and he's 8.  The rest of us took turns protecting the neighbouring picnic from rugby ball aerial attack, as Nate belted it with everything his 8 years could muster.

It wasn't until the frisbee made an appearance that a sense of calm returned, as if the battle of Britain had ended and people could once again venture outdoors.

Safety shoes

On Thursday we're doing a shoot at a local factory complex.  The regulations are as tight as an anxious bum in a horror movie - so we went to buy safety shoes at lunch today.

winning at safety.

The average shopper at Domoney Brothers is probably mid 50s, drives a dirty Hilux and wears a reflective vest more often than he wears shorts which covers his knees.  He usually orders a pair of boots for his entire team, aka the guys sitting on the back of his Hilux.  Such was the vibe I got from the cashier when one of us, who shall remain nameless, commmented "These will look good with jeans".

To highlight the build quality, there is a cross section of a boot on display.  Its an actual boot they've cut in half with an angle grinder (note the steel toe cap).

We suspect the cashier was enjoying our visit.  It was hard to tell, but much like we enjoyed our pitstop in another sub culture, maybe they enjoyed the change too.

Dancing lesson #2

In time...

Tuesday, it was back into Cambridge for another dance lesson with Charles.  We hadn't practised, apart from a solo attempt while I was waiting for the kettle to boil the other morning.  It was that or I was going to pass out on the couch.

I've decided that being completely shameless is the way to go.  There are no witnesses, and I'm paying for it - so I've prioritized items and ignore those near the bottom of the list.  Things like "Move gracefully..." don't feaure yet.  But, "Where should my left foot go now..." are up there.  I'm assuming Charles has seen worse because he keeps it together.

This week we did the Argentinian Tango.  Seemed like the obvious next step after slow waltz.  It was infact, a good move.  The dance is split into sets, each one turns you 90 degrees.  Sets are easier to remember.  Now to source some Shakira music.

Dancing lesson #1

It occurred to me that before we hit lesson 2 tomorrow, I should take a moment to recap our first Dancing Lesson.  It's not often I have fresh material, so let me not waste it.

It went down in a Church hall, at about 7:05pm last Tuesday.  We met our instructor, Charles, heard a bit about the traffic coming out of Gonubie and then got stuck into the slow waltz.

Cath and I go to a lot of weddings.  No offence to anyone who's wedding we have ever been too, for realz.  While dancing in a giant circle is fun, its also good to be able to swing around the circle as a couple, when they inevitably play Kaptein.  That's the dream, and in time we will achieve it.  We will also know a lot about Gonubie's traffic problems.

I've taken away some key points from our first lesson.  One is that girls are by and large along for the ride.  Also, that dancing is surprisingly structured, its got all these 45 degree angles.  And unusual names for things you do with your feet.... like "whisk".  And other names I can't remember.  I had one of those "Drive C is full, please delete something to continue" moments after learning the swing turn.

Optimistic depiction of us in the future

Shopping trip

I went shopping with Kyle at lunch today, and came back with a bounty of interesting items...

I'm not sure Jesus would buy a mug with his name on it for R45...

Apologies to anyone who owns one of these, but wow! kitch!

I don't know what kind of big ass under pants would require a peg of this magnitude.

This is like, the best thing ever... only... the worst thing at the same time.

Anyone got a dead relative?  We got you covered...

I must own this cow print blanket.

Do you like Roses?  Do you like Loufes? Then how about this?

Wasp

5:15AM, I was out and about, showing face among the sombre early morning running community.  Then I got stung by a wasp.

Finding myself in the middle of a debate about whether or not I should even have gotten up this early, I was interrupted by a burst of stinging pain in the center of my palm.  It's been a while since I had a run in with a wasp, I was amazed at how freaking painful it was.  At one point I found myself thinking theres no way getting shot in the hand could be much worse.

The thing with getting shot is, there's at least a loud noise, screaming women and children or at least 100 grams of coke and a 25 year jail term to keep your mind off the burn.  Where as a wasp sting is like being stabbed by a ninja in the library.  You're left alone, without any distractions, only a feeling of being one upped by nature.

I stomped my foe, then stood awkwardly in the middle of the road trying to suck the venom out of my hand.  All indications are that I failed completely; my hand is still puffy 6 hours later.

Hungry Lion, Vincent

I've just finished my first Hungry Lion purchase.  I've always wanted to try it, but haven't been keen enough to go and find one down town.
Fortunately, the clever people at Hungry Lion have opened a branch at Vincent Checkers.  I know what everyone in Nahoon is thinking... You shop at Checkers?!  Vincent is different.  Its nicer.

