What's in a name...?

I don't understand it really. But it's just the way I am. I do all my best thinking either in the shower, or when brushing my teeth. When I say 'best thinking' I don't mean that I come up with solutions to food security or world peace, but rather that this is when my brain tends to really get it's hands dirty, regardless of the idea in question.

Last night, standing in front of my bathroom mirror still dripping and wrapped in a towel after a shower, the topic of choice was names. I began to think about all the people that I'd met in my life and how so many of them seemed to display traits that were common to all the other people I'd met with the same names. Take, for example, Tyron (or any variant thereof, such as Tyrone...).

To this day, I have never met a single individual by that name that was even vaguely pleasant. Parents, if you have a boy and you don't particularly want to spend a good part of your sons life in the principles office at school being read the riot act and waxing his growing list of misdemeanours, don't name your child Tyron! It's strange, but true. My mother was a nursery school teacher and my aunt, a primary school teacher, for many years and both confirmed for me that there is indeed a hex on that name; all who bear it are nothing but trouble.

This is not to say that I believe that Tyrons the world over are evil. Far from it! I just have yet to meet one that wasn't.

This all got me thinking about how no matter what the name in question is, it is forever associated with that first person that we met who had it. Another example: I remember in primary school (elementary school for our American readers) having a girl in my class by the name of Angelique. While a tad on the naughty side, what really set her apart from the rest of us was that she had been born with a physical impairment. Her left leg had not fully developed and thus was permanently about 15cm shorter than her right leg. She wore a prosthetic leg extension all the time except for when we had to do PE (physical education - an excuse for teachers to park off and bark orders at children already burnt out from a hard day's work in the classroom).

The truly amazing thing about this girl was not her leg, but rather her approach to life. Angelique was, in spite of all that her biology had thrown at her, unstoppable! I remember that she was always very friendly, but took no nonsense from anyone. She always stood up for the underdog (with the added advantage that few people would argue with a metal reinforced plasticised leg extension...) and even when doing PE, she strove as hard as, if not harder than, all the other kids to do well. As such, this name has a number of connotations for me: scallywag, virtuous and unbeatable.

Another example from primary school was a girl by the name of Catherine. Actually, more than one by that name. And, true to form, both Catherines had equally unpleasant personalities. The first left our school shortly after entering the second grade, much to our unanimous relief. This child, in hindsight probably a deeply troubled individual, would frequently erupt into fully fledged temper tantrums in the classroom. I remember one in particular when she trashed the reading corner, tossing books willy-nilly and overturning the bookshelf, a feat I at the time marvelled at, unable to budge the bookshelf under my own strength. Obviously, rage provided a fuel unmatched by any amount of sugar and tartrezine.

The second Catherine was with us for longer than the first. But, while physical violence wasn't her thing, her skill lay in her unmatched ability to be very unpleasant. She was one of those kids that just never had anything nice to say about or to anyone. Somehow she had friends, but I certainly didn't count myself in their number. In both cases, I learned very quickly that the one thing common to the name was the tactic you used when dealing with them: don't! Just avoid them completely!

So prospective parents, think long and hard about the names that haunt and colour your past. Consult with others about the names that shaped them and give much consideration to the idea, before frivolously applying a label to your offspring!

What kind of hospital is this?!

Friday last week: Much of my evening was spent in one of the local government hospitals. I was fine, but the guy who I was there for was not. He's just been hit by a car while crossing an intersection on his motorbike. The whole incident happened as I arrived to fetch my father from our church. He'd been informed that one of the young men from the church had just been hit by a car and we had to get to him as soon as possible.

At the scene, paramedics worked rapidly and diligently to stabilise him and determine the extent of his injuries. He was then transported via ambulance to a local government hospital. We followed and ended up waiting in the ER for news of his condition. While the scenario was not one that I would wish on anyone, there was one thing that emerged as the lighter side of the evening...

I'm not sure how things are in the rest of the world, but here in South Africa, a Friday night is the night that you really don't want to have to go to a government hospital. Our government hospitals are pretty bad as is, but are the only health care available to people who don't have or cannot afford medical aid schemes and thus the luxury of a private hospital. The setting is made so much worse on a Friday because Friday nights are nights of revelry and drinking.

As we sat in the ER, a man in his 40's arrived, walking very slowly and unsteadily into the ER from the main waiting area at reception. He was clearly sozzled, but as I looked around I realised that there were very few in the ER that were not, so thought nothing of it. However, this man was different; he was on a mission.

He moved with unsteady purpose to the guy who ran the ER. I'm not sure of the job description for someone who prioritises ER cases, but I shall refer to him as Clive (I also don't know what his name was, so I can't even use that...). As the subject approached Clive, he began to speak to him in hushed tones. He spoke in English but so quietly that there was no way to understand what he was saying. Clive, having heard the full extent of his slurred story, spoke rather loudly and instructed the man to speak to the people at reception.

The subject nodded his head slowly and did a half turn back toward reception before the penny, well, didn't so much as drop as gracefully ooze through his alcohol-laden brain. Clive had not given him the help he wanted! With the sluggish fury that only the inebriated can muster, he rotated back to Clive for a repeat performance.

But Clive, moving at the pace of a normal person, was not there! Obviously befuddled and annoyed, he gyrated again to shuffle to the ER help desk. Ironically, and unfortunately for Clive, Clive had moved behind the desk to collect and deposit paperwork. As Clive looked up and saw the drunkard approaching, he moved quickly, shuffling papers and trying to get things in order before the drunkard could get to him. Alas, he was too slow.

The drunkard arrived, apparently pleased to see Clive behind the desk. He began to recount he tale to Clive again, but Clive, obviously a conscientious man, had a job to do and would not tolerate this man's ramblings much longer. He instructed the drunkard to step aside and that he would help him in a moment.

Apparently pleased with the outcome, the drunkard obliged, standing in the centre of the chaotic ER, occasionally swaying from side to side with a look of complete incomprehension on his face. A moment later, Clive emerged and took his new chum aside. He informed the man that his wife, who he was apparently here to see, was in the Gynecology ward on the first floor and that it was well past visiting hours, but they would allow him to go up and see her. Apparently satisfied with this, the drunkard inquired as to how to get to the Gynecology ward. Clive, having given up on being civil, told him in a stiff tone to take the elevator. Apparently we had all underestimated just how much revelry our subject had engaged in because his next question must have really been the last straw for Clive.

'But how do I get the elevator to work?'

