The future

It's 4:10ish and Im busy enjoying my 4pm coffee.  Its becoming more and more of an institution, as we approach the holidays.  This morning I threw some biscuits into my bag, in anticipation of this cup of coffee.  The biscuits were made in India, they cost about R2.50 at Nahoon Spar.

I regularly debate capitalism with housemate CP, usually shortly after I offer him an Indian biscuit.  That aside, these biscuits are a bountiful source of joy, because they represent so much more than just food.

They never go soft.  You can leave the packet open for days at a time and they remain crispy.  Its like hot chocolate that you only add water too.  It exists!  I know what that means, and that three dieticians just passed out, but in terms of sheer convenience, the future promises to be a gold mine.

The mind boggles at what food technologists everywhere are cooking up.

Wriggleswade dam

Destination Wriggleswade Dam.  A few kilometres short of Stutterheim, we hooked a right and hit the long dirt road leading to the dam.

After suffering a wrenched ankle during the final ELUF league game.  I kid you not. We have a league.  I resigned myself to spectating as housemate Nic and Cat took part in the Rotary Triathlon and Mile swim, respectively.  It was a tough call to make, but someone's got to lie in the sun and eat the picnic.

We watched the winner jog over the finish line.  He picked up his complementary loaf of bread (sponsor: Mr Bread), strolled back to his bike and packed his stuff.  Two men said well done, another man was fishing... and we ignored him - it took a while to realise this dude was actually the winner.  Very casual affair.

I attempted to track Cat's progress in the swim... but its hard enough to recognise a swimmer when you're standing next to them if they're capped and goggled.  Again, I had to settle for a cup of Quaffe and my wordy book.  I read a book at a sports event.  I just realised the significance of that.

Late night

Its friday, i go to bed in about 9 hours, which is a problem given its almost home time...

Its last-event-of-2010 time, kick a tree... and its probably a pine tree.  Kick it hard and you might get hit by a ball-bell.  Debate reigns on whether to go authentic or box-tree.  Typical white person behaviour at this time of year.
Its Christmas parties, end of year dinners, last get togethers and other food-centric events which seem to be occupying most evenings.  It also presents an opportunity for politicking in a variety of crowds - this year spanning all ages.

Each season has its share of social awkwardness; what to wear, what to drink... but most importantly... what to buy for secret santa.  With price limits set at an attainable 20 bucks, being original invariably means taking a risk.  Two years ago I received a pair of scissors.  Grateful as I am for the implement... it didn't quite say 'Christmas cheer', and so I'm wary of being too practical when picking gifts.

My input is this:  Biltong.

Dam Day

Its been a year of Friday nights at the Church and to end off we hit the Nahoon dam for a 'Dam Leaders Day'. The weather was shaky but held long enough for everyone to get wet anyway, on the tube.

Tubing. So much fun. Its the only version of 'being towed behind a boat' I've ever been any good at. And by good I mean, I can do it for an extended period. By extended period we're talking more than about 7 seconds.

I've tried skiing. The last boat driver actually said "Dont worry, I've never not been able to get someone up". I showed him. There's always that moment when you've fallen while skiing, but have still got the rope in your hands, its your will versus the friction force of water, at 20kmph. But its like gambling, the house always wins.

My awesome tubing partner and I emerged victorious, surviving a last ditch attempt by boat driver, and subscriber, Kyle. Left with sore arms and bloody shins we returned to dry land. Day well spent.

Braai

Speculation suggests that at least 20% of respondents would say 'Braai' if you said 'South Africa', as long as they were aware you were playing a word association game...

A couple of points on braaing in this country... after a weekend punctuated by boerie rolls.

- Theres always someone who gets suckered into cooking everyone's meat.  People seem to lose momentum and invariably just 'Bring'... leaving the '& Braai' to the unfortunate individual that fate lays its pointy finger on... and says 'You'.
- Wood vs. Charcoal vs. Briquettes. And yes, there is a different between Briquettes and Charcoal.  If you hadn't realised that yet, you're either unscrupulously good at not braaing for the crowd, or you're not a details man.
Real men use wood.  Men who use wood have been known to punt that fallacy.  Real men don't burn the meat.  That's how I roll.
- Rusty grids.  How this part of braai culture made it past the female contingent is a mystery, but it has.  Grid storage dilemna solved.  Just leave it outside.
- Fireman.  An important part of the braai equipment is the glass of water to subdue the flames, envigoured by the boerewors and lamb chops... but when last did anyone remember to bring it out before the braai, rather than shout 'Yo, dude... WATER!'

Morning swim

Its summer.  You may have missed that if you still set your alarm at the same time you have for the last 4 months.  I woke up at 5 on Monday and headed off to the pool.  Turns out the sun beat me to it.  Summer sun is that guy.

The before-work excersize crowd is generally speaking, obnoxious.  They know, you know, that they've sacrificed sleep in favour of an allegedly healthier lifestyle.  Now add spandex into that equation. Presenting the Joan Harrison pool crowd, a burgoening group of aspirant tri-athletes and injured runners.


Everyone's feeling fantastic about making it to the pool.  Successfully resisting the urge to align themselves with  the rest of the weary population... and the mattress.

The odd thing is that its totally quiet.  Swimming has got to be the ultimate individuals sport.

It was beautiful though.  Dawn glinting off the water, bright but not quite hot.  I may become a regular attendee.

Late application

Its been a while since I've had something to write... not that I ever really have something to write, but this time is been particularly acute.

Fortunately, the University of Fort Hare exists.  A bastion of administrative inefficiency and turmoil, and generally a good source of writings.

I've registered for a Management 3 course next year.  Anyone who's ever done a B.Comm will now be shocked.  Possibly be chuckling... wondering what possible value a Management major could add to anyone's life.  I agree... but it is merely a means to an end.  A marketing end.  More on that in 2012 when I've waded through MNG3.

It was awesome.  I'd been to the Fort already, had my application form... I'd reconn'ed the late application process and was aware of the application fee.  I had an academic record, also a separate trip, certified ID - thanks dad - and my matric certificate - thanks mom for your filing-foresight.

There was a noob infront of me, who was ill prepared and I managed to leap frog him at the bursar.  He was scribbling wildly in a  form.  I didn't make eye contact.  I'm not that guy.