I bought a Meal Pack.  I had some misgivings when the lady said "How many?", and I said "One." - I qualified it with "It's just a snack".  And it was... I was at Checkers buying things for supper.  At R9.95 one must measure one's expectations.

Issues of oil and grease aside, which would probably only put it on par with other fried chicken outlets, you get a piece of chicken, punnet of (alledgedly) mash/gravy and a roll.

And now a brief food review:

• The chicken was legitimately good.
• The mash wasn't.  It didn't resemble potato any more... it was like thick white sauce, and the "gravy" came out of a packet.
• The roll also came out of a packet, which is unusual... but was good too.

This won't be a regular occurrence, this sort of food isn't just unhealthy.... it's anti-healthy.

Download a Hungry Lion Menu here

Back shopped

I haven't done a weekly shop in ages... my route home from work almost always goes past Checkers Vincent (don't judge me, its not as bad as you think...).  Yesterday I nipped in to grab some things for a braai; including tomatoes.

I went to get my tomatoes weighed - I've been carefully learning how to use the scale, by obesrvation, because if there's someone who's likely to be awol, it's the fresh-goods weighing guy.  Last week I gave it a shot, in his abscence, and left it beeping with an error message.  More observation required.

So I return to my trolley with the weighed-veg, and find no trolley.  After searching the veg section a few times, I get the eery feeling someone's nicked my trolley.  A man hunt ensued.  It got me thinking though, if you just stole someone's trolley and left their polony lying on the chocolate stand at the till (as one does)... you would save sooo much time.

I found my goods, they were being back shopped.  I wasn't impressed - seems like an unwise business move to compete with your customers like that.  I went with a basket for round 2.

Dentist

Just been to the dentist,

When I arrived, the last patient was leaving, she sort of sang goodbye, very much on a first name basis 'Ta Zane...'.  This was in stark contrast to my situation...  I hadn't been to the dentist for so long I honestly have no recollection of where or when it happened.  I think I went to Medicross.  It could have been over a decade ago.

So I found a new dentist, referred by my sister, Jules.

Not much has changed, but the arsenal of dentistry equipment has multiplied.  I expect dental-instrument fares are a highlight on a dentist's calendar.  There can't be many highlights on a dentist's calendar.

I swallowed a filling.  It was a little unnerving when I realised he'd dropped it, as he was placing it... I couldn't help myself, gag reflex and it was gone.  I like to get my money's worth.

I certainly made good on the anaesthetic... its been 4 and a half hours and face ith still numb.

Dentist, Zane Vosloo Contact tel: 043 735 2189. Nice guy.

Last night

Last night didn't go so well.  Lately I've been waking up, around 3ish, with my work to do list running though my head.  I've been working on my AQ - Admin quotient... sometimes I feel like that could be a legitimate intelligence.

I couldn't sleep.  So I got up, drank some water and grabbed 'Building large web applications'.  I figured if anything was going to put me to sleep, this was a good place to start.
No joy, in fact, reading about all best practice code highlted how much terrible practice code I had implemented in the past and my heart continued to race.

I put the book down after a few pages.

At this point I must have drifted off.  Only to be woken by the sound of a giant, half metre wide crab clawing its way into my flat!  I screamed "What the..." - careful not to curse even in my dreams I noted... then I worried I had woken Nic so shouted, "Don't worry, it's only a crab!".  Then I actually woke up.  Eyes trained on my sliding door for signs of large crustaceans.

There must have been something in my bolognaise from Spar.

All of that was a true story.

Banana tree

One of my favourite things about our flat is that I don't have to look after the garden.  Ironically, I'm willing to pay more to not have a garden.

The bridge.

The pathway to my room leads past a banana tree.  At first, there was simply a pod hanging from a stalk.  I used to bang my head on it, often.  Then the pod started drooping.  It drooped so low I could no longer bang my head on it.  I was comfortable with this development.

But it turns out it wasn't the pod that was drooping... it was actually the tree, leaning further and further over the path.

This last week I've had to duck under the trunk, every time expecting to hear a crowd of Jamaicans shouting 'How low can he go!" as I dash past.

Last night I was sitting, doing something... I forget what... and heard a loud crack... crash... and could swear I heard a steel drum band hammer out a chorus.  I now have a semi-detached banana bridge across my pathway.  The next Jamaican who dashes around the corner trying to avoid the gutter waterfall, is going to come horribly short.