Clive, now stiffling chuckles, instructed him to press the number '1' button on the panel in the elevator and it would take him to the floor he wanted. The man appeared satisfied with this and slower than before rotated toward the elevator. Having performed a 180 turn, he then turned back to the space where Clive had been. This time, his wobbly anger was directed at the hospital as an institution. He began to mutter things like, 'What button? I don't see any button here!' and 'What kind of a hospital is this?!' all while pressing his thumb to random sections of the wall in the hopes that they would activate the elevator and transport him to the floor above.

After about 5 min of observing this, one of our party took pity on the man and guided him to the elevator, put him into it and pressed the appropriate button for him. We assume he found his wife because we never saw him again. That or he collapsed somewhere and slept it off...

Pessimism and the W.C.

No, not that W.C. ! The World Cup of course!

The W.C. What can I say...Firstly, I sincerely hope that they never get to host it in this country again for as long as I live! I know, I know...I'm unpatriotic and un-South African...blah blah blah. But there are some really big reasons why I'm anti-W.C. at the moment.

Numero uno: It's been really irritating because absolutely everything now is about the world cup! Just the other day, my uncle went to the licensing department to try and get his car re-licensed and the place was closed, only to open an hour later. The reason? The staff were being taught the official world cup dance (it's called the diski dance for those who need to know; what diski has to do with soccer, I have no freaking clue...)! We have a world cup dance?! I mean really! Can't the money that was spent on hiring a Fifa-approved choreographer have been put to better use?! But thank God that now, should some misguided tourist waft into the licensing department and ask for the staff to break into dance, they will be able to deliver without hesitation! Now if only they could process their forms with that kind of efficiency...

Secondly, our country has been inundated with billions of flags. There are flags on everything! People have flags on their cars, houses, children...you name it, it's done! Actually, the children part, I have yet to come across, but I am fairly certain there are a few branded kiddies out there, unaware that they are punting their parent's favourite team. None the less, the flags are a bit much! They have even invented side-mirror socks which allow you to display the flag of your choice on your side mirrors! To give you an idea of how bad it is, several of the houses in our area now display little plastic flags all along their walls; not just of one country,mind you! They display the flags of every team that will be playing! So it's not even about supporting a team!

Once again, the futility of displaying all the flags like this doesn't seem to have dawned on most of the populous. In my opinion, foreigners are not likely to adorn their exorbitantly priced rental vehicles with the flags of their homes so the competition for best soccer supported is a little unfairly weighted toward the SA guys. They are also unlikely to have difficulty in identifying South African drivers on the roads, certainly not up here in Joburg. Just look out for the ones who are aiming at the other cars...that's us! So the need for South Africans to plaster flags over everything is completely unfounded...

Just the other day, I was on my way in to Wits on the highway when I saw, lying dirty and damaged in the freshly cut grass of the middle island, one of those horrid car flags which had obviously snapped off it's host car as they zoomed down the freeway. I felt so good to see it, which gives you some idea of just how sick I am of the stupid flags...

Thirdly, and most importantly, Fifa has demanded that for the duration of the world cup, all street vendors, hawkers and street salesmen are to be rounded up and arrested if they are caught selling their wares on the streets of the host cities! So effectively for two months, these people who make a meagre living on a good day, are to be deprived of their income! Not to mention that Fifa should be paying them compensation for this, but also, the hawkers are such a typically South African thing and by removing them they are also detracting from the full South African experience of visitors!

Other than that, we're all very excited!

Apparently some soccer fundi says that Bafana will be at an advantage because of the fact that they are used to playing with the vuvuzelas and rowdy crowds of South African Soccer. So perhaps we do stand a chance after all!

Well, that was a complete waste of time!

After a good 7 hours, I've finally finished marking the first batch of my medic's practical exams. And I'm not-so-proud to announce that if a third of them pass, it'll be a miracle! It's SO depressing when you mark and realise that all those hours that you spent typing up notes, preparing lectures, giving lectures, preparing practicals and supervising practicals were all for naught. Nothing has sunken in...

It's quite amazing how little understanding of the world they have! For example, my friend Athena, who has not studied biology at all and considers her knowledge of biology limited, appears to have a better grasp of the anatomy of a rat than the average medical student who dissected the wretched creatures for a whole THREE WEEKS!!!

What also leaves me completely speechless is there inability to perform relatively simplistic and straight-forward tasks, like read the instructions on their exam paper. The number of students that completely ignore the instructions and write what they feel the question should be asking is scary to say the least.

Prime example: One of the questions asked them to plot a line graph of a set of mass-specific metabolic rates (basically how much energy used for every gram of body mass in a given time) against their corresponding mass values. What do I get?

A million graphs of mass-specific metabolic rate plotted against species, or mass against species!!! Every possible combination except the one they were ASKED for!!!

(In case you were wondering, I'm a little frustrated and despairing at the moment. I think I'll go home and it'll all be okay in the morning...)

Am I deep enough for Emo, or shallow enough for Scene...?

http://littleblackcherry.bttradespace.com/ViewPost.aspx?ID=28

The above, much like Eebee's post, make me wonder about the fate of human kind.


Emo is just about the only social movement which makes me REALLY annoyed. While I cannot claim to be a fan of rap music and gang culture, Emo trumps it, hands down. There's just so much about it that is really irritating! Where do I begin?!

I'll start at the top and work my way down.

I've always wished that I had straighter hair. It would make it manageable. But I would never go through all the effort that emos (is that even a real word...?) go through to make my hair look straw-like and lifeless. Something else that many people fail to realise is that straight hair works for some people and just doesn't for others! I was at a party recently where a friend of a friend announced that he had spent the 2 hours prior to the party straightening his hair (not that we could really tell...it was still all curly). Now, I am fairly certain that most normal males live by the principal of 'if you have clothes on and the mop is vaguely under control, you are now socially acceptable'. So the fact that the emo movement has resulted in a borderline-hysterical buy-up if hair straighteners by men, worries me...

The other element of the emo hair that I find...amusing, to tell the truth, is the obsession with the long fringes (bangs) which must be drawn down over the face. I love walking through campus and seeing an emo kid walking down a corridor, face entirely obscured by their hair. Occasionally, the hair will rise briefly as they blow furiously at if from underneath in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the outside world. While this (somehow) appears not to be done out of annoyance, it appears more to function by preventing collisions with other people and stationary objects.

Helen described the typical emo hairstyle very well: an upside-down mullet.

Next is the make-up. This is about one of the only things that I think works from the emo movement. Eyeliner makes everyone look so much more dramatic and in many cases can really accentuate beautiful eyes! Again, it really works on some people, and not so much on others. In my opinion, the best are those who try to keep is as simple as possible. The alternative is nothing short of ridiculous...

