Tort

I few weeks ago I became the proud, if slightly anxious, owner of a pet tortoise.  He/She remains nameless - in part because I can't find the alleged 'bump' to determine gender.  A more important part of the naming process is identifying suitable character - you don't just name someone Mildred without feeling that deep down they're a Mildred.

Tort.

Tort has given little away.  What are his likes, his dislikes? is he a morning person or is he a night owl?  These questions swirl, preventing a close'ness, that I can really call him my own.

What he does do, magnificently well... it sit very still, almost rock-like.  If there was a championship, which required long spells of absence and inactivity, I might be tempted to enter him.  If I could find him.

GPS

I've made two trips up to Joburg in the last few weeks to visit Cath, while she does her ICU rotation.  One of the problems of visiting a new town, is being in the new town... and not knowing where the flip you, any of the time.

On the face of it GPS technology is super-duper. It occupies a grey area though, being trustworthy 95% of the time and behaving like a psychotic ex-wife the other 5%... sending you down one-way roads, non-existent left turns, or in our case... straight through Hillbrow and Yeoville after dark.

I remember turning right into a 4 lane road in Durban a few years ago, and about 7 seconds later realizing all four lanes had oncoming traffic in them.  Final Destination... indeed.

Supp exam

A supp (supplementary) exam is a true test of someone's optimism - at once a giant rusty dagger to the heart but also one of those life saving rings they throw out when you fall off a boat and are about to be eaten by a shark.

I wrote my supp yesterday, and it was the final dip on the roller coaster of frustration and hope to be rid of my Strategic Management module.  Time will tell.

I found myself in another obscure UNISA venue, this time in Cambridge, trying to make myself comfortable before we got down to business.  I think the most important thing before an exam is to be relaxed - some people get stressed if they can't revise up to the last second, others like me... enjoy a sandwich an a nap as an examination warm up.

One gent put his books down, then discovered he still had 3 minutes and promptly grabbed them again.

If you're considering a UNISA course I recommend checking out there Facebook page, let's just say they've disabled their wall to stem the tide of complaints.  It makes sense, much easier than to fix the rot in their system.

Nahoon Point Parkrun

Having been a squatter in the marketing industry for a while, I'm constantly surprised by how effective the repackaging, or re-configuration of an existing product can be.

Such is the Parkrun concept - some might say its the T20 of running.  In order to have a birthday celebration, without actually having to organise a birthday celebration, I suggested whoever was free come down to the Nahoon Point Parkrun on Saturday morning, 08:00 sharp, and then stick around for breakfast afterwards at Reef Cafe.

So it turns out the social running scene in East London is alive and kicking and a crowd of hundreds had pitched for the race.  I use the word race loosely - its not a race, if you race you look silly - its a solid 5km over all manner of terrain including an epic moment along the crest of Bat's Cave.  It's free and a great opportunity for other people to see you being energetic and to complement you accordingly.

More information: http://www.parkrun.co.za/nahoonpoint/
Starts: 08:00 sharp every Saturday - be there by 07:40 to get a good parking.

Officially the worst photo of me running, ever.

Tomato Trot 2013

Best photo of me running ever, hows that tongue... photo used without permission from Action Gallery - https://www.facebook.com/actiongallery, sorry okes, found it on Facebook...

Saturday saw me put the books down for a few hours to join the masses for the 2013 Tomato Trot, one of the increasingly popular fun runs on the East London running calendar.

It took great restraint to not spend the 15kms complaining to those around me about the heat and hills - I'm not one for whining en route because lets be honest, we get ourselves into these situations.  I do enjoy the occasional encounters you have though, as you find yourself linking up with people travelling at a similar average speed.

One such lady, who was running a far more consistent pace than me, remarked while passing me up a hill that she probably shouldnt have done the Parkrun at Nahoon beach that morning.  I imagine this was done to hammer home the fact that she, a woman, had just passed me up a hill, in the sweltering heat, having already put down 5kms on the dunes.  Admittedly, woman don't really think like that... but all the same, rather than be impressed what I was really thinking was 'Are you out of your FREAKING MIND, you must be off your rocker to have run twice on a day like today".

It made me want to beat her, beat her for being loopy - you shouldn't win at anything if you're deranged.  Unfortunately, I'd abandoned all expectations of a good time at the 5km mark, and had resigned myself to making good on the water sachets by 12km - the goal was now making it home.  All competitive inclinations left wilting in the sun on the gravel road.

Update: You can download the results here,

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.