DVD store

I've just been at the DVD store, looking for a copy of Black Hawk Down.  Alas, no joy unless you have a BluRay player.

Scanning the shelves at Videoland, and any other store, is an exercise in optimism, but if you have the right technique, at least you won't waste too much time.

If there is a refernce to a woman in the title, skip it.  Sticking a synonym for 'woman' in the name is another way of saying "Don't bother checking the age restriction, this movie's got all the 16SN you're looking for teenager".

If there's an animal name, and a number in the title. Skip it.

If its called 'Group Sex'... Skip it.  True story.

If its an oldie, and you know the name, but the cover is actually a drawing... not a photo... it probably won't play in your DVD player - and there's probably a 'Zone 1' sticker on it if you're at Videoland... so skip it.

If the name is a verb... and there isn't anyone acting in it that you recognise.... Skip it. (Intrusion... invasion... Trust...).

If there's any reference to "The most hilarious/hysterical movie of 2009...". Skip it.

I went with National Treasure 2.  No animal name...

Downpour

Slummies experienced a wicked downpour this morning.  I found myself cornered under the car port, with apparently every gutter on the property overflowing, and as much water falling from the sky.

Challenge one was the Curtain of Wetness, enshrouding the carport.  Having rolled up my pants and removed my shoes in anticipation of Lake Pathway, I shuffled toward the gate, back to the wall, eyes everywhere.

Through the gate, tip toe tip toe across the slate and down into the Lake.  Marine style across the bricks, like I was hopping between car tires at a BootCamp-by-the-sea.

My nemesis - though forgotten right until I dashed around the corner - the great 4m torrent of water streaming down from the  roof almost put me into the hedge.

Having been winged by the downpipe I ducked the hanging Banana tree and two-stepped the stairs, around another gutter overflow and safely onto the doormat.  Soaking.

Surfers

I've spent the last 2 weeks wondering what to say about the Surfers Challenge.  Admittedly, the moment has passed, and yet its the sort of Saturday afternoon activity which you can't not have an opinion on.

Many regular runners have issues with Surfers; they invariably cite the risk of ankle injuries as their reason for avoiding it... I suspect its the risk of their accountant beating them across the line.  The traffic bottle neck is an almighty leveller.

I don't have an accountant, but I did pass Steve the Accountant in Gonubie... he defeated me last year in the final 2kms, so I savoured the moment.

Everytime you emerge from a river along the course, you're greeted by a bajillion people secretly wishing they had entered the race.  Strangely the want persists, even though the runners look like narrow survivors of a near death by drowning experience.

Toughest part of the race is the walk up Beach Road to find your car, usually parked awkwardly on a curb, between a bush and a lightpole.

Economist

I have really generous friends.  I'm sitting with my first of 51 issues of the Economist magazine, working my way through its many... many... pages.
However I've been gripped by fear that the sheer volume of writing in an issue is going to derail me.  Either I'm going to learn to speed read, or I risk missing out on Guinea's political wrangling (+1 Economist word point), or I just have to take a raincheck on sleep.

I suspect that I will have more time on my hands once the social invitations dry up.  I forsee many opportunities to make comments that no one cares about, nor wants to care about.  Guinea is a case in point.  This may swing things back into my favour time wise.

I almost passed out at work yesterday, in the foyer, feet up lying horizontal at the lunch table reading about Americas withdrawal from Afghanistan and India's upcoming State elections.  It was more due to a late night, but theres something about reading away from the desk which puts you at odds with awakeness (-1 Economist word point).

Im onto page 62 of 80, and I've got until Sunday to mince the last 20.

Inkwenkwezi Game Reserve

When you get sick, and don't run, you start to wonder if you'll be able to...  I'm having similar thoughts about this blog.

Moving on.

I found myself at Inkwenkwezi Game Reserve yesterday; on a shoot.  We shot some Rhinos, a pride of Lions, 3 Cheetahs and some really friendly elephants.  Good day out.

Jokes aside, I felt like a teenager again, an American teenager who just realised Africa isn't a country.  It was incredible, though while I pet the Cheetahs I seesawed; yes its cute... yes it could kill me.  A net win though, without question.

My plans for world domination took a step forward after a succssful registration at Unisa this week.  Previous attempts online, and via a gracious proxy in Cath had been unsuccessful owing to suspect course documentation.  There is something magical about arriving at a government, or academic registration desk with all of the documents you'll need to pull off a successful application.  It was an unexpected win for Tuesday.