Image from here and here

Then the clothing. There is a reason why girls jeans are made for girls. I saw a Fall Out Boy music video last night in which Pete Wentz was wearing a pair of bright red skinny jeans. The boy looked like the depressed elf that escaped Santa's workshop! It was ridiculous! Having said that, other elements of the emo gettup I like. I'm a fan of black, so that's one plus to their image.

I think the element of emo-ism that annoys me the most is the pseudo-psychology of it. It is a movement that arose from the ashes of the American dream in white suburbia where teens were growing up, wanting for nothing, and this really pissed them off. They had nothing to be angry about and thus they became angry at their lack of anything to direct their rage at. From there it was a hop, skip and jump to being broody, withdrawn and in many cases resorting to self-mutilation and suicide. In short the social aspects of emoism border on pathological.

I personally know of people who are in that exact scenario (albeit, not in America...), provided with everything that they could ask for and resorting to self-injury because it is the done thing as an emo. In truth, this element of the movement has left me with a great deal of pity for emos. Their existance is so fragile and sad that one cannot help but pity them. Another part of me wants to slap across the face really hard and shout 'Snap out of it you stupid *&%#$! Your life doesn't suck!'


Now for the twist in the tale: In order to show that I harbour no ill-feelings toward emoism, and to avoid being one of those people who everone says "...don't knock it 'til you try it" to I, tomorrow, shall become emo. Helen has agreed to help me out and we shall take photos and I shall post them.

How to save a species on the brink...

I've just finished having a rather in-depth discussion with my supervisor about the film '11th Hour'. I've not seen it as the idea of sitting through another 'Inconvenient Truth' (Al Gore couldn't even put the ocean currents around Africa flowing in the right direction!!!), this time headed by a pretty-boy multi-millionaire from Hollywood, put me off it somewhat. However, from what my supervisor just told me, I may even go get it to watch this very night!

But this is not the point of this story. What really came out of our discussion, and something that has been plaguing me for some time is the global lack of change, in spite of all the warning signs that we are at the end of our tether. National Geographic published an article on the global food crisis this month in which they outlined the dilemma: most of the planet has been living off food reserves accumulated over the last odd 50 years or so and now the vast majority are either near or completely depleted.

Even much closer to home, the effects of climate change are apparent. Johannesburg had snow last year for the first time in about 45 years. This year, our winter has been milder and also considerably wetter than ever before. While I realise that this is purely anecdotal, it still makes me wonder about how close we are to breaking point.

The problem, as I see it, is a global fixation on capital gain. Saving the species from obliteration hasn't happened because there's no money in it. This is taken to the extreme when one considers that many 'green' techniques that can be employed by people to curb the oncoming behemoth are drastically simple and actually save money.

A prime example is garbage. In many EU countries at the moment, refuse is expected to be separated by households into plastics, metals, paper, biodegradable and other. They have dedicated bins and collection days. Why then do we not have such a system in South Africa? Well, you will say, because we don't have the infra-structure in this country for it. Or alternatively, that'd require employing more people and the government won't pay for that.

While I certainly agree with the latter point, the first point is a bunch of nonsense. The infra-structure exists already but is not adequately utilized! For example, many people in the greater Johannesburg area already go sifting through peoples rubbish to collect the various recyclable components. They then take these off to companies who pay them to do it. Now, what could be easier than separating out the rubbish ahead of time for these people. Not only do you allow them to potentially collect more from other people by freeing up that time they would have spent sifting through your trash, but you are also providing them with a source of income! Eco-friendly meets social up-liftment!

The other problem facing greener life changes is people's lack of willingness to change. Strategies such as the above require effort that people are just not prepared to expend. If you are one of these, then here's an alternative for you. Why not separate at least you biodegradable material from you other rubbish and start a compost heap?

What could possibly require less effort than throwing all your bio-rubbish into a large pile and ignoring it?!

As for the point about the government not forking out the money for green programs...We have some of the most progressive environmental laws in the world in South Africa. Our water act was one of the first to stipulate that environmental functioning requires a certain amount of water and that any excess over and above that was free for human use. So why is the government not helping out more? Because we, the people that live on their land, don't hold them to it! If more pressure was put on government to fund green initiatives and if more people made use of green programs such as recycling programs or car-pooling to reduce emissions and the like, there would be more scope for government to engage with green initiatives.

In short, we, as individuals need to change now as we can't wait for the government fat-cats to decide to do things. There are many different ways in which we could change our lifestyles to prevent the upcoming monster. I, myself, recycle, have a compost heap and am a vegetarian. My house has solar-heated water and up until recently due to work-related changes in my timetable, used to ride public transport which reduces carbon emissions per head. What are you doing? It's up to you and I to save humanity!

Nothing more can go wrong! I've used up all my 'bads'!

I've been told that bad things happen in threes. Well Universe, I've used up all three of mine! First there was the accident on the weekend, then yesterday left me in a bad mood and finally today's little incident...

Last night, while working out, my good pal David told me that I 'looked tired' and that I should take more time off for myself to just chill. I agreed with him as I have had very little me time lately, but had to admit that I had too much to do to really give myself the time I might need. But, I decided to just have a relaxing evening, free of work, in spite of the fact that I knew I'd feel terribly guilty for not having done the work.

So this morning, after sleeping in an extra hour (shame on me!), I headed off to university as I always do. I had to stop off at the shops on my way as I'm having a bake-off with one of my lab-mates and I needed supplies for the amazing cake I shall concoct for tomorrow (Prepare to be blown away with my AWESOME baking skills!). So, I stopped off at the local Pick-n-Pay to collect supplies, and my air-ticket to France (unrelated to the cakes...) and went to the car to head off to varsity.

And then it happened...my car refused to start. It had been giving trouble lately, but nothing serious. Then, this morning, it decided that it had had enough. There I was, stuck under a shopping centre in a car that looks like it could have been part of a medieval invasion force and a huge wad of guilt from not having worked last night.

So I called the AA and was helped by a very polite woman who obviously thought that your phone bill was based on how loudly you spoke because I could barely hear her at all. I heard more from the fax machine in her office than from her, which made our communications...interesting.

After taking all of my details, and her disbelief that my surname could be a first name, like Duncan, she asked me to tell her where I was. I told her that I was at Bedford Centre, in the underground parking lot. She asked me where it was. I told her it was under the shopping centre's roof parking area. No, she meant where Bedford Centre was. I said it was in Bedfordview. But where's that?

