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.