Luckily, the conversation didn't escalate to me mentioning which planet we were on, but it came close...

Eventually, after asking me three times what colour car I drove, she announced that the 'roadside-assistance' would be there in 60-90min. I thanked her for her help and swore under my breath once the call had ended. What would I do for the next 90 min?!

Luckily for me, I had my laptop with me! So I whipped it out and did what any self-respecting individual would...I played cards! Hearts specifically. Not for long though as some misguided hope raised its stupid head in my heart and made me think that if the guy had to show up, I should probably be visible and not in my car playing cards...

So I climbed out the car, trying to use up as much time as possible in doing so without looking like a complete freak. It used up about 15 seconds at the most...

Realising the prematurity of my move out of the car, I decided to check my email on my phone. I was so glad I did! It used up so much of my time! Helen's post about the licensing department kept me thoroughly entertained while I watched all the local old folks wander around the parking lot (I think they get discounted groceries on Thursdays...) and occasionally find one another, exchanging greetings with as much enthusiasm as they could muster.

It was at this point that I had a thought...When did I last check the oil? AGES ago! I hope that the engine hasn't seized because I forgot to check the oil and it's run dry! Luckily for me, there is a service station right at the centre I was at so I just nipped over and bought a can of oil to put in the car. Lucky I did too! The car was almost completely empty!

Just then I recieved a call from the AA to say that the assitance would be there within the next 20 min. Grateful, I thanked them and ended the call. I glanced down at my watch and realised that it had only taken them a good hour and 15 minutes so far! So I continued to read through my email to pass the time.

I then recieved another call to say that the assistance was only 10 min away. Foolishly I looked to my watch and realised that the last '10 min' had actually been about 30. Luckily, the guy showed up almost immediately, managed to start the car, very sternly suggested I find an auto-electrician and sent me on my way. Very thankful to be in a running car again, I scooted home to find out the number for our mechanic. Once home, I realised I'd forgotten to get some of my ingredients for the cake...

Pathological altruism...?

Sometimes I wonder whether, by helping other people out, I'm not harming myself. Today was a good example. Now, before I carry on, I would like for Helen and Megan to know that I helped them out because I genuinely wanted to, not out of some misplaced sense of responsibility. So don't come and apologise!

Today I got up and drove through to Kempton park to pick up a bottle of 200% alcohol for Helen. It was rather exciting because it was the first time I'd ever been out to that area of the world, so apart from the interest factor of finding out where all our lab supplies come from, I had the bonus of not having a clue where I was headed! But I managed to find the place in spite of the property owners best efforts to ensure that nobody finds their place by putting the world's most minuscule street number on the outside.

Once inside I had to stand at the entrance to the supply dock and dance around to try and get the attention of the workers inside. I think that there had been a power failure, because the warehouse was in darkness and the bell didn't seem to do anything despite my enthusiastic bushing on the button. I hope that bell works when the power returns...

After about half an hour of faffing on the part of the workers, they gave me the alcohol and I was on my way to university. Once here, I handed over the little gift to Helen and headed down to my lab. It was minutes after sitting down in my seat that Megan snatched me up to help her clean up the mice cages in the next room. We just had to change the bedding, but it's a procedure that requires two people as all the mice are essentially wild-caught and are not anywhere near tame yet. Today was a good day, with only 4 escape!

One escaped into the very large rubbish bag, which we had to dig through to try and get the mouse out of, but other than that one, they were all fairly minor escapes.

After we had done about 15 cages, we decided to take a break from all the sawdust and give Sneha, our lab-mate, a chance to actually use her desk without choking to death on all the dust we made. So I returned to my desk to be intercepted by one of the honours students.

I'm co-supervising her project as it really came out of my own work, so I have to help her out when she hits a snag. So we discussed her problem and came to the conclusion that we didn't really understand the problem itself. So we left it to sort out at a later stage.

Megan then asked me to help finish off the remaining mice, which we did. Then, it was off to the zoo to swap ex-test subjects (i.e. mice) for seeds with the zoo. They have a system whereby we take them all the mice that we have used in experiments (NOTE: NOT of the vivisection kind!) that have been euthanized to be fed to the birds of prey and in exchange, we are given bags of seeds to be fed to the mice. It's kinda like recycling the mice, in a twisted sort of way...

But the person I was supposed to meet there wasn't available! It turned out that she had recieved my email about meeting her at 14h00 at the zoo and had replied to me at 14h00 to say that she couldn't make it but that I should speak to Freddy instead...I was not amused. I did also have to drop off some stuff with the zoo's head office for my supervisor, which I managed, so I'm glad that's out of the way.

Now I'm off to fetch my mother from work who's car has been stolen by my father because it is cold and so he doesn't feel like riding his scooter to work...

Well, I must be off or I shall be late. So, am I pathologically altruistic? I leave that up to you to decide...

It could be anywhere...

So this hasn't been my best weekend ever. Admittedly, it's been a pretty good one except for the little bumper-bashing that I was involved in last night. It wasn't a fun experience. And I had a pretty good track record as far as traffic accidents go...

Anyway, that's not the point of this post. At the moment I am house-sitting for a couple who have taken a long weekend off, seeing as Tuesday is a public holiday here in South Africa. I can't remember which public holiday it is. We have so many here (in fact, we have 12 days off a year!). I suppose that's what happens when your country has a political revolution and is liberalised after an extended period of imposed unilateral control.

I've just googled it and apparently Tuesday is Youth Day.

So, having spent the day out and about, I returned this evening to discover feathers all over the house. They appear to be from a hoopoe which, at some stage, must have somehow gotten into the house. I just hope that it was able to escape. I don't want to open a cupboard and have a bird fly out at my face...

Joined at the hip...? Thank goodness, no!

Everyone has one at least. They are those people who are part of the staff where we work who drive everyone else insane! Ours comes in the form of a diminutive Russian man with no concept of personal hygiene, or personal space. I shall refer to him as Mr. S.

Now, for some unknown reason, Mr. S seems to think that I am his best buddy. It's really quite a useful position to be in as he tends to control the flow of important hardware around our department, such as field equipment, laptops and the like. Being his chum (in the loosest sense of the word...) means that I normally have access to all these things with minimal effort.

On the down side, he seems to think that I go about my day, yearning to have conversations with him at close quarters...

A really good example of this occurred last week when he came to discuss some recording equipment with Megan. Megan is trying to record ultra-sonic communication in rodents as part of her MSc project. As a result, Mr. S has had dig up equipment that has not seen the light of day in eons. Last week, he brought the equipment down to our lab for her to try and figure out. Once he had dropped it all off and left, we spent the rest of our Monday afternoon fiddling with the various cables and microphones to try and get all of it to work.

By the end of that fiddling session, we had come to the conclusion that there were various pieces missing and that Megan would have to contact Mr. S and get him to find all the missing bits. Megan then contacted Mr. S and asked him to find the parts she needed which he did. This was then the beginning of the problem.

He arrived in our lab with a box of various cables. Because he and I are best buddies, he, now well enveloped in my personal space, began to ask me a barrage of questions about why I needed these cables and what it was that I was trying to do. I pointed out that I wasn't trying to do anything and that it was in fact Megan's project. However, with my pitifully minuscule knowledge of sound recording equipment, I managed to answer most of his questions.

He decided that the information that I had given him while Megan sat, somewhat anxiously yet a little deflated after being completely sidelined from her own research, in the background, was sufficient and that we had to go and see if one of the other staff members knew anything about the missing cables and how to work the contraption in the first place. Mr. S beckoned me to follow him, which I then echoed onto Megan and the three of us went a-wandering.

Mr. S also has an annoying habit of letting himself into peoples offices and labs without request, as he has a key for every room in our building. So, it was with a surprised and somewhat terrified face that we were greeted by the last staff member to have ever had anything to do with the equipment. After a good grilling from Mr. S, we left the bewildered staff member to return to our lab.

Upon our return to the lab, Mr. S continued to interrogate me as to what it was that I wanted to do. Again, I reinforced the point that it wasn't my project. As if oblivious to anything I had just said, he suggested that I look up the contraption on the Internet, which I dutifully did, seeing the opportunity as a chance to remove myself from his fetid aura (if you know what I mean...). So, at the comfort of my desk I began searching the net. To my horror, a dark, smelly presence took up residence on my left arm. Mr. S had realised that a small area of my desk was not being occupied by paper and felt that this was an open invitation to take up the space and direct my surfing over my shoulder. I found myself performing swimming breaths in order to remain consious at my laptop. Eventually, after about three web-pages had been thoroughly reviewed, he decided (thankfully!!!) that I was not achieving the results he desired and that he would find it all himself.

He departed, leaving a sniggering Megan and a shell-shocked me to breathe (literally). About 10 min later he reappeared with a large wad of paper which he claimed was the manual, printed off the internet.

Which is worse...?

Question: Which is worse? People who indicate and proceed to NOT turn/change lanes while driving or people who turn/change lanes WITHOUT indicating?

It's a question which I still can't figure out the answer to. Lately I've been spending a great deal of my time in traffic (which is odd given that there are fewer students around at the moment what with their exams and all...) and there are an alarmingly high number of individuals who do these annoying things. Another thing which I find frustrating about driving is the lack of decisiveness in drivers.

For example, this morning on my way in, I had the misfortune of being stuck behind some girl who appeared to have had her drivers license for approximately the last two minutes. She was supremely un-confident about having to actually use her car and having indicated, refused to change lanes until she had at least 500m of car-free road on all sides.

I know that Johannesburg drivers tend to be particularly aggressive and that we are not particularly tolerant of other driving styles, but I am a firm believer that one should feel comfortable driving one's car and should not live in trepidation of having to encounter another vehicle, even if they are going in the opposite direction to you.

On the other hand, I know that I really should just chill and not let it get to me. But where's the drama in that?! Drama is what makes life fun!

Golly, I need a holiday...

I'm enjoying this WAY too much!

For those of you who have never had the fortune (whether good or bad, depends on your outlook) to teach students at any stage, one of the features of the job which can be rather painful is marking. One's responses to students work can range from blinding rage to hysterical laughter. It is the latter that has brought me to write this post.

Over the last two months, I took on my first lecturing job ever. It's been great! I've really enjoyed it immensely! It's fantastic to be able to teach people about something that they've never done or heard of before, and to see them getting excited about what you tell them makes a world of difference!

However, it is when the marking starts that you begin to wonder, 'Are they really this stupid, or am I just a really bad lecturer...?'. Within the last week, I've had to invigilate two exams and I am now in the course of marking both lots. And, because of all the stuff I've read in their exams, I, along with a couple of friends, have decided to start a sister-blog where I shall publish the best of the stupid stuff students write. It is...

Scary things students *think* they know...

I've been told I enjoy the marking way too much and must learn to appreciate the mundane nature of the job...

Well, that's 10 hours you'll never get back...

It's been one of those days. The kind where you end up doing loads of admin but feel that you have achieved absolutely nothing all day. I've been doing statistics for undergraduate students all day, which has been a pain. Mostly because they have no idea what's going on but insist on asking about the most arbitrary points in the hope that I will somehow think that they have a clue.

Now, ask anyone, my stats knowledge is not amazing, but I do know a few things. That's why I got so ticked off with one pair of sibling students that came, with the rest of their group, to sort out their stats. In all fairness, the one sibling had some common sense, so my frustration wasn't directed at them both, only the dumb one...

She kept trying to come up with 'practical' (read: lazy-ass) solutions to her stats in an effort to have to do less work. She also kept asking really stupid questions like, 'When you say we should make a bar graph with the averages for each variable plotted according to the times they were sampled, what do you mean?', to which I would answer with, 'Well, basically plot a bar graph with the averages for each variable plotted according to the times they were sampled...'

And, to add to the unbelievably annoying nature of the individual, she has a lip-ring. Now, I personally am not against the idea of lip piercings (Quite the opposite! I wanted to get one for myself!), and the design of her ring is simple and silver, but somehow, it just makes this individual SO much mor obnoxious and annoying! It's amazing!

So, having done the stats and a little admin, I'm sitting at my desk, hoping that somehow, just for today, time will speed up and the end of the day will suddenly be upon me, forcing me home...

Off to youtube then to be unproductive!

On music

Ironically, without intending to do so I have chosen the same topic for today's post as Eebee did for his. Actually, it's not the same exactly, but along similar lines. For me it was all brought about by my arriving at my lab to discover that our cleaning lady, Sarah, was working away at polishing our countertops, with her cell-phone blaring gospel music in that tiny-distorted cell-phone kinda way. While I certainly have nothing against gospel music, I was a little taken aback at the fact that she felt that it was okay to play music in my office while I was trying to work. But I digress...

In addition to the above musical incident, I was listening to the latest Dido album today for the first time. It's really not bad! My friend David had listened to it and warned me that the vast majority of the album was rubbish but there were one or two tracks that were worthwhile. While I certainly think that there are no tracks on the album (so far...) that are nearly as catchy as some of her previous stuff, it's really not as bad as he made it out to be!

After reading Eebee's post about his top 5 most annoying music 'artists', I feel I have to put my ten cents worth in and rant a little. I have to agree that Nickleback has to be one of the most annoying bands on the planet! They have produced a grand total of about 2 original songs, figured 'Hey! This works!' and decided to clone them for the following 6 ALBUMS!!!

Now, no offense to fans, but they also exploit something in every teenage girl which drives me nuts! They write their songs as these soppy lyrics, masquerading as a rock band. Someone, please have a child by them so that they can go the way of all musicians who have children; an subsequent album with songs riddled with soppy titles like, 'My little angel', following which their career takes a nose dive, never to recover. The world would be a better place! I promise!

Then, Coldplay. I think that both Nickleback and Coldplay suffer from the same problem. Neither are able to inject a smidgen of originality into their music! But I shan't repeat the above rant for them too...

Next on my hate-list is Jay-Z. This man is about as musical as a jack-hammer. While I certainly consider most rappers with disdain due to the fact that what they do is NOT music, his tracks in particular irritate me because of their shallowness and lack of variability. While the backtracks for many of them are really quite good, and in some rare cases, generate that instant tapping foot thing that happens with a good beat, the fact that he 'sings' about how awesome he is and how much money he has, makes me sick. How insecure can you be as a person to feel confident about 'singing' your own praises?!

Then there is the beloved Akon. While I take pride in the fact that he is a fellow African and thus feel a certain kinship with the man, and apart from his various inappropriate stage cavortings with underage children, I would compare his voice to that of a toddler having a temper-tantrum. What possessed music executives to sign him on, is beyond me. What also amazes me is how many people actually like his music! It's amazing!

And thus, I shall end my rant. Sorry to any of you readers who are fans. These are just my opinions and I am a firm believer that music taste is an individual matter and shouldn't be a measure of a persons character.

Incurring the wrath of the gods...

Does anyone believe in the Gods of Traffic? Because if you do, please would you let me know what I did wrong this morning! I got out of bed, got dressed, did some sit-ups, had breakfast, washed up and left the house, as I always do. There was nothing particularly special about today, as far as I know, and yet, it went so horribly wrong.

I normally take the hiway to get to university after 9am as it is much faster than driving through, or around, the city to get there from where I live. But today, as I drove on the bridge that crosses over the hiway I looked over and saw that the hiway was completely jammed up. So I decided that dispite the fact that I avoid alternatives because of how much longer they take, I would take the long way round.

I got stopped at the first traffic light. I waited patiently and pulled off once the light went green, as one does. I'd literally been moving for about a minute when I got stopped at the second light. I was a little annoyed as the two lights are about 250m apart, so it's not very far. Here too, I waited patiently and then pulled off. By the third light, another 200m down the road, I was stopped again. This trend continued throughout the morning...

At one stage I knew that there was a longish straight stretch of road, only interrupted by a traffic circle, and so I was rather optimistic about making up for lost time on this stretch. But to my horror, as I pulled up to the circle, a mechanical digger pulled into the road in front of me! And this one was in no hurry to get anywhere at all.

Along my way to university today I was further slowed by one accident (not involving me...thank goodness!) and large road-works which backed up traffic for about three blocks. All in all, my driving experiences of this morning were not ideal and probably would have put any learner drivers off the idea of driving for life.

So after approximately 55min on the road (it usually takes me about 15-20min) I got to university. Once there I discovered to my horror that my supervisor wasn't present! This normally wouldn't phase me, but at the moment I'm really stuck with my work and I can't figure out what to do, hense the need to have him around. So, to calm my nerves, I decided to go to do some photocopying.

I got to the copy room and swiped my copy card in the machine. Nothing happened. Now I know that I am prone to swiping it the wrong way round and so I inevitably have to do it a few times before I get it right. But today, literally nothing happened no matter what I did. I eventually called over the secretary for help and she, after a barrage of questions and a completely incredulous tone, came to my aid. Or, at least, that was her intention.

We finally concluded that the machine had finally given up the ghost and that I should come back later when the other one was free for use. So I retreated to my lab to check my e-mail, which apart from some creative spam and one joke e-mail, wasn't particularly exciting.

I hope that the day improves...

We’re better than you – and we know it!

So, I recently wrote a guest-post for Helen's blog about child-birth. Following the raving success of my musings, I requested a guest-post from Helen, and here it is...

We’re better than you – and we know it!

I started going to gym about 6 months ago, took a break while I ran up and down mountains chasing lizards and then started again after I went scuba-diving and realised that my arm muscles have almost completely atrophied to a point where I was unable to pull myself up and into the boat. To my credit, it’s a pretty high boat…

I like gym. Maybe it’s just my masochistic side that loves being exhausted to a point where I can barely climb the stairs to the exit (whoever designed the place was a moron), and maybe it’s that I love turning in my ipod and ignoring the world around me as I run until I just can’t anymore. But as the weeks go by, I can’t help but notice the different people who go to the gym. And while it was fun to invent back-stories for them at first, now I find myself allocating them to groups:

Soccer-mom gym bunnies: these are most common if you go to gym midmorning. They are the type to have perfect manicures, matching gym outfits and running shoes and hair that is blow-dried into perfect pouffyness after every session. They tend to travel in packs and between dropping Soleil off at violin and picking Kyle up from karate class (in a gigantic SUV that is never going to go more off-road than parking at the local mall) they are seen running side-by-side on treadmills chatting about their personal lives in rather strident tones. I’m never sure which annoys me more: that they are so loud about what should be private; that their private lives aren’t interesting enough to warrant eavesdropping or that they never seem to sweat. Either way the unspoken competitive streak is there: they are always best friends as long as whoever their gym-buddy is doesn’t lose more weight than them.

Early morning high-achievers: I run into these guys a lot because they tend to go to gym either before work (at around 6am) or after work (around 7pm). I don’t mind these people as they tend to be driven, focused and above all, silent. They arrive early; do their gym routine as quickly as possible before showering, blow-drying hair and applying makeup at lightning speed and then rushing off to work where I presume the PA will have a cup of coffee waiting. I think, on some level, we all want to be like them, as long as it doesn’t come complete with a midlife crisis, stomach ulcer and high blood pressure.

The ex-early morning high-achievers: I feel quite sorry for these guys (they’re always male). These are the people who used to be high-powered yuppies, but years of long hours in the competitive business environment as well as family braais and rugby on the weekend leave them with a lovely beer-gut and the stamina to play 9 holes of golf, but not too much more. Then they hit middle age, realise they are going bald, buy a sports car and try very hard to get their secretaries interested in them. I hate to admit it, but whenever I drive past an oldish man in a sports car I feel the urge to cough ‘Midlife crisis!’ at them and giggle while zooming off. Fortunately I’m not that immature. Anymore anyway. So at the gym these guys still feel as if they are 25. They compete with everyone – not in the macho bodybuilder way where they know they’re better and they show off because they can, but in a rather sad, masochistic way. For instance, they still never ever use any equipment without adding extra weights. Even if they are doing a circuit behind the toughest weightlifter in the country, they will add weights. Of course this means that they usually can’t do anything with any level of control and they end up jerking and dropping weights everywhere. They’re also usually limited to about 2 reps per machine in order to avoid an aneurysm, but they make up for this by glowering at everyone around them and puffing their chest out if they see anyone lifting less than them (although ‘lifting’ is a bit of an overstatement…).

A new generation of stage-mothers: These are the soccer-moms at a whole new level – once the kids get too rebellious for ballet lessons or something they start accompanying their mothers to the gym. I’m not talking about the little kids who go to the play area, or about the bored kids who wander around and poke at anything with buttons (I mean machines, get your minds out the gutter!). Generally these are the pre-teen daughters who are being trained into eating disorders and compulsive exercise regimes at a nice early age. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be more supportive of mothers who teach their kids to be healthy and exercise regularly, but these mothers take it to the extreme, effectively living vicariously through their kids. As long as the little darling can run on the treadmill without being propped up, she will continue and therefore be fitter, thinner and altogether better than everyone else’s kids. Unfortunately most other others get this idea too, and so, if you go to gym in the middle of the afternoon you will see row upon row of bobbing blonde ponytails as the kids exercise while their mothers glare at each other and feel obligated to point out every single flaw in every other child (in a very subtle stage whisper) to their own spawn. After gym they will go and get smoothies and go and have pedicures together, in training for the next generation of overachievers who will probably end up as soccer moms.

The macho-men: much like how girls find it difficult to go to the bathroom alone, men find it difficult to go to gym without an entourage. Of course there is always the slight issue of who is in charge, and who forms the entourage, but that’s all in the friendly spirit of competition! These guys go to the gym in groups of three or four and take turns throwing weights around while making macho grunting noises. These guys range from late teens to late twenties, and as time passes the friendly competition becomes more and more intense. Sometimes the guys are really keen on getting in shape and they work hard and appreciate the accountability of belonging to such a group, but as far as I’ve noticed, there is quite often at least one member of the group who lies to feel macho. I’m not sure if this person goes to gym on his own, secretly, or if he just has a high pain threshold, but he’s always pushing the others way out of their comfort zones. This group has an unspoken rule that whatever one of them can lift/bench-press/leg press or whatever, they can all lift. So the scrawny little guy who invariably made friends with the others over an exciting game of D&D and who gets winded throwing the dice more than twice in a row… well lets just say that it’s not pretty to watch him gritting his teeth and straining… on the plus side, people like me get to watch the mach guys and picture them in twenty years time, with receding hairlines and the onset of a beer gut, trying desperately to regain lost youth… yes, they are well on their way to becoming ex-early morning high achievers!

The normal people: I know this post is coming across as bitter and cynical, but I think a lot of that attitude comes from seeing how uncomfortable the various stereotypes make the regular people. They don’t necessarily try, but the macho groups, or the soccer-moms in their designer gym gear can really make the man on the street a bit unhappy. These are the people who wear an old tracksuit and takkies, who actually sweat while exercising (and not in the tough, projectile-type sweat of the macho men either), who take breaks to catch their breath, who stand with their heads tilted, staring at the newest piece of equipment, tying to figure out if it’s a leg-machine, arm-machine, ATM, or a bench to rest on. These are the folks who occasionally feel so intimidated that they try to break out of their routine, where they invariably end up setting the treadmill at 30km/hr on an incline and go flying backwards (true story, I saw it last week!). So normal people, I salute you! Keep tying, and then, one day, when you bench-press more than the nearest macho-man, I will break out into applause as he tries to beat you and burst a blood vessel!

Zee Old Folks: These guys are the terror of most gym-goers (according to 100% of people surveyed, which was basically the last 5 people I spoke to. Thanks guys!). They aren’t too bad while exercising, they tend to do their own thing, usually involving swimming or walking. They aren’t necessarily ancient, in fact the mental image I have while typing this is of a 50-something woman. The reason that the image is burned into my brain? Because these people are the terror of the change room. Yes, the people who you would probably never want to see naked, are the ones who finish their workouts and then proceed to walk around the change rooms stark naked.

This is the scenario: you finish your workout and go to change or take a shower, but then you realise that there is a middle-aged naked person standing in from of your locker, having a conversation with someone across the room. This makes me very uncomfortable, because I hate to interrupt a conversation, don’t want to stare but am uncomfortable making eye-contact with a naked person. At the same time, tapping a naked person on the shoulder… awwwkward… my response is usually to go and wash my face, maybe go to the bathroom and come back later. This doesn’t usually work though and eventually I mutter “excuse me!” while staring at a point about two feet to the left of their head. Then you grab your stuff and go and shower quickly, avoiding looking at another one of zee old folks, who will be showering with the shower door open. WHY???

Then you get back from the shower, usually walking next to the person who was showering with the door open, to find that they will walk, naked, while CARRYING their towel. Seriously, not only is it a lot kinder to wrap the thing around you, it’s also more efficient ad you can carry your shampoo without dropping it and bending in front of me! You go and get your clean clothes out of your new locker (the talker is still standing in front of the one you used before) and try to change while staring at the floor. In the meantime the talker and the showerer will have started a conversation, and one of them will be standing with one leg up on the bench while rubbing lotion all over themselves. As by then I’m usually trying to tie my shoelaces, this will be at my eye-level. Once you are dressed you do not stop staring at the floor, while gathering everything and escaping.

I guess I will stop there, leaving you folks with that fabulous mental image. Have an awesome day!

Party! I wish not...

So, seeing as every other person I know that has a blog has taken to writing again, I feel compelled to do the same. Gotta keep up with the Jones's and all that...

I recently went to a party to celebrate a 25th wedding anniversary. In this day and age, simply having a 25th wedding anniversary is quite a feat and cause for great celebration. However, in this particular case, I just wish that I didn't have to celebrate it with the couple in question. The problem is that they are a family who I have known for some time and in that time I have grown to like them less and less. They are crass, crude, entirely self-centered and juvenile, all of which I cannot stomach. I realise that I am a snob, but what can I do?

So, on Sunday evening, I was dragged, reluctantly, along with my family to this party. Due to the fact that my one sister is currently in the UK, our party of party-goers consisted of my parents, my sister and I. The party was set to start at 5 (what kind of dinner party starts at 5 in the afternoon?!) and the dress code, according to the invitation anyway, was 'smart'. This in itself caused great consternation as none of us could figure out where on the continuum between naked and meeting the Queen of England 'smart' lay, but we figured it sat around the region of smart-casual and dressed accordingly.

Upon our arrival, we realised that smart actually meant, dress as if you are going clubbing in a really seedy area, or alternatively, as if you were going to a house party.

Starting the evening realising that you are severely over-dressed didn't help to improve my outlook on the festivities. The immediate arrival of a waiter with sparkling wine improved my assessment of the situation and after discovering the snack table, I began to think that perhaps things really weren't going to be all that bad. I was gravely mistaken...

To cut a very long, and painful, story short, things tobogganed downhill from this point on. The sparkling wine ran out within about the first 30 minutes, only to be replaced by a truly vile, dry white wine which put a proverbial cork in my sister's and my plans to get tipsy in an effort to make the experience bearable. The DJ for the evening turned out to be tragically overconfident with regard to the ability to woo the audience with his wit. In addition to this, his ability to cram just about every politically incorrect concept into everything he said, as well as a great number of expletives as punctuation didn't exactly warm my sister or I to him. There are hip movements displayed by a 50-something old man on the dancefloor I witnessed that are now permanently burned into my mind which, really, I could have done without. Not knowing a single person there, apart from the celebrated couple and their family didn't help much, but having a camera eased the boredom slightly.

Luckily, we had been placed at a table with a family that had two small children, thus providing the means for our escape. We kept a close eye on the state of fatigue of the children and with the emergence of the first yawn, we proclaimed that we too had best be on our way.

Much to my relief, my mother has decided that this was to be the final event of the family in question that we would ever attend. I've waited about 5 long years to hear that...

On uncertainty and the future

It's finally here. That stage in your research we have to write everything up, and spend hours and hours in front of the computer typing furiously. It's strange because you never really think that it'll come about. But one of those things that you always imagined will eventually happen in the future but it'll never really happened to you. Sort of like being mugged…

But the worst part of it all is the sudden realization that you will, in fact, have to find a job at some stage in the near future. Now this wouldn't be so bad, were it not for the fact, that I have absolutely no clue what I want to do. Actually, that's not entirely true. I do know what I want to do, it's just not necessarily available or an option.

Over the last few months have been sending out my CV to a whole host of different potential employers, both locally and internationally. I know that doing this is probably a good idea, but it can be incredibly frustrating. The fact that the majority of people that you send your CV to don't actually respond, doesn't really help much.

I did once receive a response from a UK based group that I was applying to work with. I had sent them my CV, along with a very enthusiastic e-mail, detailing exactly what it was that I was looking for, which coincidentally, was pretty much anything. They responded with an e-mail saying that they would love to have me come and work for them and that I must please give them as much information about myself as possible, which I did shortly thereafter.

Now you would think that this would mean that perhaps they were actually interested. However, there distinct lack of response thereafter, led me to think otherwise.

Lesson of the day: if you are an employer, please have the courtesy to respond to potential job applicants! It's most frustrating to be left in the dark...

'The most random thing...cont.

Blogger is being retarded and won't let me make a long post, so you'll have to read this in installments...

So, this film crew were running around the zoo, interviewing Dominic and film various animal species. Keith continued to question me about all my research. I explained my volunteer study and, after noting that this obviously wasn't what he was looking for, I volunteered information on my other work. I began by mentioning the study that I conducted looking at the behaviour of chimps in single-sex groups. At this point Keith's face lit up and he said something along the lines of, 'That's just what we are looking for!'

He proceeded to explain that the theme for that episode of said talk show was, what he called, the Patriarchy VS Matriarchy debate. He further explained that he would like to interview me along with Dominic on the topic.

Not thinking, I assumed that he meant, perhaps, at some stage in the future, we could organise it and he'd let me know. But this was not to be. Moments later the cameras were on, there was a mircophone and boom in my crotch and Dominic and Keith were practicing their entrance walk. Meanwhile, Athena had gacefully and cunningly darted inbetween the film crew and was standing behind them all grinning at me.

So, completely unprepared and, to a degree, in a state of shock, I was interviewed. Part of the interview was asking about bonobos, which are a species of chimp with a notorious sex life. It was really awkward being asked, and I quote, 'Who do you think has the better deal? Bonobos, or chimpanzees?' I responded with, 'I'd have to say, bonobos...'

Overall, it was quite fun, but definitely the most random thing that has happened to me in a long time!

The most random thing...

So I've not posted in a very long time, but I've been very busy, learning to Scuba dive, writing up my masters dissertation, going on 60km cycle races without any training...that sort of thing. But this post isn't about that. No, this post is about something that happened to me yesterday while I engaged in the seemingly benign act of chimpanzee observations at the zoo...

I was observing with a friend who is also one of my volunteers, Athena. It wasn't a fantastic observation day as there were countless numbers of irritating school children running amok in the zoo, hurtling food items whily-nilly at the chimpanzees, which always puts a dampener on things. None the less, we had been observing for about 20 min, not counting all the times I had to stop to shout at children. Suddenly, I felt a hand slap my side and a voice said, 'Howzit Bud'?'

As one may have guessed, this doesn't happen very often when one is doing chimpanzee observations...

I finished marking the behaviour I had just observed, being a scientist data collection comes first, and turned around. I was surprised but relieved to see that the slapper was Dominic, the curator for carnivores at the zoo. He's a really nice guy, who I've never really met but always insists on smiling and being very friendly towards me. Better that than the alternative I figure...

So I greeted him and we chatted a bit about how annoying the little children are. Then, he turned around and spoke to some people behind him. 'Don't you want to speak to him instead,' he said, referring to me. 'After all, he studies chimps...'

The small gathering behind him concluded that this was a good idea and a tall individual with an...interesting beard, approached me. He introduced himself (anyone who knows me knows that I am hopeless with names, so for the purposes of this post, he shall be called Keith - it's really just to protect the innocent...) and began asking me about my research and what I did. It was at this point that Dominic explained that they were a film crew who were shooting a small insert for a talk show and that they had been around the zoo looking at the different animals.